SECTION I.

IN this excurſion we propoſed to viſit ſome of the more remarkable ſcenes in Scotland; and in our journey through England, ſome parts of it alſo, which we had not ſeen be⯑fore.

Having paſſed the wild, open country of Enfield-chace, lately deſpoiled by act of par⯑liament of it's trees; and having left the ſweet woodlands of Hertfordſhire; our views [2] became coarſe, and unpleaſant. The fa⯑tiguing uniformity of them was, here and there, juſt relieved by a diſtance; particularly at Al⯑conbury-hill.

From hence among other remote objects, that large piece of water, called Whittleſey⯑mere, makes a conſiderable appearance, ſtretch⯑ing into length, far to the right. You get a ſight of it from other parts of the road; and if the foreground happen in any degree to riſe, you may ſee perhaps a point of land puſhing out into the water: but, in general, it appears only a long narrow ſlip, without form. The eye however makes ſome judgment of it's length, which is two leagues; tho none of it's breadth, which is at leaſt one. It's di⯑menſions are larger than moſt of the Cum⯑berland lakes; yet through it's want of ac⯑companiments, it's flat ſhores, and vile neigh⯑bourhood of fens, and marſhes, of which it is the great drain, few travellers deſire to ſee more of it than is exhibited from the road.

To the inhabitants of it's ſhores however it is a great ſource both of uſe, and amuſement. It abounds with fiſh: and the winds being more conſtant here, than in a lake ſurrounded with mountains, where they blow in guſts, [3] and eddies, a boat is more manageable, and ſailing a more agreeable amuſement.

In Daniſh times Whittleſey-mere was con⯑ſidered as a great inland ſea, and navigated only in caſes of neceſſity. Camden tells us, from an old hiſtory of Ely, that it was once the ſcene of a great calamity. When Canute reſided at Peterborough, his children, and others of the royal family, had occaſion to go to the abbey of Ramſey. Whittleſey-mere lay di⯑rectly in the way. Here they embarked; when in the midſt of their pleaſant voyage, and their ſinging, and jollity, the turbulent winds, and a tempeſtuous ſtorm aroſe; their veſſel foun⯑dered; and the greateſt part of the royal family periſhed.

About the ſixty-ninth ſtone, the view is beautifully confined by Monk's woods. As we approach Stamford, the country, tho every where full of little varieties, is on the whole rather flat.

From Stamford we viſited Burleigh-houſe; which is a place of great magnificence. It [4] has no advantage of ſituation; being buried in the dip of a park, which indeed poſſeſſes no where much agreeable ſcenery. The houſe formerly was approached by deſcending avenues; which were as diſpleaſing, as formality, and awkwardneſs could make them. Mr. Brown was employed to reform them; and if poſſible to give ſome air of elegance to the approach. Much he could not do. The ſituation of the houſe forbad; and the unaccommodating form of the park. Every thing however, that was diſguſting he has removed. He has cloſed the avenues: he has varied the ſlopes; and has led the approach through a winding val⯑ley, in the very path, which nature would have choſen, as the eaſieſt. The magic of theſe improvements is ſuch, that it has given the houſe a new ſite. It appears, as you approach it, to aſſume even an elevated ſta⯑tion.—But the ſcenery about Burleigh is not the object: it is the houſe chiefly which at⯑tracts the traveller.

Burleigh-houſe is one of the nobleſt mo⯑numents of Britiſh architecture in the times of Elizabeth, when the great outlines of magnificence were rudely drawn, but unim⯑proved by taſte. The architect, till lately, [5] was unknown; as indeed we know very little of the architects of thoſe days. But the earl of Warwick has a book of original plans in his poſſeſſion, by John Thorpe; from which it appears, that he was the architect of Burleigh houſe. It is an im⯑menſe pile, forming the four ſides of a large court; and tho decorated with a variety of fantaſtic ornaments according to the faſhion of the time, before Grecian architecture had introduced ſymmetry, proportion, and elegance into the plans of private houſes, it has ſtill an auguſt appearance. The inſide of the court is particularly ſtriking. The ſpire is neither, I think, in itſelf an ornament; nor has it any effect; except at a diſtance, where it contributes to give this whole immenſe pile, the conſequence of a town.

How far the faſhionable array, in which Mr. Brown has dreſſed the grounds about this venerable building, agree with it's for⯑mality, and antique appendages, I dare not take upon me to ſay. A doubt ariſes, whether the old decoration of avenues, and parterres was not in a more ſuitable ſtile of ornament. It is however a nice queſtion, and would admit many plauſible arguments on both ſides.

[6]The rooms are fitted up in that rich, but ſolemn manner, which the magnificence of the houſe requires. Some of them indeed, which had been long diſuſed, are now adorned in a lighter taſte: but their uniformity is loſt.—The grand ſtair-caſe, and many of the ceilings are painted by Verrio, who ſpent twelve years, we were informed, in this work; during which time he had a handſome pen⯑ſion; a table kept; and an equipage. Verrio was a man of extraordinary pomp; and had been ſo carreſſed by Charles the ſecond, that he thought himſelf a capital artiſt. He was a painter, as Mr. Walpole juſtly obſerves, whoſe exuberant pencil was well adapted to adorn thoſe public ſurfaces, on which the eye never reſts long enough to criticize: but he was certainly not worth the attention, which lord Exeter paid him; tho his works at Burleigh are confeſſedly the moſt correct of any he has left behind him.

Painted ceilings however are at beſt, I think, but awkward ornaments; not only as it is impoſſible to examine them without pain; but alſo as the foreſhortening of the figures, which is abſolutely neceſſary to give them any kind of effect, is ſo contrary to what we [7] ſee in common life, that it is diſguſting. Mr. Pope alſo, with his uſual juſt taſte, ſuggeſts another objection to them. He ſpeaks of the ſprawling ſaints of Verrio, and Laguerre: by which expreſſion he ſeems to conſider them as floundring in ſome ſtrange medium, we know not what, which affords them no ſtable footing. Figures indeed repreſented in the clouds, are not ſo obvious to this ex⯑ception. We can bear however to ſee ſuch an artiſt as Verrio employed on a ceiling; but when we ſee a maſter, like Rubens ſo engaged, it is mortifying.

Yet ſtill a painted ceiling, if the colours are rich, and dark, adds a pleaſing ſolemnity to theſe antique manſions: but we wiſh only for elegant, ornamental ſcrolls. It is merely the general effect of the gloom that pleaſes; as in a chapel we are ſoothed with that ſolemn light, which paſſes through painted glaſs; tho we wiſh neither for figures, nor any other form of creation.

In rooms of a lighter taſte, as they are gene⯑rally now fitted up in great houſes, more airy ceilings are ſuitable. Lightneſs and gaiety in furniture is now the faſhion; cor⯑reſponding more perhaps with the manners [8] of the times. The manners of the great were formerly, reſerved, grave, and dignified. Their apartments, of courſe contracted a more ſolemn air. They were hung with darker colours; to which the furniture was adapted. How far the manners of thoſe days were more agreeable, I know not: but I have no ſcruple in giving the preference to their apartments. Awkwardneſſes there might be, and certainly were: I ſpeak only of their general air.

The pictures in Burleigh-houſe, of which there is great profuſion, are highly valued. Indeed we ſeldom find a better collection. They are in general pleaſing. In the chapel, which is adapted rather to amuſement, than devotion, hang ſeveral very ſhewy pictures. Solomon's idolatry, and Moſes in the ruſhes, both by Loti, are ſuch. The altar-piece, by P. Veroneſe is more claſſical; but it is ſo deficient as a whole, that we could admire only ſome of the parts. Among theſe the head of St. James is wonderfully expreſſive. The death of Seneca by L. Giordano, is eſteemed one of the beſt pictures in the col⯑lection: but it is wanting, both in compoſition and in effect of light. Either of theſe requi⯑ſites [9] will contribute greatly to an agreeable whole: but when a picture is deficient in both, the eye cannot reſt upon it with pleaſure. The paſſion of grief is indeed well diſtributed among the attendants of the dying philoſopher: but it is conveyed through the medium of very awkward characters.

We muſt not leave this grand houſe without looking into the kitchen; which is a noble room; and decorated with the enſign armorial of hoſpitality, an immenſe carcaſe of beef well painted.

From Burleigh-houſe, we viſited a more retired manſion, which this noble family poſſeſſes at Stamford. The family-vault there is a curious ſcene of the kind. Here lies the old ſtateſman of queen Elizabeth; with a numerous race of his deſcendants collected around him. Even in theſe ſilent regions are found the vanities of dreſs. The ancients of the houſe are clad in plain lead and ſtone; but you trace the progreſs of faſhion in the decorations of ſucceeding ages. Many, who came laſt from the upper regions, are adorned in crimſon velvet, coronets, and lace; and [10] figure away in theſe cells of darkneſs. One would think the grave had little to do with vanity: but our foibles adhere to our laſt ſand. It has ever been ſo.

SECT. II.

FROM Stamford we proceeded to Newark, through Colſterworth, a neighbourhood famous for giving birth to Sir Iſaac Newton. This whole tract of country affords little that is amuſing, till we come to Gunnerſby-hill; from whence we have a very extenſive view. The grounds, on which the eye immediately falls, are level ſheep-walks, with few inter⯑ſections, but no way offenſive. Diſtant views ſeldom enjoy this advantage. The near grounds, when cultivated are always formal and diſguſting. Here they were uncultivated and pleaſing. Beyond the ſheep-walks a vaſt ſtretch of flat country, inriched with a variety of indiſtinct objects, melts into the horizon. It conſiſts only of the common features of a flat diſtance; but they are uncom⯑monly broad and ample.

[12]Through this country the Trent takes it's courſe, tho it rarely appears in any part. No river in England is ſubject to ſuch wide, and laſting inundations: and on inſpecting the map of the country, as it lay now before us, we wanted no geometrical level to convince us, that when the waters of this ſluggiſh ſtream become once ſwoln, it's floods muſt be diffuſive, and of long continuance: for there appears to be no where any deſcent to carry them off. The ſcenery before us was finely varied, when we ſurveyed it, by floating lights, which ſpreading over one part, and another, ſhewed us every part by turns. No⯑thing in landſcape is more beautiful than theſe lengthened gleams^*. The Dutch maſters who painted from a flat country, knew the force of their effect, and often introduced them.

When the diſtance conſiſts, as it does here, of a vaſt flat ſurface, the painter cannot well manage it without theſe adventitious lights. It would be one heavy fatiguing tint. And [13] yet too many of theſe gleams occaſion what the artiſts call a ſpottineſs in landſcape. Two at moſt are ſufficient: and if two, there ſhould always be a ſubordination between them. The nearer may be broader, and more vivid; leaving the more diſtant a mere ſtrip.

When the diſtance, tho very extenſive, is not merely a flat, but is varied with pro⯑minent parts, it may ſupport it's conſequence, tho the whole be in ſhadow. It will itſelf produce variety. A knoll may run out, of ſuch conſpicuous ſize, that according to the common rules of keeping, it will naturally be inveſted with a deeper tint, than the coun⯑try, which lies beyond it: for as it's greater height intercepts a portion of that country, it is ſeen againſt a part more remote than itſelf; and will of courſe be tinted with a darker hue. Thus alſo the ſpot, or mote (which the eye conceives to be a caſtle, a clump of trees, or ſome other object in the diſtance), is tinted with a darker touch; becauſe in the ſame manner, it is ſeen againſt a country more remote than itſelf, and conſequently lighter. Even the folding of riſing grounds over each other, will pro⯑duce [14] the ſame effect. The nearer ground intercepting a valley will always appear darker. Tho the inaccurate obſerver therefore may think a diſtant landſcape, when in ſhadow, might be repreſented by one broad daſh of equal colour, excepting only what difference the gradation of ſhade occaſions, he is miſtaken. Simplicity and breadth are every where pleaſing; and particularly in diſtance; but ſtill if the inequalities of a ſurface are not attended to, and marked by a diſcrimination, however ſlight; the picture may appear unnatural to an eye, which may not have knowledge enough in keeping, and the perſpective of nature, to ſuggeſt a reaſon.

Under every circumſtance a country re⯑tiring into remote diſtance, is among the moſt beautiful parts of landſcape, and is a very pleaſing ſtudy to a lover of nature. If he be a true diſciple of nature; and attend cloſely to all her variations of weather—of ſeaſons—of morning, and evening ſuns, he will diſcover, more and more, her magical ſecrets in the illumination of diſtant objects. He will ſee with what vivid touches of light ſhe often marks each prominent part—nearly as vivid as thoſe upon the foregrounds.—At [15] the ſame time the ſhadows being ſuppreſſed, and every little detail; the object takes it's proper place in the diſtance, notwithſtanding it's ſtrong illumination.—Yet even in a diſtance he will obſerve a variety of little animated touches, which give it life, and ſpirit. He will ſtudy nature's mode of expreſſing theſe touches—the tuftings of the foreſt, the rough⯑neſs of the mountain, and the ſtillneſs of the lake.—He will obſerve alſo what diſpoſition of ſky gives that cold blue tint to a removed country, which we ſometimes ſee—what again gives it that clearneſs, in which the very delineation of every object may be diſ⯑cerned—and what throws over it that greyiſh tint, the ſweeteſt of all hues that inveſt a diſtance; and gives it that amuſing indiſtinct⯑neſs, which leads the imagination of the ſpectator to

As we deſcended Gunnerſby hill, and ſaw more around it, a diſtinct view of Belvoir-caſtle opened on the left: and we could have wiſhed to have examined that noble repoſitory [16] of the works of eminent maſters; but our time would not allow.

As we got more into the flat country, we found, that however qualified it's objects were, to melt into a beautiful diſtance, it contain⯑ed nothing engaging on the ſpot. All the country through which the Trent flows, as far as we could command it from the great road, is unpictureſque.

From Newark the country ſtill continues dreary and unintereſting. When the road happens to make any little riſe, we had, far to the right, a diſtant view of Lincoln-cathe⯑dral, over the flats between it and the eye. It is ſo noble a pile, that it makes a reſpec⯑table object at the diſtance of twenty miles. But this extraordinary appearance is owing to a mere deception: for tho the eye con⯑ſiders it as ſtanding in the plain; it ſtands in fact upon a hill; and the elevation of the ground being loſt in the diſtance, all it's height is added to the church. The whole country between Newark, and Lincoln is highly cul⯑tivated; and is famous for a breed of large ſheep, and heavy horſes, peculiar to itſelf.— A little after you paſs Tuxford, you ſee the deception in the ſituation of Lincoln-cathe⯑dral. It appears there plainly to ſtand at the point of a long ridge of elevated land, riſing above the flat country.

In this neighbourhood lie a cluſter of great houſes. Thoreſby belongs to the celebrated [18] ducheſs of Kingſton. We rode through the park, which has no advantages of ſituation. The houſe we found ſhut up by the ducheſs's order.

Welbeck, the duke of Portland's ſeat, we did not ſee. It lay ſome miles out of the road.

Clumber-park, the ſeat of the duke of Newcaſtle, diſappointed us. We expected an old magnificent houſe, a park adorned with oaks, that had ſeen a fourth or a fifth generation of their noble owners; and other appendages of ancient grandeur. But every thing is new: the houſe is juſt built, the woods juſt planted; and the walks juſt planned. Clumber-park will hardly be worth a tra⯑veller's notice before the next century.

A few miles farther lies Workſop. This houſe is a ſingular inſtance of the ſpirit, perſeverance, and diſintereſtedneſs, of it's pro⯑prietor, the duke of Norfolk. It had belonged formerly to the earls of Shrewſbury, and was gone much into decay. But the duke liking the ſituation; and conceiving it to be a good centre-houſe to his great eſtates in theſe parts, reſolved to reſtore it to it's ancient ſplendor. He was now in years; but for the advan⯑tage of his heir, the honourable Mr. Edward [19] Howard, he engaged in the work, and having fitted it up in a very noble manner at the expence of thirty thouſand pounds, he was juſt preparing to take poſſeſſion of it: when on the 22d of October 1761, a fire left care⯑leſſly in the library, caught hold of the flooring of the apartment, and communi⯑cating itſelf with great rapidity to the other chambers, the whole edifice and all it's valuable furniture, pictures, and books were burnt to the ground. The loſs was eſtimated at an hundred thouſand pounds.

Such a cataſtrophe, one ſhould have ima⯑gined, might have checked the duke's farther deſigns in building: but it only rouſed him. Almoſt before the aſhes of the old houſe were cold, he engaged again in building a new one; and taking his young heir in his hand, he laid the foundation ſtone of a moſt magnificent pile on the 25th of March 1763. It was to conſiſt of a centre, and two wings. With this work he went on ſo rapidly, that the centre part, as it now ſtands, which is itſelf a complete palace, extending three hun⯑dred feet, was finiſhed in the year 1765. At that time Mr. Edward Howard dying, the [20] duke, who built only for him, dropt all farther thoughts of compleating his deſign.

The houſe ſtands in the midſt of an exten⯑ſive park; but we ſaw nothing, that tempted us to take more than a curſory view of it. The approach ſeemed eaſy, and beautiful.

A few miles from Workſop, on the bor⯑ders of Yorkſhire, lies Aſton; where Mr. Maſon, with a generoſity rather ſingular, has built at his own expence one of the moſt comfortable, and elegant parſonage-houſes in England. The old houſe, which is ſhrouded with trees, is converted into offices; while the new houſe conſiſts intirely of excellent apartments. In this ſweet retreat we ſpent a day or two, and from thence made an ex⯑curſion to Roche-abbey, a beautiful ſcene in the poſſeſſion of the earl of Scarborough.

SECT. III.

ROCHE-ABBEY ſtands in the centre of three vallies; each of which is about a mile in length; but otherwiſe their dimen⯑ſions, as well as forms are different. One is open, another is cloſe; and a third ſtill cloſer, and rocky. All of them are woody, and each is adorned with it's little ſtream.

A very ſmall part of the abbey remains; two fragments only of the tranſept of the great church. The architecture is rather of a mixed kind; but in general the Gothic prevails.

Theſe ruins and the ſcenery around them were in the rougheſt ſtate, when Mr. Brown was employed to adorn them. He is now at work; and has nearly half compleated his intention. This is the firſt ſubject of the kind he has attempted. Many a modern palace he has adorned, and beautified: but [22] a ruin preſented a new idea; which I doubt, whether he has ſufficiently conſidered. He has finiſhed one of the vallies, which looks towards Laughton ſpire: he has floated it with a lake, and formed it into a very beautiful ſcene. But I fear it is too magnificent, and too artificial an appendage, to be in uniſon with the ruins of an abbey. An abbey, it is true, may ſtand by the ſide of a lake; and it is poſſible, that this lake may, in ſome future time, become it's ſituation; when the marks of the ſpade, and the pick-ax are removed— when it's oſiers flouriſh; and it's naked banks become fringed, and covered with wood. In a word, when the lake itſelf is improved by time, it may ſuit the ruin, which ſtands upon it's banks. At preſent, the lake, and ruin are totally at variance.—The ſpire, which ter⯑minates this view, deſerves particular notice, as a very beautiful piece of Gothic architecture, tho the ornament only of a country church. It is alſo one of the moſt extenſive land marks in England; and may, in ſome directions, be ſeen at the diſtance of fifty miles.

Mr. Brown is now at work in the centre part of the three vallies, near the ruin itſelf. He has already removed all the heaps of rub⯑biſh, [23] which lay around; ſome of which were very ornamental; and very uſeful alſo, in uniting the two parts of the ruin. They give ſomething too of more conſequence to the whole, by diſcovering the veſtiges of what once exiſted. Many of theſe ſcattered appendages alſo, through length of time, having been co⯑vered with earth, and adorned with wild bruſh-wood, had riſen up to the windows, and united the ruin to the ſoil, on which it ſtood.—All this is removed: a level is taken, and the ruin ſtands now on a neat bowling-green, like a houſe juſt built, and without any kind of connection with the ground it ſtands on. There is certainly little judgment ſhewn in this mode of improvement. I do not mean to place Mr. Brown's works at Roche-abbey, and thoſe of a late improver of Fountain's-abbey^* in the ſame light. At Fountain's-abbey every thing was done with a childiſh hand. Here, every thing is manly, and in it's way maſterly. The character only of the ſcene is miſtaken. If Mr. Brown [24] ſhould proceed a ſtep farther—pull down the ruin, and build an elegant manſion, every thing would then be right, and in it's pro⯑per place. But in a ruin the reigning ideas are ſolitude, neglect, and deſolation. The environs of a houſe ſhould partake of the elegance or grandeur of the manſion they adorn, becauſe harmony and propriety require it. If there is force in this reaſon, it ſurely holds equally true, that a ruin ſhould be left in a ſtate of wildneſs, and negligence. Har⯑mony and propriety require one, as much as the other.

Of what improvement then is the ſcenery of a ruin capable?

Of ſome no doubt. Tho we ſhould not wiſh to adorn it with poliſhed nature—tho the ſhorn lawn, the flowering ſhrub, and the embelliſhed walk, are alien ideas; yet many things offenſive may be removed. Some part of the rubbiſh, or of the bruſhwood may be out of place, and hide what ought to be ſeen. The ground, in many parts, may be altered, but diſcretely altered. A path may wind; but not ſuch grand walks as are here intro⯑duced, rather for parade, than contemplation; and ſuch certainly as the convent never knew, [25] even in it's higheſt ſtate of proſperity. Trees alſo may be planted; and water may be in⯑troduced. But a ſort of negligent air ſhould run through the whole: and if art ſhould always be concealed; it ſhould here be totally hid. The precept conveyed in thoſe beautiful lines, cannot be too religiouſly applied to ſcenes like theſe.

No ſunk fence, or netted barrier, ſhould re⯑ſtrain the flock. Let them browze within the very precincts of the ruin. It is a habi⯑tation forſaken of men, and reſumed by nature; and tho nature do not require a ſlovenly path to walk in; yet ſhe always wiſhes for one with ſome degree of rudeneſs about it.

If the manſion-houſe ſtand near the ruins you wiſh to adorn, the ruins themſelves will then become only appendages. Neatneſs in part muſt be introduced. Yet ſtill, even in this caſe, one ſhould wiſh to have the ruins in a ſequeſtered place, leſs adorned, than the environs of a manſion ought to be.

There is another ſpecies of improvement, of which a ruin is ſuſceptible; but it is of [26] the moſt delicate kind. Few ruins are exactly what we could wiſh. We generally find a deficiency, or a redundancy, as far as compoſition is concerned. The ruin we now conſider, from the ſquareneſs, and uniformity of its two parts, is heavy, uniform, and diſpleaſing. The parts are elegant in themſelves; but for want of contraſt, they form a diſagreeable whole. You can ſee them to advantage only from particular ſtands, where one part is thrown behind another in perſpective. By the ſmall alteration therefore of making either part lower or higher, you might improve the compoſition: but the operation would be exceedingly nice. No pictureſque hand durſt take away. But an addition might be made without much hazard; becauſe what you add, you may like⯑wiſe remove. The beauty of the compoſition, and the harmony of the architecture would be the two chief points to be attended to. The ruins of Roche-abbey might receive great beauty from the fragment of a tower. If this or any other prominent addition could happily be made, it would certainly have a good effect: but it would require great knowledge both of the ruin, and it's deficient appendages, to make it with propriety, and veriſimilitude.

[27]Of the three vallies, which center in theſe ruins, I have mentioned one only, which Mr. Brown has yet improved. Both the others are beautiful: but one of them, which is a ſort of rocky chaſm, is in it's natural ſtate ſo pleaſing; that I ſhould fear, every touch of art would be injurious.

I ſhall conclude theſe remarks on the im⯑provement of ruins, with a few beautiful images of deſolation, which the prophet Iſaiah introduces in ſubjects of this kind. His ruins have their proper accompaniments. The paſ⯑ſages I quote are interſperſed in different chap⯑ters, but I ſhall bring them together in one view.

"It ſhall never be inhabited: neither ſhall the Arabian pitch his tent there; nor the ſhepherd make his fold. Thorns ſhall come up in it's palaces; nettles, and brambles in the fortreſſes thereof. The cormorant, and the bittern ſhall poſſeſs it. The raven ſhall dwell there. It ſhall be an habitation for dragons; and a court for owls. There the wild beaſts of the deſert ſhall meet. The ſatyr ſhall cry to his fellow. The ſcreech-owl ſhall find herſelf a place of reſt; and the vultures ſhall be gathered together, every one with it's mate."

SECT. IV.

FROM Roche-abbey we proceeded to Wakefield, and from thence to Leeds, where we viſited another ſcene of a ſimilar kind, the ruins of Kirkſtall-abbey, which belong to the duke of Montague.

Three miles from Leeds, the river Aire, taking it's courſe in an eaſtern direction, paſſes through a valley, which is about five miles in length, and one in breadth. The area of it is level. This form gives a ſluggiſhneſs to the ſtream; which inſtead of ſparkling over beds of pebbles, as the northern rivers commonly do; is adorned with reeds, and ſedges, and water-lilies. The hills, which ſlope into the valley, deſcend in different directions: in ſome parts they are ſteep; but in general their deſcent is eaſy. Formerly, [30] when this valley was the retreat of ſolitude, all theſe hills were covered with wood; which formed delicious bowers in various parts, and deſcending in clumps around the abbey, ſkreened it from inclement blaſts. Now theſe beautiful ſkreens are removed: the abbey ſtands expoſed; and the ancient limits of the woods are ſcarce marked by a few ſcattered trees. All the interval is divided into portions, and furrowed by the plough.

At the bottom of the valley, near the ſouthern bank of the river, ſtand the ruins of the abbey; a very large proportion of which is ſtill left. Almoſt the whole body of the great church remains, which ſeems to want little, except the roof. The tower is ſtill intire; and the croſs aile. A variety of ruined buildings are ſcattered round, the uſes of which are gueſſed at, rather than aſcer⯑tained. Some of them are in ſufficient repair to anſwer modern purpoſes. On the ſouth are the traces of a beautiful Gothic cloiſter.

With regard however to the ſtile in general of the abbey of Kirkſtall, and it's pictureſque form, but little can be ſaid. It is compoſed of a ſort of mixed architecture. Here and there you ſee a piece of Gothic has been [31] added; but in the greater part the Saxon heavineſs prevails. The pillars in the nave are maſſy, and void of grace. The form too of the ruin is unpleaſing. It is debaſed by the commonneſs of it. You have merely the ſhell of an old church. It is too perfect alſo. We rather wiſh for that degree of dilapidation, which gives conjecture room to wander; and the imagination ſome little ſcope. A certain degree of obſcurity adds dignity to an object.

The precincts of the abbey were formerly ſurrounded by a wall, (as abbeys generally were) the veſtiges of which may ſtill be traced. The circumference of the whole is about a mile, drawn round in a ſemicircular form; the river compleating the boundary on the ſouth. In one part of this boundary, north⯑weſt of the abbey, ſtands a gate, which ſeems to have been the grand entrance. It is yet a conſiderable pile, and makes an excellent farm-houſe.

As we were examining the ruins, our guide pointed to a very narrow winding ſtair-caſe at the weſt end of the church, which led formerly to the roof. Into this ſtair-caſe, he told us, a cow, puſhing herſelf probably at firſt, [32] to avoid the flies, at length gained the top; and was diſcovered by her owner, looking through the broken arch of a window, which he ſhewed us, where a narrow ſhelf had formerly ſupported the roof. The man had no expectation of ſeeing his beaſt again at the bottom without broken bones; but ſuch was her dexterity, that with a very little aſſiſtance, ſhe got down by the ſame narrow paſſage, by which ſhe had aſcended.—As this ſtory belongs to the natural hiſtory of the place, I have recorded it: but rather, I muſt confeſs, with a view to diſcredit it, than to authen⯑ticate. There are ſo many ſtories told of cows climbing up narrow ſtair-caſes, among ruins, that they deſtroy each other. One is told at Norwich; and I remember, at the abbey of Lanercoſt in Cumberland, a cow not only got up a narrow ſtair-caſe, but rang a bell at an unſeaſonable hour, by which ſhe alarmed the whole neighbourhood. Why this unwieldy animal is fixed on for theſe feats of activity, I can aſſign no reaſon, but that it makes the ſtory more wonderful.

[33]From Leeds to Harrowgate, the landſcape is ſeldom intereſting ^*: but on croſſing the river Need, we found ourſelves in a very pleaſant country. Few villages ſtand more agreeably than Ripley.

The paſſage over the mountains of Stain⯑more has very little in it that is amuſing, till we come to a flat, near the cloſe of it; where, tradition ſays, Maiden-caſtle formerly ſtood; tho no veſtiges of it now remain.

From this elevated ground the eye com⯑mands a noble ſweep of mountain-ſcenery. The hills ſloping down, on both ſides, form a vaſt bay of wide, and diſtant country, which conſiſts of various removes, and is bounded at length by the mountains of Cumberland. The lines are elegant, and the whole pictureſque, as far as a diſtance, inriched neither by wood, nor any other object, can be ſo. The ſcene, tho naked, is immenſely grand. It has a good effect in it's preſent ſtate, uniting a dreary diſtance with the dreary country, we had paſſed; and the wild foreground, on which we ſtood. We might perhaps have a better [34] effect, if the diſtance were more inriched. The beauties of contraſt would then ſucceed happily to thoſe of uniformity—at leaſt, if the middle ground, or ſecond diſtance, were ſomewhat rough; and the landſcape proceeded gradually from that roughneſs into a rich diſtance.

Appelby-caſtle, Brougham-caſtle, and other parts of the road, between Appelby and Pen⯑rith (which is in general pleaſing) afforded us many views; but we had travelled the country before: as we had likewiſe the country about Carliſle^*.

SECT. V.

AT Longtown, which is ſeven miles be⯑yond Carliſle, we croſſed the Eſk; and ſoon entered Scotland, taking the Langham road to Edinburgh. The Eſk is properly a Scottiſh river, flowing along a ſmall part only of the Engliſh border; but along a con⯑ſiderable part of the Edinburg road. In a few miles it is joined by the Liddel, and at the confluence of theſe ſtreams a ſort of pro⯑montory is formed, on which ſtand the ruins of a fort, called in the country the Strength of Liddel. It is ſuppoſed to have been a Roman ſtation, and was once the curb of the country. It commands a very extenſive view, which preſents, if not a picture, at leaſt a map well adapted to mili⯑tary ſpeculation.

In after times, when other oppreſſors ſucceeded thoſe of Rome, prevailing factions [36] of Picts, and Britons, Scotts and Engliſh, had it alternately in poſſeſſion. As con⯑temptible as it now appears, it was twice beſieged by royal armies; once under Edward the third of England; and again under David the ſecond of Scotland. It is ſhocking to huma⯑nity that few of theſe places can be found, without ſome horrid tale annexed to them. When David took the place, he condemned the governor to death. That might be juſtice: but it could only be through the dictates of vengeance that he ordered his two ſons to be butchered before his eyes, as he was led to execution. And yet David, according to Buchanan, was a prince in omni virtutum genere, ac in primis clementia, memorabilis.

In later ages this country wanted a ſtronger curb, then ſuch a fortreſs as the Strength of Liddel could impoſe. It was an almoſt ſin⯑gular inſtance, in the hiſtory of civil ſociety, that a paltry diſtrict ſhould continue in an independent ſtate; between two powerful kingdoms; inhabited by clans of banditti, alike obnoxious to each, and not to be ſub⯑dued by the police of both. Their captains lived in fortified caſtles; bad defiance to the power of a ſheriff, and feared only the attack [37] of regular troops. The importance of theſe border-chiefs is well deſcribed in an old ballad, which does honour to Johnny Armſtrong, who was in his day one of the moſt celebrated of them. This hero, having been ſent for, in the year 1528, by James the fifth (who was then upon a progreſs to the borders,) came unexpectedly into the royal preſence, magni⯑ficently apparelled, and attended by a numerous train of followers. The poet introduces him in this dignified manner:

Numbers of the lower members of this plun⯑dering community were executed every year, both in England and Scotland; but no depopulation enſued. A livelihood from other men's labours, and an aſylum from the penal laws, were powerful incentives to the idle and profligate of both kingdoms; and fully repaired ſuch caſual depredations, as were annually made by the hand of juſtice.

In Edward the ſixth's time, about the year 1552, the affair of the debatable land, as this coun⯑try was called, ſeems to have been taken into [38] ſerious conſideration. The plan was to divide it into two equal parts, that each kingdom might introduce order into it's reſpective di⯑viſion. Commiſſioners for this purpoſe were appointed, and a letter is ſtill preſerved, in which the Engliſh commiſſioners inform the council, that there be two ſmall brooks in the debatable, the one called Hawburn, the other Woodhouſeburn, whereof the former falleth into the river Sark, and the other into the river Eſk; and they wiſh the diviſion might be made from the mouth of one of theſe brooks to that of the other ^*. This diviſion they explain by a plan ſent along with their letter, having, they ſay, three lines drawn acroſs the debatable. The firſt towards the ſea-ſide, expreſſeth the diviſion, which the Scottiſh commiſſioners offered: the ſecond, being the middle line, and named by us STELLATA LINEA, repreſenteth the diviſion, whereof we now write; and the third is that, which our commiſſioners offered to the Scotts. The ſtellata linea ſeems to have been ſome abatement of what had been offered to the Scotts; but the commiſſioners ſtill think, [39] that rather than leave the matter undone, they ſhould relent ſomewhat even of the ſaid STEL⯑LATA LINEA, but ſo that the two houſes of ſtone (the one being Sandy Armſtrong's, the other Thomas Greme's) may be within the limits of the Engliſh debatable. How far this good work proceeded, does not appear; it is certain however, that it produced no effect; for throughout the reign of Elizabeth, we meet with numberleſs inſtances of the continuance of theſe border depredations. Sufficient employment perhaps could not be found for theſe borderers, in the infancy of arts and tillage which certainly meliorate the manners of a ſavage people; and to a certain period at leaſt, till luxury is introdu⯑ced, ſupply the place of penal laws.

As we paſſed through the debatable land, we were often amuſed with the ſweet vallies of the Eſk, which make the road generally pleaſant, if not intereſting. Moſt of theſe vallies are well wooded; and the trees, tho far from what may be denominated timber, are yet ſufficient to beautify the ſcene.

[40]In one of theſe retreats ſtands Gilnoc-hall, the ancient caſtle of Johnny Armſtrong.

We met with many of theſe little fortreſſes in different parts of the borders. They are commonly built in the form of ſquare towers. The walls are thick: the apertures for light ſmall. They are divided generally into three or four ſtories, each containing only one apartment. The loweſt was the receptacle for cattle, which were driven into it in time of alarm. The family occupied the upper ſtories. As theſe towers were chiefly meant as places of ſecurity againſt the banditti of the country, the garriſon had ſeldom more than the ſiege of an hour or two to ſuſtain. They could bear therefore crouding together; and were not anxious about their magazines. If they were attacked by any of the neigh⯑bouring garriſons, they could make no defence.

Sir Robert Cary, earl of Monmouth, gives us an account, in his memoirs, written in the time of Elizabeth, of his manner of attacking one of theſe old towers. He was warden of the weſtern march; and lay with his garriſon at Carliſle; where hearing of an outrageous act committed by ſome Scotts, he purſued them with twenty horſe. When he came [41] up with them, he found they had taken refuge in a tower. In this exigence his horſe was of little uſe, except to prevent an eſcape. He ſent therefore to Carliſle for a few foot, and preſently ſet them at work to get up to the top of the tower, and to uncover the roof, and then ſome twenty of them to fall down together; and by that means to win the tower. The Scotts ſeeing their preſent danger, offered to parley; and opening the iron gate, yielded themſelves to mercy.

Gilnoc-hall is probably what the commiſ⯑ſioners call the houſe of ſtone of Sandy Armſtrong. It has ſtill a caſtle-like form: but it's ſitu⯑ation, which is under a woody hill, is rather that of an abbey, than of a caſtle. As it had nothing however to do with the defence of the country; but only to take care of itſelf, a ſequeſtered ſituation might ſuit it beſt.

Beſides the Eſk, we met with many rivu⯑lets; each of which in it's turn, hath run purple to the ſea, with the blood of our anceſtors. If the borders were ſubject to conſtant ravages in the time of peace, we may well ſuppoſe what they were in time of [42] war. The borderers were expert in all the arts of rapine, and plundering; and having on both ſides a national antipathy, wanted only a pretence to indulge it. The ravages that were committed, when open hoſtility commenced between the two kingdoms, by the regular garriſons of both, were ſo ruinous, and ſo frequent, that we are aſtoniſhed how countries ſo often deſolated, could be worth plundering.

Among Haynes's ſtate papers, we have the hiſtory of one of theſe irregular cam⯑paigns, in the time of Henry the eighth, under the title of Exploits done upon the Scotts in the year 1544. The firſt exploit was done on the 2d of July, and the laſt on the 17th of November. Between theſe two dates (which include little more than four months) is contained an account of ninety-ſeven dif⯑ferent inroads into the borders of Scotland; which no doubt were repaid in kind by the Scotts; tho probably not in ſo full a meaſure. In each of theſe details the actors are ſpecified, the time, the ſcene, the miſchief done, and the booty obtained. As the paper is curious, two or three, out of the ninety-ſeven exploits, may be worth tranſcribing.

[43] ‘July 19. Mr. Clifford, and his garriſon, burned a town, called Bedroul, with fifteen or ſixteen ſteds^*; whereby they have gotten three hundred nolt^†, ſix hundred ſheep, and much inſide gear^§. In their coming home they fought with lord Farnyhurſt, and his company, and took him, and his ſon, with three baſſes, which lord Farnyhurſt brought into the field with him.’

‘Auguſt 7. Sir Ralph Evers, with the garriſons of the middle marches of Tinedale, and Ridſdale, to the number of fourteen hundred men, rode, and burnt Jedworth, and Ancram-ſpittle, with two other towns, called Eaſt Neſbit, and Weſt Neſbit; and won divers ſtrong caſtle-houſes, and ſlew all the Scottiſh men in the ſame to the number of eighty, and brought away two hundred and twenty head of nolt, and four hundred ſheep, with much inſide goods.’

‘Auguſt 16. William Buncton and John Ordre, and certain of the garriſon of Ber⯑wick, burnt and ſpoiled the town of Dun⯑glaſſe very ſore; and ſeized three hundred [44] and twenty nolt, eight hundred ſheep, and much ſpoilage. In their return they fought with the Scotts, and put them to flight; and ſlew Alexander Hume, and forty other good men, and took the laird of Anderwicke and his ſon Hamilton, and ſixty more pri⯑ſoners.’

‘Auguſt 27. Sir Brian Layton, &c. ranged the woods of Woddon, where they got many nags, ſheep, and nolt, and ſlew in the ſaid woods thirty Scotts. From thence they went to a tower of lord Buc⯑cleugh's, called the Moſs-houſe, and ſmoked it very ſore, and took thirty priſoners, and have brought away eighty nags, two hun⯑dred nolt, and four hundred ſheep; and they burned the town of Woddon, and many ſhielings, and houſes in the ſaid wood, and other ſteds and mills in their way.’

I need not multiply extracts from this horrid catalogue, in which the pillage, ruin, and ſlaughter of thouſands of individuals (contri⯑buting nothing to the ſum of the war) are related with as much indifference, as the bringing in of a harveſt. We conſider war as a neceſſary evil; and pride ourſelves now on making it like gentlemen. Humanity [45] certainly requires us to alleviate it's miſeries as far as we can. But while our wars by land are tempered with generoſity, why are our wars by ſea carried on like barbarians? Taking the ſhips of an enemy, it is true, deſtroys reſources: ſo would plundering a country; and carrying away it's inhabitants captive, in the old ſtyle of Babyloniſh con⯑queſt. From this however we refrain by land; tho we practice it by ſea. The great point of difference between the two ſervices, in this reſpect, lies here. By land, all private plunderers, and morauders, which are the moſt cruel kind of oppreſſors, are reſtrained: by ſea, they are licenſed: or, in other words, by ſea we ſtill practiſe the brutality of Scotch, and Engliſh borderers.

SECT. VI.

WE travelled along the banks of the Eſk many miles; and found ſeveral beautiful ſcenes. Near Langham particularly, it winds through groves, which diverſify the road; and it's bed is finely channelled with rock.

The banks of the Tiviot ſoon after received us; and conducted us into a new country. On the borders of the Eſk our views had been in general confined within contracted vallies. But now the country began to ex⯑pand; and aſſumed features intirely different. The Tiviot takes it's courſe through wide vallies of ſmooth extended paſturage, ſloping down to it in all directions; and in general forming beautiful lines; tho otherwiſe void of all thoſe circumſtances, and that variety [48] of objects, particularly of wood, which give beauty to landſcape. In ſome parts theſe vallies alſo are contracted; but in a different manner from thoſe of the Eſk. The ſame breadth of feature is ſtill preſerved, which we had in the more open parts, only it is here brought nearer the eye. Tho the lofty ſkreens ruſh down precipitately to the river, and contract the vallies, you ſee plainly they are the parts of a large-featured country; and in a ſtile of landſcape very different from thoſe little irriguous vallies which we had left.

Hawick has a romantic ſituation among rocks, ſounding rivers, cataracts, and bridges; all of which are very pictureſque. When we meet with objects of this kind (the reſult of nature, and chance,) what contempt do they throw upon the laboured works of art? There is more pictureſque beauty in the old bridge at Hawick, than in the moſt elegant piece of new-made river ſcenery. I mean not to aſſert, that ſuch an object would ſuit a piece of improved ground. It would there be out of place. All I mean, is, that the pictureſque eye has that kind of faſtidiouſneſs about it, that it is ſeldom pleaſed with any artificial attempts to pleaſe. It muſt find it's own beauties; and often fixes, as here, on ſome accidental, rough object, which the common eye would paſs unnoticed.

As we proceeded to Selkirk, we found the road on the north of Hawick a perfect contraſt to what we had paſſed on the ſouth. There [50] we were carried along the vallies, and looked up to the hills. Here we were carried along the hills, and looked down upon the vallies. Here too, in general, the mountains formed beautiful lines; but as in hiſtory-painting, figures without drapery, and other appendages, make but an indifferent group; ſo in ſcenery, naked mountains form poor compoſition. They require the drapery of a little wood to break the ſimplicity of their ſhapes, to produce contraſts, to connect one part with another; and to give that richneſs in landſcape, which is one of it's greateſt ornaments. We are told indeed, that this was formerly a very woody country—that it was called the foreſt of Selkirk; and extended over great part of the ſouthern counties of Scotland. And yet if this information did not depend on good hiſtorical authority, we might be led to diſpute it. For people are ſeldom at the trouble of felling a foreſt, unleſs they want either the timber, or the ground it ſtands on; neither of which, in the preſent caſe, ſeems to have been wanted.

A little beyond the Atric we meet the Tweed; which is here a river of no great conſequence; but it's deficiency in grandeur, is made up in beauty. We travelled along it's banks about a mile; and in that ſhort ſpace were entertained with two or three pleaſing views; the moſt ſtriking of which were at Yar, and Ferney.

The houſe at Yar, which belongs to the duke of Buccleugh, is no object; nor is the river viſible in this view; but the road winds beautifully to a bridge, beyond which the mountains make agreeable interſections.

At Ferney we had a grand ſcene of moun⯑tain-perſpective. It is not often that theſe elevated bodies coincide with the rules of beauty, and compoſition—leſs often indeed than any other mode of landſcape. In a level country, the awkwardneſs of a line is hid. But the mountain rearing it's opakeneſs againſt the ſky, ſhews every fault both in it's deli⯑neation, and combination with great exactneſs. Theſe mountains however had few faults to [52] ſhew. They were both well-formed, and well connected; and ſhewed alſo in great perfection the beauties of gradation—gradation in form—gradation in light—and gradation in colour. With theſe adjuncts, which are among the moſt beautiful in landſcape, the exhibition could not but be pleaſing. One of the neareſt of theſe mountains was inriched, when we ſaw it, with a deep purple tint; which did not ſeem the production of any vegetable ſubſtance, but rather ſome enamelled mineral ſtain.

It is no little recommendation of the rivers we met with here, that almoſt every one of them is the ſubject of ſome pleaſing Scotch ditty; which the ſcene raiſes to the memory of thoſe, who are verſed in the lyrics of the country. The elegant ſimplicity of the verſe, and the ſoothing melody of the muſic, in almoſt all the Scotch ſongs, is univerſally acknowledged. Tweed-ſide, and Atric's banks, are not among the leaſt pleaſing.

Beyond the Tweed the country becomes again mountainous, wild and uncultivated; in which ſtate it continues till within thirteen or fourteen miles of Edinburgh. A little beyond Middleton, before we deſcended the [53] higher grounds into the plain, we had a view from the brow of the hill, of the ſituation of that capital.

The plain is bounded by the Pentland hills; which in themſelves are not magnificent; but appeared conſiderably ſo to us through the medium of a light miſt, which began to over-ſpread the diſtance. Deceptions of this kind are very common in mountainous coun⯑tries. Under ſuch a circumſtance I have often conceived myſelf about to aſcend ſome ſtupen⯑dous mountain, which dwindled, on a nearer approach, into a mere hill. On the right of the Pentland hills ariſes Arthur's ſeat; a rock, which hangs over Edinburgh, of peculiar appearance; romantic, but not pictureſque. It continues long the ſtriking feature of the view; neither the caſtle, nor any part of the town appearing for ſome time.

As we approach nearer; the environs of Edinburgh become more diſtinct. We get a view of the Forth; and ſee the grounds about Muſſelborough and Dalkeith, on the ſouthern ſide of it; and the mountains of Fifeſhire on the northern.

[54]About ſix or ſeven miles on this ſide or Edinburgh we turned a little out of the way to viſit Dalkeith houſe; which belongs to the duke of Buccleugh. It ſtands on a knoll overlooking a ſmall river. The knoll is probably in part artificial; for an awkward ſquare hollow hard by indicates that the knoll has been dug out of it. Beyond the river are woods; and a pictureſque view of the town and church of Dalkeith. But the houſe fronts the other way, where it is not only confined, but the ground riſes from it. It might have ſtood with great advantage, if it had been carried two or three hundred yards farther from the river; and it's front turned towards it. A fine lawn would then have deſcended from it, bounded by the river, and the woods. We often ſee a bad ſituation choſen: but we ſeldom ſee a good one ſo narrowly miſſed.

There are ſeveral pleaſing pictures in Dalkeith-houſe; one of the moſt ſtriking, is a landſcape by Vernet, in Salvator's ſtyle. It is a rocky ſcene through which a torrent ruſhes: the foaming violence of the water is well expreſſed. I have not often met with a picture of this faſhionable maſter, which I [55] liked better. And yet it is not entirely free from the flutter of a French artiſt.

Here, and in almoſt all the great houſes of Scotland, we have pictures of queen Mary; but their authenticity is often doubted from the circumſtance of her hair. In one it is auburn, in another black, and in another yellow. Notwithſtanding however this dif⯑ference, it is very poſſible, that all theſe pictures may be genuine. We have a letter preſerved^*, from Mr. White, a ſervant of queen Elizabeth, to Sir William Cecil, in which he mentions his having ſeen queen Mary at Tutbury caſtle. "She is a goodly perſonage, ſays he, hath an alluring grace, a pretty Scottiſh ſpeech, a ſearching wit, and great mildneſs. Her hair of itſelf is black; but Mr. Knolls told me, that ſhe wears hair of ſundry colours."

This houſe was formerly, like moſt of the great houſes in Scotland, built in the form of a caſtle. It belonged then to the noble family of Douglas; and was once the gloomy retreat of a celebrated chief of that name—the earl of Morton; who was regent of the kingdom [56] nominally under James; but really under Elizabeth. That artful princeſs, having impriſoned Mary, conducted the affairs of Scotland, through this miniſter, as ſhe pleaſed. Elizabeth was not nice in the choice of her inſtruments. Moral failings, in men of abilities, were no blemiſhes. Morton's cha⯑racter is marked in hiſtory with thoſe vices which unbounded ambition commonly ingrafts upon the fiercer paſſions, cruelty, and revenge; to which we may add an inſatiable avarice. Popular odium at length overpowered him, and he found it neceſſary to retire from public life. This caſtle was the ſcene of his retreat; where he wiſhed the world to believe, he was ſequeſtered from all earthly concerns. But the terror he had impreſſed through the country during his power was ſuch, that the common people ſtill dreaded him even in re⯑tirement. In paſſing towards Dalkeith, they generally made a circuit round the caſtle, which they durſt not approach, calling it, the lion's den. While he was thus ſuppoſed to be employed in making his parterres, and forming his terraces, he was planning a ſcheme for the revival of his power. It ſuddenly took effect, to the aſtoniſhment of all Scotland. [57] But it was of ſhort continuance. In little more than two years, he was obliged to retreat again from public affairs; and ended his life on a Scaffold.

SECT. VIII.

AS we approached Edinburgh from Dal⯑keith, the country around is woody, and cultivated; but it is cultivated in the Numidian faſhion; praeter oppido propinqua, alia omnia vaſta, atque inculta ^*.

A nearer approach did not give us a more pleaſing idea of the environs of Edinburgh. We had always heard it repreſented as one of the moſt pictureſque towns in Britain; but people often conſider romantic and pictureſque, as ſynonymous. Arthur's ſeat which is ſtill the principal object, appears ſtill as odd, miſhapen, and uncouth as before. It gave us the idea of a cap of maintenance in heral⯑dry; and a view with ſuch a ſtaring feature in it, can no more be pictureſque, than a face with a bulbous noſe can be beautiful. The [60] town and caſtle indeed on the left, make ſome amends, and are happily introduced. In front alſo, between the eye and Arthur's ſeat, ſtands an old caſtle-like building, called Craigmiller, which has a good effect. It is celebrated for being the ſcene, where the unfortunate Mary, repenting her raſh match with Darnley, would often retire from the public eye, and indulge her melancholy in private. Here too her imagination might draw a parallel between the brutal manners of that prince, and thoſe of the all-obſequious Bothwell, for whom her paſſion at this time is ſaid to have taken root.

But the ſituation of Edinburgh, tho it can⯑not be called pictureſque, is very peculiar. The caſtle ſtands ſo loftily, that it was called by the Romans, the alatum caſtrum, or the winged caſtle, as if it ſtood in the air. The rock is perpendicular on every ſide, but the caſt; from whence it deſcends gently, in a ridge, through the ſpace of a mile and a half, into the plain below. On this ridge, which contains room only for one ample ſtreet, the town is built. From this form it is eaſy to conceive, the different appearances, which [61] Edinburgh preſents, on going round it. As you approach from the ſouth, it appears like a grand city of noble extent. As you move to the right, it's ſize gradually diminiſhes. But when you view it from the Muſſelborough road, which is in a direction due eaſt, the ſtreet is gone; and the houſes are all crouded together, as if they had retreated under the walls of the caſtle. And yet the appearance of the town, and caſtle thus united by per⯑ſpective into one vaſt object, is extremely grand. If they had been ſeen before from no other ſituation; and the ground plot unknown, the imagination would have been totally loſt in developing ſo ſtrange a production of art. Formerly, the whole town was ſurrounded by water; from which the French gave it the name of L'iſleburgh. But now the water is entirely drained off.

The antiquity of Edinburgh cannot be traced: but it's hiſtory eaſily may. No times, but thoſe of anarchy, and ariſtocratic confu⯑ſion, could have fixed on ſuch a ſituation for a capital—a ſituation ſo extremely inconve⯑nient, that the town would long ago have left the craggy ridge it occupies, and have de⯑ſcended into the plain below, which lies [62] perfectly commodious to receive it; if the magiſtrates, whoſe intereſt it is to keep it where it ſtands, had not forcibly prohibited it's removal; notwithſtanding which it is, in one part ſpreading into a noble city, con⯑ſtructed on modern rules of ſymmetry and convenience.—It was not however till late in the Scottiſh annals, that Edinburgh be⯑came the ſeat of empire. A ſituation, ſouth of the Forth, was thought too much expoſed to Engliſh inroads: and tho it has now been long conſidered as the capital of Scotland, it was never, except occaſionally, the reſidence of the Scottiſh kings. Perth had that honour anciently; and Sterling in more modern times.

One part is particularly pleaſing, in which the bridge over the North-loch (which is a noble piece of architecture) is introduced in the diſtance like a Roman aquaduct.

Holy-rood houſe is a grand palace, occu⯑pying a large ſquare. The front conſiſting of a round tower on each ſide of the gate, is of ancient architecture. The body of the edifice was conſtructed by Sir William Bruce, ſince the Grecian orders were introduced. The gallery is a noble room. It is a hundred and forty-ſeven feet long, and twenty-nine broad; and has that dark ſolemn ap⯑pearance, in which grandeur and dignity ſo much conſiſt. It is adorned with a ſucceſſion of an hundred and eleven kings from Fergus the firſt to James the ſeventh;—a ſeries which [64] carries the Scottiſh monarchy, in the ordinary ſcale of calculation, not indeed quite to the times of Noah, but above two thirds of the way. Be the authenticity of theſe princes however what it may, as they are all painted by one hand (which has been no deſpicable one) and in a dark ſtyle, ſuited to the ſolemnity of the place, they have all together a uni⯑form, and pleaſing effect. In this palace we were ſhewn the blood of David Rizio—the chamber where the queen ſat at ſupper when he was killed—the private door, through which Ruthven entered in complete armour; and the room, into which Rizio was dragged, adjoining to that, in which the queen ſat. Such was the barbarity of thoſe times, that the lord high chancellor of Scotland, the guar⯑dian of it's laws, himſelf joined with a band of ruffians in perpetrating this murder.

Holy-rood houſe was formerly an abbey, as well as a royal manſion; and among it's appendages are the ruins of a Gothic chapel, which was once very beautiful. Divine ſer⯑vice had ceaſed in it, ſince the time of the reformation: but it had long continued to be the burial place of ſome of the beſt families in Scotland: and in honour of this ſacred truſt, [65] it was ſome years ago repaired. But the architects employed in the repairs, had very different ideas from thoſe, who had been employed in the original ſtructure. A mo⯑dern heavy roof was thrown over light, airy Gothic walls: the conſequence of which was, it cruſhed them. On the night of the 2d of December, 1768, a craſh was heard by the inhabitants of the neighbour⯑ing diſtrict; and in the morning, the roof, walls, and monuments were all blended in one confuſed maſs of irretrievable ruin.

This chapel is ſaid to have been the moſt beautiful ſpecimen of Gothic architecture in Scotland, except one, which ſtill exiſts, at Roſlin, in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh; which, through an unhappy miſtake we did not ſee. It was built about the year 1440, which was the age of the pureſt Gothic; and therefore we could eaſily give credit to what we were told of the beauty of it's con⯑ſtruction. It's ſides are ſupported by but⯑treſſes, like King's College-chapel, and Weſt⯑minſter-abbey; but in a ſtile ſtill richer than either of thoſe ſtructures.

At Roſlin alſo ſtand the ruins of a caſtle, built on a projecting rock, which overlooks [66] a deep valley. The whole, we were told, affords a very beautiful ſcene.

Arthur's ſeat preſents an unpleaſing view from every ſtation. Some formal part ſtares you in the face in every corner of Edin⯑burgh. You rarely meet even with a pic⯑tureſque fragment. It's great regularity has in part been owing to the ſtreets of London; which were paved from it's bowels. A girdle of quarry running round it, adds to it's for⯑mality.

This rocky hill was once probably a pic⯑tureſque ſcene; for it was once, we were informed, covered with wood. But this was then thought ſo great a nuiſance, that, we were told, there is ſtill exiſting an ancient record, from which it appears, that every man, who would take building-timber from Arthur's ſeat, ſhould be indulged with the privilege of projecting his houſe over the ſtreet.

SECT. VIII.

FROM Edinburgh we took the Sterling road, along the Forth; which afforded us a great variety of pleaſing views.

In one of the moſt pleaſing, the caſtle of Garvy is introduced, ſtanding near the water-edge, at the point of a promontory, which ſeems to be formed by the high lands, on the northern ſide of the Forth. This how⯑ever is only it's apparent ſituation. In fact it ſtands upon an iſland; the inſularity of which is intirely hid. In this place the Forth becomes a narrow ſtrait of about two miles over; and Garvy-caſtle, which occupies the mid-channel, was intended for it's defence. It commands a view of the whole Forth—on the weſt as far as Sterling—and on the eaſt as far as the iſle of May. On the ſouthern ſhore of this ſtrait ſtands Queen's-ferry, from whence the Forth widens again into a con⯑ſiderable [68] bay on the weſt. The whole ſcenery is indeed very pleaſing; and to thoſe, who had time to examine it as it deſerves, would afford very beautiful views.

Hopton-houſe is the next great object we meet. The firſt view of it from the road, at a diſtance, over a bay of the Forth, is very pictureſque. It appears behind a ſloping hill, which hides one of it's wings. The horizontal lines of the houſe, and the diverg⯑ing lines of the hill accord agreeably.—A regular building always appears beſt, when thus connected with ſome irregular object. A new ſource of beauty ariſes from the con⯑traſt: and indeed without it, a regular building has ſeldom a good effect. When the artiſt therefore is under the neceſſity of painting a modern houſe, he is under the neceſſity alſo of breaking it's regularity, at leaſt with a few branches of trees, if he have nothing elſe at hand. Square lines, and angles uncontraſted, can never be pictureſque.

Behind the houſe the ground is more various, breaking into hills, vallies, and promontories, which ſhoot into the Forth. All the grounds, to a conſiderable extent, appear planted and adorned, and the houſe is very judiciouſly flanked with wood againſt the north winds, which attack it from the Forth.

On this ſide, as well as in front, the Forth appears in various ſhapes, aſſuming ſometimes the form of a lake, and ſometimes of a river, according to the point from which it is ſeen. The former ſhape it aſſumes, when it is ſeen in lengthened perſpective; the latter when it is viewed directly acroſs. Under both ideas, it is equally grand.

Around this vaſt and magnificent ſcenery, ariſe mountains in various forms, and at various diſtances. In ſhort, the whole ſcene, and all it's appendages, on every ſide, as far [70] as the eye can traverſe, is great, and noble; and the houſe is ſo fixed, as to receive the full advantage of it's ſituation.

With regard to improvements indeed little can be ſaid^*. The old ideas of formality ſtill exiſt; and have taken full poſſeſſion of the environs of the houſe. But they might eaſily be diſplaced. There is ſo much depth in the woods, ſo much variety in the ground, and ſo much ſpace on every ſide, that the whole ſcene is capable of any im⯑provement.

The houſe is a very magnificent piece of architecture. It was begun by Sir William Bruce, the moſt celebrated architect ^* the Scotch ever had; and finiſhed by Mr. Adam. The latter, I believe, added the wings, which are a great ornament to it. That wing, which appears in the view, next to the Forth, is a range of ſtables. The other, which is hid, is intended for a library; but it is not yet finiſhed. When it is compleat it will be a ^† [71] very noble room. Some of the other rooms alſo are grand; but, in general, the apart⯑ments are ſmaller, than we ſhould expect to find in ſo magnificent a ſtructure: nor does the contrivance of the houſe ſeem equal to the beauty of the architecture.

The pictures, of which there is a numer⯑ous collection, have been choſen with good taſte: but moſt of them were underſized. Little pictures give a littleneſs even to a grand room. A ſuitableneſs even in theſe things ſhould be obſerved.

From Hopton-houſe we ſtill continued our ride along the Forth; and were entertained, for ſome miles, with views of the woods, and grounds belonging to the noble manſion we had left.

Many natural beauties alſo we ſaw—hills and promontories, and winding bays, which had a fine effect in nature; and tho deficient in point of objects to characterize each ſcene, they were ſtill accommodated to the pencil. A country may pleaſe the eye in all it's naked, and unadorned rudeneſs; but when a portion of it is ſelected for a view, it's features muſt [72] be uncommonly ſtriking, if it can ſupport itſelf without the ornament of ſome artificial object, which both characterizes a ſcene; and adds dignity to it. The natural beauties of this country in a great degree rendered theſe appendages unneceſſary. We had many noble views formed by the Forth, and it's lofty ſhores, which would have made good pictures, tho unſupported by artificial objects. And yet in ſome parts we found objects alſo.

One view of this kind we had, which was very pictureſque. It was a view of Blackneſs-caſtle, which ſhooting a conſiderable way into the lake, forms a bay between it, and the eye. This bay is one of the nobleſt inland harbours in Scotland: and the caſtle was its defence. It preſerved alſo the communication by water between Sterling, and Edinburgh. In after times it became a ſtate priſon; and, if fame ſpeaks truth, could unfold, during the religious diſſentions of the country, many a tale of cruelty.

From hence we directed our courſe to Fal⯑kirk. At Linlithgow, which lies in the road, the kings of Scotland had formerly one of their nobleſt palaces; in the number and grandeur of which they ſeem to have equalled any princes in Europe. This palace ſtands on a riſing ground running into a lake; a ſituation which can rarely fail of pleaſing; but we were prevented by the weather from taking ſuch a view of it as we wiſhed. In this palace was born the celebrated Mary queen of Scots.

In Linlithgow the houſe is ſtill ſhewn from whence the earl of Murray, regent of Scot⯑land, [74] was ſhot as he paſſed along the ſtreet. It was one of the moſt deliberate aſſaſſinations upon record. Scotland, during the impri⯑ſonment of Mary, was divided by vio⯑lent factions. The earl of Murray and his adherents ſided againſt the queen: the houſe of Hamilton ſupported her. A gentleman, of this name, and family, inflamed both by party, and a very flagrant private injury, re⯑ſolved to deſtroy the regent. He had long attended his motions, to find a favourable op⯑portunity; and at length determined to ſhoot him, as he paſſed through Linlithgow in his way from Sterling to Edinburgh. The regent was riding leiſurely through the high ſtreet, talking with a gentleman on his left hand, when a muſket was fired ſuddenly from a window on the right; and the regent receiving the ball, fell dead over his horſe's neck. The houſe from whence the blow came, was immediately aſſaulted; but the front door being barricaded, could not immediately be forced. Hamilton, in the mean time, mounted a ſwift horſe, which ſtood ready at a poſtern, and eſcaped.

[75]From Falkirk, we ſtill continued our rout to Sterling. In our way we croſſed the great canal; which forms the northern part of Scot⯑land into an iſland, by joining the frith of Clyde with that of Forth. Buſy man is ever at work grubbing the ſoil on which he exiſts; ſometimes caſting up heaps, and ſometimes throwing them down. A few centuries ago the bands of Agricola were as eager in raiſing this very ſpot into a rampart, as our contem⯑poraries are now in delving it into a canal. Both works were great efforts of human power: but the Britiſh ſeems to be the greater. It was a mighty work, no doubt, to raiſe an earthen mound ſufficient to confine a nation: but it is ſtill perhaps a greater work, to in⯑troduce a new element, and bring the ſloops of the ocean to land their cargoes among the inland mountains of the country.—As a uſeful and humane work however the modern one is, beyond all doubt, more reſpectable; inaſmuch as it is more conducive to the hap⯑pineſs of mankind to open a communication between one country, and another; than to block a nation up in it's barbarity, and ſhut [76] it out from every opportunity of knowledge, and improvement.—In a pictureſque light, I know not whether to call the Roman, or the Britiſh work, more diſguſting. Both equally deform the natural face of the coun⯑try.

In this neighbourhood are ſtill to be traced the works of Agricola. Some parts of the mound, which he threw up, and fortified between the Forth and the Clyde, are ſtill viſible; and known by the name of Graham's dyke. The antiquarian alſo traces many forts in different parts, where this mound ran, ca⯑pable of containing an army. It is not how⯑ever generally ſuppoſed, that theſe were all the works of Agricola; but that other gene⯑rals, who ſucceeded him, made additions to what he had done.

Among theſe remains on the banks of the Carron, one of the moſt remarkable was an edifice; the uſe, and origin of which exceed⯑ingly puzzled antiquarians. It was a rotunda, open at the top, like the Pantheon at Rome, tho of very inferior workmanſhip, and dimen⯑ſions. From the ground to the ſummit of the dome it meaſured twenty-two feet—the diameter in the inſide was nineteen and an [77] half. Boethius is the chief hiſtorian, who gives us any account of it's more perfect ſtate. He tells us, that it's area within was ſur⯑rounded by ſtone ſeats—that on the ſouth was an altar; and that the floor had been teſſelated. The common people called it Ar⯑thur's oven: but many antiquarians have ſup⯑poſed it to have been a temple, built for the god Terminus by Agricola, on his fixing here the boundaries of the Roman empire. This valuable piece of antiquity was deſtroyed by the proprietor, Sir Michael Bruce, in the year 1742, for the ſake of the ſtone, with which it was conſtructed. The deed raiſed ſuch indignation in Dr. Stukely, that I have heard, he drew Sir Michael carrying off his lap full of ſtones; and the devil goading him along. This drawing, miſerable as we may ſuppoſe it from ſuch an artiſt, was en⯑graved, I believe, and publiſhed by the anti⯑quarian ſociety in their repertory.

In the neighbourhood of the new canal are the great forges of the Carron-works; which exhibit a ſet of the moſt infernal ideas. In one place, where coal is converted into coke [78] by diſcharging it of ſulphur, and the fire ſpread of courſe over a large ſurface; the volumes of ſmoke, the ſpiry flames, and the ſuffocating heat of the glimmering air, are wonderfully affecting. How vaſt the fire is, we may conceive, when we are told, it conſumes often a hundred tons of coal in a day. At night it's glare is inconceivably grand.

In another part of theſe works, we admired the maſſy bellows, which rouſe the furnaces. They are put in motion by water; and re⯑ceiving the air in large cylinders, force it out again through ſmall orifices, roaring with aſtoniſhing noiſe. The fire of the furnace thus rouſed, becomes a glowing ſpot, which the eye can no more look at, than at the ſun. Under ſuch intenſe heat, the rugged ſtone inſtantly diſſolves in ſtreams of liquid iron.

Among the horrid ideas of this place, it is not the leaſt, that you ſee every where, black, ſooty figures wheeling about, in iron wheel-barrows, molten metal, glowing hot.

Within leſs than a mile from the Carron-works was fought the battle of Falkirk. The workmen pointing out the place on a moor; bad us obſerve, upon the higheſt part of it, two ſmall houſes together, and one at a diſ⯑tance: [79] between theſe, they ſaid, the principal attack was made: tho I believe, now Falkirk⯑moor is incloſed, and cultivated; and the ſcene of action perhaps ſcarcely to be traced^*.

As we approach Sterling, the Forth, con⯑tracting it's dimenſions, loſes the form of an eſtuary; and takes that of a river: but we leave it's banks; and afterwards have only diſtant views of it; and theſe by degrees be⯑came leſs frequent. The country, through which we travelled, was in general flat, and barren of objects, except that here and there we had a mountain ſcene in the offſkip. In one part we ſaw the remains of an old fortreſs, called Briſcaſtle; which rather diverſified an unintereſting ſcene.

SECT. IX.

THE caſtle of Sterling, tho an object of great importance, makes no appearance, till we approach within three miles of it. It has the air of the caſtle of Edinburgh; only inſtead of the formality of Arthur's ſeat, the back-ground here is a ſimple mountain. There is nothing very beautiful in the ſcenery around it; but an object of ſuch conſequence will give dignity to any ſcene.

As we approach nearer, and the caſtle comes forward from the back ground, it appears with ſtill more dignity.

Viewed upon the ſpot, the outſide of it is very inferior to the caſtle of Edinburgh. The rock, on which it ſtands, has neither the height, the circumference, nor the broken ſurface of that ſuperb fortreſs. But if it be inferior on the outſide, it is infinitely grander within. Edinburgh caſtle is only a collection [82] of barracks, magazines, and officers houſes; whereas in Sterling-caſtle you find very noble remains of royal magnificence. It was often the reſidence of the kings of Scotland. Almoſt the whole minority of James the ſixth, under his tutor Buchanan, was ſpent here; and in troubleſome times it was always a place of refuge to the diſtreſſes of majeſty. Accord⯑ingly it contains all the accompaniments of a regal reſidence; a palace, a chapel, and a parliament houſe. The palace, in the inſide, is totally without form, being now converted into barracks; but on the outſide, it is very richly and curiouſly adorned with groteſque figures. The chapel is an elegant and ſimple pile; and the parliament houſe is a very magnificent room: it is one hundred and twenty feet in length, and lofty in proportion. At the entrance of the caſtle, the palaces of the earls of Argyle and Mar ſtand, like two royal ſupporters. They are now indeed in ruins; but they have once been very ſump⯑tuous buildings.

The views from the caſtle are in general over a barren, and unintereſting country: but [83] amends is made by the ſuperior excellence of one of them over the Forth, which has always been eſteemed the moſt celebrated view in Scotland. It is not indeed pictureſque; but it is exceedingly grand, and amuſing. You overlook a flat valley of vaſt extent, ſtretching almoſt as far as Edinburgh; through which the windings of the Forth are very intricate, and curious. From the caſtle gate to Alloa it is four miles by land; but if you go by water, it is above twenty. Through a few of the firſt large peninſular ſweeps the eye can follow the courſe of the river; but afterwards all becomes confuſed, and broken into patches of land and water. At Alloa, the river is a mile broad: at Sterling, it is contained within four arches. Through the whole of this vaſt channel the tide winds as through a great gut. But it is a ſedgy, impure ſtream; the flux and reflux of the tide continually mixing the ſoil with it's waters, and ſtirring up the mud. It is navigated as far as Sterling by ſhips of ſeventy or eighty tons: but if they truſt to their ſails alone through the courſe of this ſinuous navigation, they muſt wait for the benefit of every wind round the compaſs, two or three times over.

[84]The valley through which the Forth makes theſe uncommon windings, tho not a rich one, is by no means barren. It is varied with wood in ſeveral parts, with villages alſo, and other buildings; among which the abbey of Cambuſkenneth is conſpicuous. Of this ruin nothing now remains, but a ſingle tower. On the right, this valley, which is wide in proportion to it's length, is bounded only by high grounds; but on the left, it is more nobly confined by the mountains of Ochil, and Clackmannan.

There are few countries perhaps on the face of the earth, of ſuch narrow dimenſions as Scotland, which have been the ſcenes of a greater variety of military events. Invaſions from Norway, from Denmark, and from Ireland—irruptions from the Roman barrier— together with the various feuds, and animo⯑ſities among the Scotch themſelves, which have been more frequent than among any other people, have deluged the country, through different periods, in blood. But above all, the conſtant quarrels between the Scotch, and Engliſh, which were generally [85] decided in Scotland, have made it a fertile ſcene of military events; to which ſeveral have been added by rebellions, ſince the union. In fact you can hardly aſcend any elevated ground, without throwing your eye over the ſcene of ſome memorable action.

As the caſtle of Sterling has for many ages been a fortreſs, we are not ſurprized that it's neighbourhood abounds with ſcenes of this kind. Many a ſiege it has ſuſtained; one through the ſpace of a whole year againſt the puiſſant arms of Edward the firſt. Not fewer, I believe, than a dozen fields of battle may be counted from it's walls. Of the four great battles, which were fought by the two firſt Edwards, in ſupport of their tyranny in Scotland, three were in the vicinity of this caſtle.

Within two years after the battle of Dunbar, in which Edward the firſt broke the power of Scotland, the ſpirit of Wallace rouſed the Scotch again to arms. Edward was then in France: but a large force under earl Warren endeavoured to quell them. A battle was fought under the walls of Sterling; in which Wallace was victorious.

[86]This ſucceſs drew Edward out of France. He entered Scotland at the head of a large army; and at the memorable battle of Falkirk, fought in the year 1298, broke it's power a ſecond time.

The famous battle of Bannocburn was the laſt of theſe four great battles; and was fought within two miles of Sterling. This was the moſt glorious action in the whole annals of Scotland; as it entirely freed it from the Engliſh yoke.—Philip of Mowbray held this fortreſs for Edward the ſecond, which was almoſt the only fortreſs he poſſeſſed. Mowbray was hard preſſed by the Scotts, and had pro⯑miſed to capitulate, if he was not relieved by ſuch a day. Edward, in the mean time, reſolved to relieve him; and entered Scotland with an army much greater than had ever entered it before. Many hiſtorians rate it at one hundred thouſand men, which number however is wholly incredible. Early on the morning of the 25th of June 1314, the Engliſh army was deſcried from the caſtle, marching in gallant array to relieve them. The Scotch army, well poſted, lay between. The walls were crouded with anxious ſpectators. Very ſoon the Engliſh cavalry, led on by the earl [87] of Glouceſter, was ſeen to puſh forward, and begin the attack. But they were preſently repulſed. Immediately after, the whole field was ſeen in confuſion; but from what cauſe, could not at that diſtance be conjectured. This confuſion ſoon ended in a total rout. The Engliſh army fled; and the Scotts with all their force purſued. The caſe was, the horſe had been decoyed into pitfalls, where many of them being overthrown, the reſt fell back with confuſion on the main body. The diſorder was ſtill farther increaſed by the ap⯑pearance of a new army marching round their flanks, tho in fact it was artfully compoſed only of ſuttlers, furniſhed with military en⯑ſigns. The loweſt accounts make the Engliſh to have loſt, on that day, ten thouſand men. The earl of Glouceſter was killed; and the king himſelf with difficulty eſcaped.

As we ſtood upon the ſeven gun battery an old gunner ſhewed us the ſituation of the rebels, and their intrenchments, when they attacked the caſtle in the year 1745. Blakeney, the governor, brought two or three of his bat⯑teries to bear upon a piece of riſing ground between him and their works, which he took it for granted they would endeavour to occupy. [88] The ſpot is ſo near, that you may throw a ſtone upon it from the walls. Then feigning intimidation, he ordered his men to lie cloſe, till the rebels, among whom he ſaw every ſymptom of raſhneſs, and inexperience, ſhould advance their works to the deſtined ground. As ſoon as they were well collected upon it, ſuch a terrible diſcharge of cannon, and ſmall arms, burſt at once upon them, from various parts, that ſeven hundred men were left dead upon the ſpot, the reſt fled with trepidation; and the ſiege was inſtantly raiſed.

SECT. X.

AS we left Sterling, we had a fine retroſ⯑pect of it, in which the caſtle takes a more exalted ſtation, than any in which we had yet ſeen it.

At Sterling we croſſed the Forth, and tra⯑velling twenty four miles under the Ochil mountains, on the north ſide of the river, (a tract of country affording little amuſement) we came to the town of Kinroſs with an intention to viſit the ſcenes of Loch-leven.

This lake, on the ſide next Kinroſs, is bounded by a plain; on the other ſide, by mountains. It is about eleven miles in cir⯑cumference, and is of a circular form: but as the eye views it on a level, it loſes it's cir⯑cular appearance, and ſtretches into length, forming many beautiful bays.

[90]Near the middle of the lake, are two iſlands. One of them is noted for paſturage: the other (which contains little more than an acre of ground) is adorned with a caſtle, which, as a ſpot of peculiar beauty, or perhaps rather of ſecurity, was once a royal manſion.

All the level ſide of the lake, between the water and Kinroſs, is occupied by open groves. At the weſt end of the lake ſtands a handſome houſe, delightfully ſituated, belonging to the family of Bruce. It was built in the reign of Charles the ſecond by Sir William Bruce, for his own reſidence; and is eſteemed a beautiful piece of architecture. In this neigh⯑bourhood there is another monument of his genius; the houſe of the earl of Rothes, near Leſley; but we had not time to ſee it. The gardens at Kinroſs run down to the mar⯑gin of the lake; which in all it's ſplendor is ſpread before them. Sir William Bruce, when he built the houſe, made wide plan⯑tations around it; which are now come to maturity. Indeed all it's appendages were ſo pleaſing, that I do not remember being often ſtruck with a more beautiful ſcene; which a ſweet evening, no doubt, contributed greatly to improve. If we had ſeen it under a gloomy [91] ſky, it might perhaps have loſt ſome of it's beauties.

I ſhall never forget the ſweet compoſure of an evening walk along the margin of the lake; ſhrouded on the right by an irregular ſcreen of Mr. Bruce's pines; and open to the water on the left. A ſoothing ſtillneſs ran through the ſcene. It was one of thoſe mild, ſoft evenings, when not a breath diſturbs the air. About ſun ſet, a light grey miſt, ariſing from the lake, began to ſpread over the land⯑ſcape. Creeping firſt along the ſurface of the water, it roſe by degrees up the hills; blending both together in that pleaſing ambi⯑guity, through which we can but juſt diſtin⯑guiſh the limits of each. I do not call this the moſt beautiful mode of viſion: but it certainly exhibits in great perfection a gra⯑duating tint; which is among the moſt pleaſing ſources of beauty. The miſt becom⯑ing thinner, as it aſcended the mountain; the ground of courſe appeared gradually ſtronger, as it emerged from it.

Our view was ſtill improved by pictureſque figures upon the foreground. Some fiſhermen were dragging a net to the ſhore, which had been carried into the lake by a boat. We [92] waited, till the contents of the net were diſ⯑charged; among which were ſome very fine trout. We ſaw them again at ſupper; and found afterwards that this ſpecies of fiſh, which is more red than ſalmon, is peculiar to this lake: and tho a critic in eating would travel many miles to taſte this delicate food in perfection, we were informed it ſold at the price of three farthings a pound.

The caſtle, which appeared floating on the lake, was a happy circumſtance in the ſcene; pointing the view from every part. It was important in itſelf; and ſtill more ſo by an aſſociation of ideas, through it's connection with that unfortunate princeſs, Mary, queen of Scotts; whoſe beauty, and guilt have united pity, and deteſtation through every part of her hiſtory^*. In this caſtle ſhe was confined by the confederate lords, after the murder of the king, and her marriage with Bothwell.

Her eſcape from it was effected thus. The caſtle belonged to a gentleman of the name of Douglas; to whoſe care the confederate lords [93] had intruſted her. George Douglas, his younger brother, a youth of eighteen, lived in the fa⯑mily, whom Mary ſingled out as the inſtru⯑ment of her deliverance. When ſhe had ſe⯑cured his heart, ſhe employed his abilities. A plan was laid between them, and executed on Sunday night, the 2d of May 1568. Young Douglas contrived, as his brother ſat down to ſupper, to ſecure the keys of the caſtle. The queen ſtood ready at the gate; which her faith⯑ful conductor locked behind her, and threw the keys into the lake. A boat had been prepared, and the oars of all the other boats were thrown adrift. Every poſſibility of im⯑mediate purſuit being cut off, the queen reach⯑ed the ſhore in ſecurity; where lord Seaton, and ſir James Hamilton ſtood ready, with ſwift horſes, to receive her.

Every pictureſque ſubject may be treated on canvas two ways. The fact may be repreſented under it's plain circumſtances—or it may be repreſented under an allegory. Theſe two modes of repreſentation anſwer to hiſtory, and poetry; both of which may often adorn the ſame ſubject.

In the hiſtorical repreſentation of a fact, the artiſt has only to obſerve the common rules [94] of his art. He muſt attend to deſign, com⯑poſition, light and ſhade, expreſſion, and ſo forth. But in the allegorical repreſentation, beſides theſe, ſomething more is required. The allegory muſt be juſt, and conſiſtent; and demands another kind of knowledge, be⯑ſides that of the principles of his art. It may be formed either on a heathen, or a chriſtian plan: but, on either, it muſt be both uniform in itſelf; and agreeable to the mode of ma⯑chinery, which it adopts. It is the neglect of this uniformity, and propriety, which renders the allegorical mode of treating a ſubject, ſo often diſguſting.

Nobody hath contributed more to bring contempt on allegory, than Rubens. Nobody painted more in that mode; and when he had to do with ſubjects, intirely fabulous, he ge⯑nerally did well: but in his attempts to alle⯑gorize hiſtory, he often failed. In repreſenting a marriage, for inſtance, he would not ſcruple to introduce a chriſtian biſhop performing the the ceremony; while Minerva, or the Graces perhaps waited as bride-maids. Nothing can be more abſurd, than ſuch a medley.

If the ſubject be treated hiſtorically, let the king, or the prince give his daughter away; [95] and let the gentlemen, and ladies of the court attend in their proper dreſſes. If it be treated in heathen allegory, erect the temple of Hymen —let the God himſelf appear—rear the altar— call in Juno pronuba—and let as many of the gods, and goddeſſes attend in their different capacities, as may be thought convenient. But if the allegory be chriſtian, diſmiſs the heathen deities—introduce chriſtian virtues in their room—and deck the temple, and altar with proper appendages. Allegory thus treated is very pleaſing: and tho, where the ſubject is grand, and noble, I ſhould in general prefer a hiſtory piece well-painted, to the ſame ſubject treated equally well in allegory; yet ſuch ſubjects, as a marriage for inſtance, which af⯑ford few circumſtances of importance, and little room for expreſſion, are beſt treated in the allegorical ſtyle. The imagination of the painter muſt inrich the poverty of the ſub⯑ject.

The little ſtory of Mary's eſcape from Loch-leven, is one of theſe. It is replete with circumſtances, which admit of allegory; but are little adapted to hiſtory. Love is the ſubject of it; and love-ſtories, which of all others are below the dignity of hiſtorical [96] repreſentation, are beſt conſigned to allegory. The narrative, in this light, might run thus; from which the painter might chooſe his point of time, and adorn his ſubject with ſuch em⯑blematical appendages, as he liked beſt.

But neither the walls of Loch-leven caſtle, nor the lake which ſurrounded it, were bar⯑riers againſt love. Mary had thoſe bewitching charms, which always raiſed her friends. She wore a ceſtus; and might be ſaid to number among her conſtant attendants, the God of Love himſelf. His ready wit reſtored her liberty. Time, and place were obedient to his will. His contrivance laid the plan. His addreſs ſecured the keys: and his activity provided the bark; to which he led her; with his own hand carrying the torch, to guide her footſteps through the darkneſs of the night.—Con⯑fuſion ran through the caſtle. Haſty lights were ſeen paſſing and repaſſing at every win⯑dow; and traverſing the iſland in all directions. The laughing God, the mean while, riding at the poop, with one hand, held the helm; and with the other waved his torch in triumph round his head. The boat ſoon made the ſhore, and landed the lovely queen in a port of ſecurity; where Loyalty, and Friendſhip wait⯑ed to receive her.

SECT. XI.

FROM Loch-leven we continued our rout northward, through a country of little curioſity. About eight miles before we reach Perth, we have a noble view from the higher grounds of an extenſive vale—the fertile coun⯑try of Strathern; through which the river Erne appears winding with many a meander, till it enter the Tay. This vale extends at leaſt thirty miles; and the eye commands it almoſt from end to end. Of the beautiful ſituations it affords great advantage hath been taken by the gentlemen of the neighbourhood. You ſee it in many parts marked with diſtant plantations; and can often diſtinguiſh the buildings, of which theſe plantations are the appendages. Far to the weſt ſtands Drum⯑mond-caſtle, once the reſidence of the earls of Perth—now an ill-fated, forſaken manſion. [98] —In an oppoſite direction, beyond the Erne, you diſtinguiſh a rich ſcene of plantation. There the earl of Kinnoul has extended his woods on every ſide. You may yet diſtinguiſh Duplin-caſtle riſing among them; but ſoon the woods will totally obſcure it. In it's neighbourhood was fought the celebrated bat⯑tle of Duplin; in which the family of Hay, like the Roman Fabii, were almoſt cut off to a man. From a paſſage in Claudian one would ſuppoſe, the Erne to have been often before dyed with blood.

Beyond the vale of Erne, which is a much richer landſcape, than is commonly found in Scotland, the eye is ſtill carried into a diſtance more remote. It eaſily diſtinguiſhes where that river, at the end of the vale, enters the Tay; which is now a grand eſtuary, and is one of the principal features of the view. You trace it, if the day be clear, as far as Dundee; where mak⯑ing a ſudden turn, it retreats behind the higher grounds. This whole vaſt diſtance, both of Strathern, and of the vale of Tay, is bounded by mountains; as the Scotch views in general [99] are, which add both ornament, and dignity to them.

We did not however ſee this landſcape with full advantage. The day was clear; and a noon-tide ſun, in all it's dazzling brightneſs, had ſpread over it that full profuſion of light, which is ſo unfavourable to landſcape. A per⯑pendicular ray ſcarce allowed the exiſtence of ſhade: whereas to give the landſcape it's full advantage, the ſhadow, not the light ſhould have prevailed. The mountains par⯑ticularly ſhould have been in ſhade. In almoſt all caſes the darkened mountain makes the moſt reſpectable figure, except perhaps when under a morning, or an evening ſun, you wiſh to tip it's prominent knolls with light. Under the ſhadow of the mountains a gentle light ſpreading into the vale, would have had a beautiful effect; and as it decayed, it might have marked two or three objects with ſplendor, to carry on the idea to the end of the ſcene.

We did not enter Strathern; but left it on the right, and made towards the moun⯑tains of Moncrief.

From theſe heights we had a retroſpect of the ſame ſcenes; only more extended. The [100] vale of Erne, which lay before to the north, was now removed to the ſouth: but under this different aſpect had ſtill a better effect; at leaſt it was ſo much better enlightened, when we now ſaw it, that it appeared to much greater advantage. In another direction the eye extended over the rich plains of Gowry, and the Frith of Tay, even to it's junction with the ocean.

The high grounds, where we now ſtood, make a part of the Grampian hills, which run through the middle of Scotland, from Aberdeenſhire in the eaſt, into Argyleſhire in the weſt. Some interruption, no doubt, they meet with; and rarely, I believe, in any part, ſwell into mountains of remarkable note; but in the loweſt parts they form a conſiderable riſe, and on the whole may be eſteemed among the grand features of the country. In a pictu⯑reſque light, from the little ſpecimen we ſaw of them, they afford great variety of ground, riſing into well-ſhaped hills, and ſinking into beautiful vallies, adorned with foaming rivulets, which carry their ſuccours on both ſides of [101] the Grampian, to the different rivers of emi⯑nence their ſeveral diviſions.

But this country is ſtill more remarkable as a ſcene of hiſtory, than of pictureſque beauty. Here we trod, what may almoſt be called claſſic ground; where the laſt effort was made in defence of Britiſh liberty.

As yet the Glota, and Bodotria, (the friths of Clyde, and Forth) were the boundaries of the Roman power in Britain: and the neck of land between theſe eſtuaries, being for⯑tified^*, confined the barbarous inhabitants within it's bounds. This curb they bore with impatience; and determined to exert them⯑ſelves in driving the Romans ſtill farther from their frontiers. In one of their incurſions falling upon the ninth legion in the night, they committed great ſlaughter.

The wiſe, and prudent Agricola, who commanded the Roman legions, ſeems to have had no great deſire to carry his arms farther: but being rouſed by theſe repeated inſults, he at length drew out his legions, and marched them into the enemy's country; ordering [102] his fleet, which had ſailed round the eaſtern coaſt of England from Sandwich, and was then in the Forth, to attend his march.

The news of the Roman legions in motion ſoon drew together the whole force of the Britons, under one of their ableſt leaders. What was the name of this commander in his own barbarous language, we know not: but in the Latin of Tacitus he takes the name of Galgacus. This chief, ſeizing the higheſt ground of the Grampian hills, reſolved there to wait the enemy. A battle enſued; the particulars of which we have at large in Tacitus. The event was fatal to the Britons. They had fought gallantly through the whole day; but were at length intirely defeated, with the loſs of ten thouſand of their men killed upon the ſpot.

The next morning, the Romans had a full view of the melancholy event. The field was now ſilent, and ſolitary. Heaps of dead were lying round; but not a ſingle body of the enemy appeared, either on the plain, or in poſſeſſion of any poſt; while the country at a diſtance was ſeen from the heights involved in ſmoke, as if it had been ravaged by an enemy. The cauſe was ſoon diſcovered. [103] The Britons flying from the field, had them⯑ſelves, with barbarian fury, ſet fire to their own houſes, and villages; and many of them had even put to death their wives and chil⯑dren ^*. So innate a love of liberty burned within them, that when that was loſt, they thought all was loſt.

The exact ſpot, where this great battle was fought, is not eaſily aſcertained: but from the inveſtigation of learned antiquarians, it is ſuppoſed to be ſomewhere among theſe hills; and I have heard there is a place, where the vale of Strathern unites with them, which is to this day called Galgachan-moor.

Agricola, having refreſhed his troops, marched with a ſlow, and ſolemn motion, through the country; ordering his fleet to [104] ſail round the iſland, through the Orcades, and Hebrides, and along the weſtern coaſt of England. After a proſperous voyage it arrived ſafe at Sandwich in Kent; if that be, as it is ſuppoſed to be, the portus Trutulenſis of Tacitus; from whence, round the eaſtern coaſt, it had joined the army of Agricola in the frith of Forth.

This is commonly ſuppoſed to be the firſt account we have of the inſularity of Britain. Camden ſuppoſes it; and indeed Tacitus ſeems rather to imply it, when he tells us, that the Britons were uncommonly alarmed at the ap⯑pearance of the Roman fleet, leſt if it ſhould be found they were bounded by the ſea, they muſt re⯑linquiſh their laſt hope, which conſiſted in the igno⯑rance of the Romans ^*. It is implied too in the ſtory he tells us (if I underſtand it rightly) of the Uſipian cohort^†.

On the other hand many writers before Tacitus ſpeak of Britain as an iſland; and Caeſar gives us, with ſurprizing accuracy, the dimenſions of it.—I can only reconcile [105] this difference, by ſuppoſing that Agricola's voyage was the firſt authenticated circumna⯑vigation of Britain; and that all the accounts the Romans had before, were founded on con⯑jecture, and vague report; at leaſt not on any knowledge of their own.

Before I leave this account of Galgacus, I cannot forbear a ſhort remark on the elegant, and judicious hiſtorian, from whom we have it.

The candor of criticiſm commonly allows the hiſtorian to put the intentions and views of generals into the form of ſpeeches; tho ſuch ſpeeches neither were, nor could be ſpoken. It is a graceful decoration of action; and gives life to a character. Of this the beſt models of hiſtory afford frequent examples. But then manners, and cuſtoms ſhould be well obſerved. A Roman ſhould ſpeak like a Roman; and a barbarian like a barbarian. But Tacitus ſeems in this particular to have forgotten his uſual accuracy. He has put a long and laboured ſpeech into the mouth of Galgacus, which had no kind of ſimilitude to the manners of the Britons of that day, even as he himſelf deſcribes them. Galgacus ſeems perfectly informed of the ſtate, and hiſtory of [106] mankind at that period; and reaſons from a variety of topics, with ſo much elegance, perſpicuity, and coherence of argument, that Agricola himſelf, who harangues his troops in the next page, does not appear to more advantage. An inadvertence of this kind is the more ſurprizing in Tacitus, as ſuch ad⯑mirable rules with regard to propriety of character had juſt been fixed by a celebrated writer, almoſt his contemporary.

SECT. XII.

WE were now deſcending the mountains of Moncrief; and as we approached Perth, we had a beautiful view of that town. and it's invirons. Strathtay, or the vale of Tay, was ſpread before us. It is a level plain of conſiderable extent, ſkreened with woods, and ſurrounded with mountains. The Tay, forming a grand ſtream, winds through it; and about the middle of the vale ſtands the town; which with it's noble bridge, and the whole ſcenery around, forms a very amuſing landſcape.

This view, as we approach ſtill nearer, would be extremely pictureſque, were it not for one awkwardneſs, which totally incapacitates it for the pencil. The Tay runs in a direct line between parallel banks, from the town to the eye.—In a foreground, I think, the pain⯑ter, tho copying nature, need pay little atten⯑tion to ſuch awkwardneſſes; but may venture [108] to correct them. A liberty of this kind muſt be taken: it is impoſſible to compoſe a picture without it. The tranſlation muſt needs be bad, if the idiom of the language, into which you tranſlate, be not obſerved.

Perth was once the capital of Scotland ^*. Here the courts of juſtice ſat; the parliament aſſembled; and the king reſided. It was then defended by a ſtrong caſtle; and was remark⯑able for being the only walled town in the kingdom. It's dignity of courſe ſubjected it to many inſults. Whoever prevailed in Scot⯑land, had generally his eye firſt on Perth. In the Engliſh wars, it was always warmly con⯑teſted. Each of the three firſt Edwards had poſſeſſion of it; and each of them loſt it. It had it's ſhare alſo in the religious wars of 1559. And in the civil wars of the ſucceeding century, it was beſieged firſt by Montroſe; and afterwards by Cromwell. It's laſt ſiege is ſaid to have been the baſis of it's glory. Cromwell's ſoldiers being diſperſed about the country, introduced a ſpirit of induſtry, un⯑known before.

[109]The bridge at Perth, which is but juſt finiſhed, is equal to any bridge we find on this ſide of Weſtminſter. But the bridge at Perth has undergone as many revolutions as the town. It was ſwept away in the year 1210 by a pro⯑digious flood, which deſtroyed great part of the town itſelf. Many lives were loſt; and the royal family eſcaped with difficulty in a boat. Five times ſince that, it hath met the ſame fate.

At Perth every ſtranger muſt look through the window of Gowry-houſe, from whence James the ſixth called for help, when he feared aſſaſſination from the earl of Gowry. Among all the doubtful facts, which hiſ⯑tory hath endeavoured to develop, this is one of the moſt myſterious. Whether James intended to aſſaſſinate the earl of Gowry, and his brother; or, whether thoſe noblemen in⯑tended to aſſaſſinate him, is a point equally doubtful. Circumſtances the moſt improba⯑ble attend both ſuppoſitions. And yet the king was certainly attacked by the earl; and the earl was certainly killed by the king's attendants. Theſe are the critical points, which chiefly exerciſe the judgment and pene⯑tration of the hiſtorian: and it is very amuſing to obſerve, how admirably Dr. Robertſon has [110] developed this dark affair. He firſt ſtates the facts; and ſhews the almoſt impoſſibility of either ſuppoſition. When he has brought his reader into this dilemma, who knows not what to think of the matter, he takes up the facts again—throws a new light upon them, on another ſuppoſition; and makes it very clear, that the earl of Gowry intended only to get James in his power, who was in fact the property of each party, as it gained the aſcendant.

Soon after we leave Perth we come in view of a place, famous in ſtory; the ruins of Scone. Tho we cannot apply here the firſt lines of Virgil's noble, and very pictureſque deſcription of Latinus's palace—the grandeur of it's architecture—and the dignity of it's accompaniments—the

we may however apply to it the following part of the deſcription.

[111]And yet Scone, tho in a ſtate of ruin, was at leaſt ſo far habitable in the year 1715, that the pretender found it ſufficient to re⯑ceive all his court; where he affected to live with the ſplendor of majeſty. Preparations too were making for his coronation; but they were interrupted by a body of the king's horſe.

The ſituation of Scone on the northern banks of the Tay, as we rode along the op⯑poſite ſide, appeared not unpleaſant. It is ſurrounded by diſtant mountains; but lying low, it has not that grandeur of ſituation, which a palace demands.

The celebrated ſtone-chair, the palladium of the Scottiſh empire, which formerly had it's ſtation here, is now one of the appendages of royalty in Weſtminſter abbey. I have heard that a ſilly diſtich, in the form of a prediction, contributed not a little to reconcile many of the bigots of the Scotch nation to the union.

From Scone we proceeded to Dunkeld, but met with nothing worth our notice, till [112] we came within a few miles of it. This tract of country however, tho not beautiful, is remarkable. You paſs over a very high, and flat plain. As you approach Dunkeld, this wild, unſhapely deſert begins to ſeparate into parts; and form itſelf into hills, hung with wood, and broken with rock. But, what is remarkable, from theſe high grounds you deſcend into the Highlands: for here the country begins, which takes that denomina⯑tion. The road winding among the hills of this deſcent, diſcovers new beauties, as we advance. We had a haſty view of the abbey of Dunkeld—of a pictureſque bridge over the Bran—of the mountains, that inviron the whole—and other objects as we paſſed. The ſeveral ſcenes ſhifted rapidly; and we ſuffered them to paſs; as we propoſed after⯑wards to take a more diſtinct view of them. There is ſomething very amuſing even in a haſty ſucceſſion of beautiful ſcenes. The imagination is kept in a pleaſing perturbation; while theſe floating, unconnected ideas become a kind of waking dream; and are often wrought up by fancy into more pleaſing pictures; than they in fact appear to be, when they are viewed with deliberate attention.

[113]The object of our curioſity at Dunkeld, was the ſeat of the duke of Athol. From Inver we ferried over the Tay; and in croſſing, had a grand view up the river. It was a viſta of rock, and wood, which in nature's hands, was managed without any formality, and made a ſcene of great beauty. We landed in the duke's garden; where a green walk along the ſide of the river, brought us to his houſe. It is a villa, rather than a ducal manſion: but being a favourite ſpot, it has been the object of much attention, and expence.

Dunkeld was formerly both an archiepiſcopal ſee, and an abbey: and the limits of the duke's improvements are thoſe, which formerly con⯑fined the monks. Nature has marked them with very deciſive boundaries.

This favoured ſpot (for it is indeed a beau⯑ful ſcene) conſiſts of a large circular valley, the diameter of which is in ſome parts a mile; in others, two or three. It's ſurface is various; and ſome of the riſing grounds within the valley itſelf, would even be eſteemed lofty, if it were not for the grand ſkreen of mountains, which circles the whole. At the baſe of thoſe, towards the ſouth, runs the Tay, in this place broad, deep and ſilent. The whole valley is [114] interſperſed with wood; both on the banks of the river, and in it's internal parts; and would have been a ſtill more beautiful ſcene, if art had done as much as nature. Much indeed it has done; but nothing well. Caſ⯑cades, and ſlopes, and other puerilities deform a ſcene which is in itſelf calculated to receive all the grandeur of landſcape. The walks ſhew ſome contrivance; and might with a few alterations, be made beautiful. Indeed the whole is capable of receiving any improve⯑ment; and may by this time have received it. I ſpeak of it only as it was a dozen years ago.

The remains of the abbey, ſhrouded in wood, ſtand on the edge of the lawn; but rather too near the houſe. The ſolitude, which naturally belongs to them, and the embelliſhments which are neceſſary about a habitable manſion, interfere rather too much with each other^*. Theſe ruins conſiſt of the nave of the great church, the two ſide ailes, and the tower. The architecture is a mixture of Gothic, and Saxon; yet elegant in it's kind. The tower is handſome. At the [115] weſt end we obſerved the peculiarity of a round, ornamental window, which is not exactly in the middle, but appears, as if it had been puſhed aſide by the point of the large one. Part of the old cathedral is now the pariſh church; and is very beautiful, and very ſlovenly. Near it is a ſquare room, the burying place of the dukes of Athol, adorned with a tablet, containing the arms of all their connections.

Beſides the church, nothing of the abbey remains. And indeed in moſt of the ruined abbeys, both in England, and Scotland, we find the great church is the only part left; which was owing to the piety of the times. It was merit to deſtroy the habitations of the monks; but it was profaneneſs to injure the houſe of God. Thus Knox would exclaim, "Down with the neſts, and the rooks will fly off:" but his rage vented itſelf chiefly againſt the cells of the monks: the abbey churches were generally ſpared. Such was the piety alſo of temporal ſpoilers. In a paper of Haynes's, to which reference hath already been made^*, when we find an inſtance of a [116] town, or a village deſtroyed, we often find it ſpecified alſo, that the church was left unin⯑jured. To this piety even amidſt the rage of war, and the zeal of reformation, we are indebted for moſt of the ruins of abbeys, that are yet left in Britain.

Round one of the rocky mountains, which ſkreen the valley of Dunkeld, the duke has carried walks; and has planted both that mountain, and ſome others. Many thouſands of young pines are ſtruggling for exiſtence among the crannies of rocks; and many thouſands more, which have gotten hold of the ſoil, are flouriſhing greatly: for the ſitua⯑tion ſeems wonderfully agreeable to them: but on ſo broad and lofty a baſe, the whole has yet the appearance only of a green moſs tinting the rocks; and it will be a century before theſe woods, thriving as they are, will have conſequence to break the lines of the mountains; and give a proper degree of ſylvan richneſs to the ſcene.

On the top of one of the mountains behind the duke's houſe, are five ſmall lakes; which communicate: but we did not ſee them; nor is their ſcenery probably of any value.

[117]Oppoſite to this moutain, and making a part of the ſame circular ſkreen, ſtands a hill celebrated in dramatic ſtory; the hill of Bir⯑nam: but it is now totally diveſted of wood. Shakeſpear however is right in making it once a woody ſcene, which it certainly was. Of Dunſinane no veſtiges remain; except a deep double ditch. The ſituation appears to have been very ſtrong.

SECT. XIII.

HAVING thus taken a view of that ſide of the Tay, on which the houſe is placed, we croſſed it again to ſee the Hermi⯑tage; a name the duke has given to ſome improvements he has made on the Bran.

Down the ſide of one of thoſe mountains, which forms the ſouthern boundary of the valley of Dunkeld, this river tumbles through a ſteep rocky channel; and falls into the Tay, at Inver. A conſiderable part of the ground along it's courſe the duke has incloſed: but his improvements are not ſuitable to the ſcene. Nothing was required but a ſimple path to ſhew in the moſt advantageous manner the different appearances of the river, which is uncommonly wild, and beautiful; and ſhould have been the only object of attention. In adorning ſuch a path, the native foreſt wood, and natural bruſh of the place had [120] been ſufficient. Inſtead of this, the path, which winds among fragments of rock, is decorated with knots of ſhrubs and flowers.

Rocks and flowers, no doubt, make a con⯑traſt: and contraſt is a ſource of beauty. But the pleaſing contraſt ſhould be founded either in harmony, or propriety. In Horace's human head joined to a horſe's neck, there is contraſt; but it is ſuch a contraſt, as the poet tells us every body would laugh at. The contraſt is juſt the ſame between rocks, and cultivated flowers—between the grandeſt works of nature; and the prettieſt little decorations of art. We object not to wild flowers, growing naturally among rocks. They are nature's decoration, and are nurtured in the ſoil, that ſuits them. We object only when we ſee the hand of art laying them out in knots. Such ideas in ſcenes, dedicated to grandeur and ſolitude are incon⯑gruous.

And yet propriety may ſometimes happily unite ideas, which in themſelves are in⯑harmonious. A bull, for inſtance, grazing with flowers tied to his horns, is abſurd: but lead him in the pomp of ſacrifice to the altar, and his flowers, which connect him properly with the ſcene, for that reaſon become him. [121] Thus an elegant path round the environs of a houſe, where you would naturally expect the decorating hand of art, is pleaſing: propriety gives it beauty. But in a wild, rocky ſcene, where you expect no human dwelling; nor any thing but the naked print of nature's foot, all appearance of artificial ornament offends.

Having paſſed through this elaborate par⯑terre, half inclined to turn back at every ſtep, we came unexpectedly to an aſtoniſhing ſcene.

The two rocky cheeks of the river almoſt uniting compreſs the ſtream into a very nar⯑row compaſs; and the channel, which de⯑ſcends abruptly, taking alſo a ſudden turn, the water ſuffers more than common violence from the double reſiſtance it receives from compreſſion and obliquity. It's efforts to diſengage itſelf, have in a courſe of ages undermined, disjointed, and fractured the rock in a thouſand different forms; and have filled the whole channel of the deſcent with fragments of uncommon magnitude, which are the more eaſily eſtabliſhed, one upon the broken edges of another, as the fall is rather inclined, than perpendicular. Down this abrupt channel the whole ſtream in foaming violence forcing it's way, through the peculiar [122] and happy ſituation of the fragments, which oppoſe it's courſe, forms one of the grandeſt, and moſt beautiful caſcades we had ever ſeen. At the bottom it has worn an abyſs, in which the wheeling waters ſuffer a new agitation, tho of a different kind.

This whole ſcene, and it's accompaniments, are not only grand; but pictureſquely beautiful in the higheſt degree. The compoſition is per⯑fect: but yet the parts are ſo intricate, ſo various, and ſo complicated, that I never found any piece of nature leſs obvious to imita⯑tion. It would coſt the readieſt pencil a ſummer day to bring off a good reſemblance. My poor tool was ſo totally diſheartened, that I could not bring it even to make an attempt. The broad features of a mountain, the ſhape of a country, or the line of a lake, are matters of eaſy execution. A trifling error eſcapes notice. But theſe high finiſhed pieces of nature's more complicated workmanſhip, in which the beauty, in a great degree, conſiſts in the finiſhing; and in which every touch is ex⯑preſſive; eſpecially the ſpirit, activity, clear⯑neſs, and variety of agitated water, are among the moſt difficult efforts of the pencil. When the caſcade falls in a pure, unbroken ſheet, it [123] is an object of leſs beauty indeed, but of much eaſier imitation.

This grand view, which I ſcruple not to call the moſt intereſting thing of the kind, I ever ſaw, is exhibited through the windows of a ſummer-houſe; which I ſuppoſe, gives name to the ſcene: but it bears no reſemblance to the idea of a Hermitage. A more exact Hermitage had been a better decoration. We can conceive a recluſe to have choſen ſuch a retreat, and to have felt tranquillity of mind perhaps the more forcibly near the roar of a cataract. It's noiſe might exclude every other idea, and leave the mind to itſelf.—But ſuch a ſummer-houſe as this would not ſuit a recluſe. It is too much adorned.

Among it's other ornaments, the panes of the windows are in part compoſed of red and green glaſs; which to thoſe, who have never ſeen deceptions of this kind, give a new and ſurprizing effect; turning the water into a cataract of fire, or a caſcade of liquid verdi⯑greaſe. But ſuch deceptions are tricks below the dignity of ſcenes like this. Coloured glaſſes may be amuſing; but I ſhould rather wiſh to have them hung up in frames with handles to be uſed at pleaſure, than fixed in a [124] window, and to impoſe the neceſſity of looking through them.

The only pictureſque glaſſes are thoſe, which the artiſts call Claud Loraine glaſſes. They are combined of two or three different colours; and if the hues are well ſorted, they give the objects of nature a ſoft, mellow tinge, like the colouring of that maſter. The only uſe of theſe glaſſes, (which have little, but in ſunſhine,) is to give a greater depth to the ſhades; by which the effect is ſhewn with more force. How far the painter ſhould follow his eye, or his glaſs in working from nature, I am not maſter enough of the theory of colouring to aſcertain. In general, I am apt to believe, that the merit of this kind of modified viſion conſiſts chiefly in it's no⯑velty; and that nature has given us a better apparatus, for viewing objects in a pictureſque light; than any, the optician can furniſh.

This ſcene is not among the duke's im⯑provements: but we entered them again about a mile above the grand caſcade; and were entertained with many beautiful pieces of rock ſcenery in our return to the Hermitage.—Al⯑moſt all the Scotch rivers are rapid, and rocky, as the rivers in mountainous countries commonly are; but we thought the Bran ſuperior in theſe reſpects, to any we had ſeen. It's whole courſe is a continued ſcene of violence, op⯑poſition, and every ſpecies of agitation; till it's impetuous waters find peace at length in the tranquillity of the Tay.

[126]Very little advantage however is taken of the romantic banks of this river. The path might have been carried up one ſide of it, and down the other; ſtraying artleſſly to thoſe parts, where the moſt beautiful views are preſented; without any forced openings, for⯑mal ſtands, white ſeats, or other artificial introductions preparatory to the ſeveral ſcenes. But this walk, which has neither nature in it, nor art, carries you up and down in the ſame track. It is fortunate however that you have ſuch a variety of beautiful ſcenes, that the eye is not diſguſted with ſeeing them twice over.

In a gloomy cell, on the banks of the river, we found an inſcription, which joined it's kindred ideas with thoſe of the ſcene.

As we paſſed along the higher banks, we ſaw another inſcription engraven upon a rock within the bed of the river; and as we de⯑ſcended to it, we expected to ſee an account of ſome life preſerved, or ſome natural cu⯑rioſity found upon that ſpot: but when we arrived at it, we were informed, in fair and handſome Roman characters, that a hole in the rock, near the inſcription (ſcooped, as there were many, by the vortices of the river) was on ſuch a day, ſome years ago, drunk full of punch by a ſet of gentlemen, whoſe names are inſcribed at length. The atchieve⯑ment appears to have been great in it's way; but one ſhould have been ſorry to have met the name of a friend recorded on ſuch an occaſion.

At Dunkeld we heard, in all it's circum⯑ſtances, the melancholy tale of the late duke of Athol's death. He had ſhewn no ſymp⯑toms of deſpondency, till within a few weeks of that event; yet it was thought proper to [128] give his ſervants a caution over him. His watchfulneſs however eluded theirs.

It was about eight o'clock in a dark No⯑vember night, when he ſlipt out of a door, which opens upon the lawn. He was in⯑ſtantly miſſed, and lights were diſpatched in all directions; but without effect. His bro⯑ther was in the houſe. The ſervants pri⯑vately informed him. A full hour was ſpent in fruitleſs ſearch. It was now thought ne⯑ceſſary to inform the ducheſs. Several hours paſſed in painful ſuſpence. Intelligence of no kind could be obtained. Every one had his ſuſpicions; but no one durſt avow them.

Some time after midnight, a fellow brought in the duke's hat, which he had found by the ſide of the river. This put an end to every glimpſe of hope: but the fatal event was not confirmed, till late the next morn⯑ing, when the body was found in the Tay, about three miles below the houſe.

What it was that threw him into that dejection of ſpirits, which occaſioned this cataſtrophe; or whether it was a malady of mind or body, could never be explained. No cauſe appeared, either from his fortunes, or any other circumſtance. He was one of the moſt [129] amiable noblemen in Scotland. His life was not only innocent and domeſtic; but correct, and virtuous: and what in men of his rank is more uncommon, I have heard, it was religi⯑ous. No man was more beloved: nor did any man enjoy more of that ſerenity and cheerful⯑neſs, which generally attend a benevolent, and well regulated mind.

When we ſee a man who has raiſed a ſudden and princely fortune by the iron arts of op⯑preſſion, ſinking, after the heyday of enjoy⯑ment is over, into melancholy; unable to en⯑dure the horror of his own thoughts, and arm⯑ing his own hand againſt himſelf, we are not ſurprized: it is the natural courſe of things: it is the ſerpent, that recoils upon itſelf. But when we ſee a man of virtue, and piety under theſe terrors of mind; when we ſee the ap⯑pearance of guilt in the breaſt of innocence; when we ſee that, neither the higheſt fortunes, nor even the cheerfulneſs of religion itſelf can ſecure the mind from theſe inbred horrors; human nature ſtands abaſhed in the midſt of all it's precarious enjoyments: we revere the myſ⯑terious hand of heaven; and learn a leſſon of humility, which nothing elſe in this world can give.

SECT. XIV.

FROM Dunkeld we continued our journey to Blair-caſtle, which is about twenty miles farther north. The whole road is a continuation of pictureſque ſcenery. Through the firſt eight miles we accompanied the Tay; which entertained us with all the playful variety that a river can exhibit. Sometimes it came running up to the foreground. Then it would hide itſelf beneath a woody precipice. Then again, when we knew not what was become of it, it would appear in the diſtance, forming it's meanders along ſome winding vale.

When we leave the Tay, we meet the Tummel, which, tho leſs wild in it's accom⯑paniments, performs it's evolutions with as much beauty. One ſcene upon it's bank cal⯑led aloud for the pencil. We had many, in which were greater beauties; but they were mixed, as is often the caſe, with ſomething [132] awkward. But this view was almoſt purely pic⯑tureſque. A broad ſand-bank ſtretched before the eye, as a ſecond diſtance, round which the river formed an indented curve: it's banks were well decorated, and the view was cloſed, in the faſhion of Scotch landſcape, with beau⯑tiful mountains.

The next beſt method of catching the hues of nature, is by tinting a drawing on the ſpot, from which the artiſt may paint at his leiſure. But this is a very imperfect method, as the hues of nature muſt greatly evaporate, and loſe their ſpirit in a ſecond tranſlation.

To aſſiſt however in this matter, I cannot help mentioning a method which might per⯑haps be of ſome little uſe in fixing at leaſt the coarſer tints of nature, where time and oppor⯑tunity of doing it better, are wanting. Let the artiſt carry about with him a book, on the leaves of which are exhibited in ſquares a va⯑riety of different tints. As all the tints of na⯑ture are ſuppoſed to be mixed from three ori⯑ginal colours, yellow, blue, and red, they may be claſſed under them. With theſe tints the artiſt may compare the hues of nature; and each ſquare being numbered, he may fix a few characteriſtic hues in his drawing by a refer⯑ence to the number. I call this however a mere ſuccedaneum; as there are a thouſand variegated tints in nature, which it would be impoſſible to fix in this way: and indeed as the whole method is mere theory; and was [134] never, as far as I know, applied to practice, it might be found, upon trial, very inade⯑quate.—This digreſſion was occaſioned by a view upon the Tummel, to which the co⯑louring of a ſand-bank, and it's harmonizing with the objects in it's neighbourhood, gave a beauty, that in a mere uncoloured drawing is entirely loſt.

The banks of the Tummel are chiefly paſ⯑toral, but when it is joined by the Garry, or rather received into it, we had an ample ſpeci⯑men of the ſublime. The paſs of Killicranky began now to open, which is the great en⯑trance into the highlands in theſe parts; and may be called the Caledonian Thermopyle; tho indeed what are generally called the high⯑lands, as I obſerved, begin at Dunkeld. This paſs forms a very magnificent ſcene. The vallies, as we approach it, are beautiful. Two or three gentlemen have fixed their habi⯑tations among them, and ſeem to have made a good choice.

Two of the ſcenes we met with in theſe wild regions, were particularly pictureſque. In one the ſloping corner of a mountain, with the road winding round it, forms the foreground: the middle is occupied by a bridge over the Garry; and ſome of the grand prominences of the paſs fill the diſtance.

The other conſiſts chiefly of a ſecond diſ⯑tance, in which the river forms a ſort of pool, and the mountains a very pleaſing combination around it.

By this time we had nearly opened the paſs, which continues about a mile, diſplaying, in one part or other of it's ample curve, every ſpecies of rough and pictureſque ſcenery. In general, however, as it's lofty ſkreens are brought very near the eye, they are too large, and refractory to be moulded into compoſition. Innumerable parts of them may with little [136] trouble be hewn into good foregrounds: but they afford few materials delicate enough for a diſtance.

In a military light, this entrance into the highlands has, at all times, been conſidered as a very formidable defile. In the laſt rebellion a body of Heſſians having been detached into theſe parts of Scotland, made a full pauſe at this ſtrait, refuſing to march farther. It appeared to them as the ne plus ultra of habitable country.

In king William's time, it was marked with the deſtruction of a royal army. The only ſpirited attempt, in his reign, in favour of the Jacobite cauſe, was made by Clavers lord viſcount Dundee. This chief, who was a man both of honour and enterprize, collected a body of forces, and ſet up the ſtandard of the exiled prince. With great zeal he importuned all the diſaffected clans to join him; but amidſt the warmeſt profeſſions he found only luke-warm aſſiſtance. Mor⯑tified by repeated diſappointments, and chagrin⯑ed at having the whole burden of the war upon himſelf, he was ſkulking about Lockabar with a few ſtarved, and ill armed troops, heſitating what courſe to take; when he received advice, that general Mackay, who [137] was in queſt of him, at the head of the Engliſh army, was in full march towards the paſs of Killicranky. In the midſt of deſpair a beam of hope inſpired him. He harrangued his men; aſſured them of ſucceſs; rouſed them to action; and fell upon Mackay, as he filed out of the ſtraits, with ſo much judgment, and well directed fury, that in ſeven minutes the Engliſh infantry was broken, and the horſe in as many more.—In the article of victory Dundee was mortally wounded. An old highlander ſhewed us a few trees, under the ſhade of which he was led out of the battle; and where he breathed his laſt with that intrepidity, which is ſo nobly deſcribed by a modern Scotch poet^*, in an interview be⯑tween death, and a victorious hero.

Dundee was the life of a cauſe, which in this ſhort blaze of ſucceſs expired.

[138]From the ſtraits of Killicranky we ſoon arrived within the diſtrict of the Blair of Athol, as this part of the country is called. Blair⯑caſtle, which is the capital of this wide domain, makes but a mean appearance. It ſtands, as you approach it, under a mountain, with a wood before it: but the former is ill ſhaped; and the latter, which is chiefly of ſir, is formal.

Mean however as this caſtle appears at pre⯑ſent in the light of a fortreſs, it was once a place of high renown; and has many a hiſtory annexed to it. As it was the only fortreſs in theſe wild parts, it was ever thought a place of conſequence; and had it's ſhare in every diſturbance of the times. In many ſcenes of violence it was engaged, during the feuds of ariſtocracy: but it makes no figure in hiſtory, before the civil wars of the laſt century. In the year 1644 it ventured to check the career of that celebrated hero the marquiſs of Mon⯑troſe: but it paid dear for it's temerity. He laid ſiege to it; and took it by aſſault. Ten years after, it fell under the diſpleaſure of Cromwell; and experienced the ſame fate. [139] But in the laſt rebellion it had better fortune. Sir Andrew Agnew ſeized it with a body of ſeventy horſe, and held it for the king. The rebels twice attacked it, but each time without ſucceſs.

The late duke of Athol ſeeing his family ſeat thus ſubjected to ſo many inſults on ac⯑count of it's ſtrength, took a reſolution to diſmantle it, that it might never again be an object of military concern. He did not per⯑haps ſufficiently conſider, that if any future trouble ſhould ariſe, it is full as likely in it's preſent ſtate of weakneſs to become a prey; as in it's ancient ſtate of proweſs to have been made a fortreſs. Be it as it will, the pictu⯑reſque eye regrets the loſs of it's towers, and battlements; and is hurt at ſeeing a noble caſtle transformed into an ordinary houſe.

But tho Blair-caſtle appeared, on our ap⯑proach, to ſtand under a mountain, it changed it's ſituation, as we arrived on the ſpot. The mountains take a circular form around it; and it ſtands ſeated on a plain, as the word Blair, in the Erſe language, implies. We found alſo, that notwithſtanding it's outward appearance, the apartments are noble, and furniſhed in grand taſte.

[140]The ſcenery about the houſe is inferior to that at Dunkeld; and yet it is ſuitable to the grandeur of a great houſe, and capable of much improvement. The plain, on which the houſe ſtands, ſpreads about a mile in front; and might be beautifully diverſified with lawns and wood. At preſent it is much injured by viſtas, and a kitchen-garden, which tho extraordinary in it's way, is ſtill a nuiſance.

At the end of the plain runs the Tilt, a rapid and rocky ſtream: but it is of no ſervice in the view; for it lies within ſuch lofty banks, that it is inviſible, till you arrive on the ſpot. There the duke has conducted walks; but I cannot ſay much in praiſe either of the artifice with which they are conducted, or of their ſimplicity. In the courſe of them you ſee the caſcades of two or three ſtreams, which fall down the bank into the Tilt, and are admired more than they deſerve. The bank is of lofty and broken rock; and the ſtreams are by no means inconſiderable; yet the very circumſtance of their falling into the river is a great diſſervice to them as capital ob⯑jects. It makes them appear ſmaller by bring⯑ing them into compariſon with a greater [141] ſtream. It exhibits them alſo in an awkward ſituation: for as they fall down the ſide of an extended bank, they do not fill the eye like a river, pouring down between rocks, and ſeen as a ſimple object in one grand point of view. One of them is called the York-caſcade, in compliment to the late archbiſhop Drummond; and is admired for it's broken ſtages. For myſelf, I am more pleaſed with a ſimple conſtruction. That at Dunkeld indeed is infinitely broken; but it is ſtill one noble guſh: whereas this is frittered, and divided into ſeveral diſtinct parts, each of which makes a little ſeparate whole.

Having viewed the diſpoſition of the ground in the front of the houſe, we viewed it next on the other ſide, where it is much more beautiful. The mountains here approach nearer the houſe, between two of which runs a valley about a mile in length; and a quarter of a mile in breadth. The ſides and bottom of this valley are wholly filled with wood, through which runs a rocky and ſounding ſtream. This beautiful piece of natural ſce⯑nery is improved as it ought to be. A delightful walk about two miles in length is conducted round it; and is in all it's [142] parts eaſy, and natural; except that, here and there, a ſemi-circular parapet is ſet off from the walk, to ſhew ſome parts of the river and rocks at the bottom. They might have been ſhewn better by the ſimple, and natural curve of the walk. Theſe prepara⯑tory ſtations always injure the effect, by exciting beforehand the expectation of it. The charm of novelty is ſo far loſt.

Between this ſcenery and the houſe are a few acres, which are laid out with more em⯑belliſhment; but leſs taſte. What we chiefly admired here, were ſome firs of the ſpruce kind, which we thought the moſt pictureſque, we had ever ſeen. They were indeed

If Dunkeld appeared more the retired ſeat pleaſure; Blair-caſtle, eſpecially in it's ancient form, was more the reſidence of the highland chieftain. Here he was always found in the article of danger. Here his clan muſtered around him; and here he fed them, and kept their courage alive, from his extenſive paſtures, and vaſt ranges of foreſt.

Theſe waſtes we wiſhed much to viſit; and ſhould have found great amuſement in [143] traverſing their extenſive boundaries, and ex⯑amining their various inhabitants—in ſpringing the ptarmigan, and other heath birds, that frequent them; in hearing their various cries and notes; and in ſeeing thoſe herds of wild ſtags, which are never ſeen in cultivated cha⯑ſes; and among them the nimble roe-buck, bounding in it's native clime: but ſo wide are theſe domains, that we were informed we might have travelled twenty or thirty miles, before we could have gratified our curioſity.

SECT. XV.

FROM Blair to Taymouth, which we propoſed next to viſit, we found two roads; one to the north by Donacardoc, and the other to the ſouth by repaſſing the ſtraits of Killicranky. The latter is the better road, but we choſe the former, as leading through a new country.

The firſt object, that called our attention, after we left Blair, were the falls of the river Freer. About two miles beyond Blair, we were directed to leave the road on our right, and to purſue the courſe of that river, which, as it comes tumbling down a lofty hill, would ſhew us ſeveral fine caſcades. They were ſcarce worth ſo long and perpendicular a walk. One of them indeed is a grand fall; but it [146] is ſo naked in it's accompaniments, and ſeen from ſo bad a point, that upon the whole it is of little value.

In our way to Donacardoc, and beyond it, the country in general, is wild and moun⯑tainous: but the vallies are wide, and ex⯑tenſive; and as we paſſed along their ſweeping ſides, many of the ſcenes were very noble. The mountains retiring in different diſtances from the eye, marſhalled themſelves in the moſt beautiful forms, and expanded their vaſt concave boſoms to receive the moſt enchanting lights. The pictureſque traveller indeed, if he finds the lights as we found them, will be ſufficiently rewarded for his trouble in tra⯑verſing this rough country. The ſcenes on the right, are thoſe, which will chiefly engage his attention.

And here I cannot help diſcloſing what appears to me a truth; tho ſo bold a one, that it ought only perhaps to be opened to the initiated. In the exhibition of diſtant mountains on paper, or canvas, unleſs you make them exceed their real or proportional ſize, they have no effect. It is inconceiv⯑able [147] how objects leſſen by diſtance. Examine any diſtance, cloſed by mountains, in a ca⯑mera, and you will eaſily ſee what a poor, diminutive appearance the mountains make. By the power of perſpective they are leſſened to nothing. Should you repreſent them in your landſcape in ſo diminutive a form, all dignity, and grandeur of idea would be loſt. The caſe is, a ſcrap of canvas compared with the vaſtneſs of nature's ſcale, miſleads the eye; and if the exact proportion of the moun⯑tain be obſerved, it is ſo trifling, that we cannot eaſily perſuade ourſelves, it is the repre⯑ſentative of ſo vaſt, and enormous a maſs.

If indeed the mountain always, and in⯑variably appeared under one hue, the eye might in ſome degree learn to infer the diſtance from the colour, and of courſe the bulk. But this is not the caſe. The colour of mountains is as various, as the colour of the ſky. Light etherial blue, which is the colour of the air, is the hue thrown upon the moſt removed objects. But the blue mountain can only be repreſented under the bright and colourleſs ſky. You would often wiſh to adorn your landſcape with other appearances of nature; in which the diſtant mountain aſſumes other [148] hues. It is brown, or it is purple, or it is grey: and all theſe in a variety of degrees. So that colour is by no means a criterion of bulk.—Beſides you often wiſh to introduce your mountain nearer than the diſtance at which it aſſumes aerial blue. And when this is the caſe, it's ſurface is ſubject to a ſtill greater variety of tints; and it's bulk, is conſequently with more difficulty aſcertained from it's colour.

Even in nature the eye is apt to make fre⯑quent miſtakes; and often misjudges with regard both to bulk, and diſtance; notwith⯑ſtanding it is able to form compariſons from the various objects that appear in the extent of landſcape around, which may aſſiſt the judgment. But in painting, the eye has not this aſſiſtance. It has only the objects of a very circumſcribed ſpot to compare by, and cannot therefore deduce the real ſize of the mountain, for want of objects of compariſon. We muſt therefore enlarge the ſcale a little beyond nature, to make nature look like her⯑ſelf. If indeed the picture and nature ſhould be brought together, the deception will be apparent: otherwiſe the deception appears the reality.

[149]The celebrated boat of Raphael, in the cartoon of the draught of fiſhes, is a fiction ſomewhat of this kind, in which the boat is repreſented much leſs than the truth, leſt the real truth ſhould offend. An object of the full ſize of a boat ſo near the eye, would have ingroſſed too much of the ſpectator's attention; and the painter hoped the beauty of his figures would engage the eye ſo much, as to paſs over the inaccuracy. If indeed the abſurdity could have been removed with a lit⯑tle contrivance, it would certainly have been better. As ſo great a maſter however found reaſon to make his object too little; another artiſt, by a parity of reaſon, may make his object too large.

The ancient columnal ſculptures at Rome were accompanied with a degree of this ar⯑tificial deception. As the figures at the top of the column, would be ſeen from the bottom diminiſhed out of all proportion, if they had been of the natural ſize, the ſculptors very properly made them much larger than the life; ſo that the eye ſeeing them from the bottom, conceived them to be of the proper ſize.

[150]As we left the wild country about Dona⯑cardoc, we met our old acquaintance the river Garry: and were ſurprized to ſee it, tho ſo much nearer it's ſource, in better plight than it appeared at Killicranky. Here it oc⯑cupies a broad channel; and makes an ample ſweep: but there, tho it had received many conſiderable acceſſions, it made no figure. The caſe was, it was there contracted, and limited within narrow banks, except in that part, where it ſpreads into a pool: ſo that altho it contained more water, it made a leſs appearance.

Along the ſide of Glen-lion we miſſed our road; and inſtead of taking the direct way to Taymouth, we went ſix miles round by general Wade's bridge. This we had rea⯑ſon to eſteem good fortune. What we miſſed we knew not: but the country we [152] gained, was uncommonly beautiful. It is of that ſpecies, which may be technically termed a plano-valley. Before us ſtretched a cham⯑paign of four or five miles in length, and near two in breadth. Through the middle of it ran a winding road. On the right, it was ſkreened by a mountain wooded with clumps, and varied with objects, at ſuch a diſtance, as throws that equivocal veil over them, in which the eye ſo much delights. The concluſion only of this mountain could be introduced in a picture: but the whole was beautiful in nature. The oppoſite ſkreen of the valley was ſtill bolder, more rocky, and equally pictureſque. The middle was occupied by a fine diſtance of retiring moun⯑tains.

At the bottom of the right-hand mountain ran the Tay; but it kept out of ſight, till we had paſſed the bridge. It then took the lead among the objects, that entertained us; and preſented us with two or three fine reaches; in one of which eſpecially, the mountains, water, and wood combined with peculiar beauty in pictureſque compoſition.

[153]Soon after, we came to Kenmore, which is a neat little town, built by Lord Breadal⯑bin, at the foot of Loch-tay. Nothing can ſtand more ſweetly: the lake is ſpread on one ſide of it, and on the other, are Lord Breadal⯑bin's improvements.

The view of the lake from the riſing grounds near the church, is capital. On the right, a lofty mountain falls into the water, and forms a grand promontory. It's lines at the baſe are finely broken by a wooded iſland. Another promontory projects from the oppoſite ſhore, and both together form the water into a ſpacious bay. Between the two promontories the diſtant mountains recede in perſpective; and the lake goes off in the form of another bay. We ſeldom meet with a grander piece of lake-ſcenery.

Having taking this firſt view of the lake, we embarked upon it; expecting, that as it's reaches opened, our entertainment would in⯑creaſe. But having continued our voyage near a league, we found no part equal to what we firſt ſaw.

[154]One inducement to this voyage, was a caſcade on the banks of the lake, which had been repreſented to us as an uncom⯑mon piece of ſcenery. A pompous preface ſo often produces diſappointment, that expect⯑ing a diſappointment here, we were agreeably ſurprized. We found a very beautiful ſcene. It is not indeed of ſo ſublime a kind, as that of the Hermitage at Dunkeld. It is of a ta⯑mer nature, gliding down an excavated rock; but meeting with interruption enough to give it variety. It's accompaniments are very beautiful. The rock it falls from, is lofty, and well broken: and it graces the center of a little woody the⯑atre; which nature ſeems to have made on purpoſe for it, and where it is ſhewn to much advantage. Lord Breadalbin, to whom it be⯑longs, introduces the ſtranger to it through a ſort of ſubterranean paſſage, the neceſſity of which did not appear. It is an exhibition, which wants no aid to give it conſequence.

In our return we had a view of the church and bridge of Kenmore, and of the mountains, and iſland, in it's neighbourhoood: but from ſo low a point, they loſt much of their digni⯑ty. We landed alſo upon the iſland; but found little to amuſe us.

[155]And yet this iſland, ſmall and contemptible as it appears, has more than one hiſtory an⯑nexed to it. Here ſtood formerly a ſmall, but elegant priory dedicated by Alexander the firſt of Scotland, to the memory of his belov⯑ed queen, who was the natural daughter of Henry the firſt of England. At his death it was more liberally endowed; and he entruſted the repoſe of his own ſoul, as well as his queen's, to the prayers of pious monks, whom he eſtabliſhed for that purpoſe, in this religious retirement. Often in the calm ſtill hour of evening, or before the ſun had riſen upon the mountains, the boatman plying his courſe, would reſt on his oars, to liſten to the chanted hymn, or early matins, as they came floating in the breeze along the ſurface of the lake.

In after times this iſland wore another face. When the bravery of Montroſe carried every thing before him in defence of the royal cauſe, which was nearly in it's wane in England; a numerous body of Campbells, againſt whom the rigour of Montroſe was chiefly directed, took poſſeſſion of this iſland, where they forti⯑fied themſelves among the ruins. Montroſe took, and garriſoned it; and it continued in [156] the hands of the loyaliſts till 1654, when general Monk retook it. It would now how⯑ever be difficult to trace the leaſt veſtige in it either of religion, or war.

SECT. XVI.

HAVING finiſhed our voyage, we took a walk to Taymouth, lord Breadal⯑bin's ſeat, where we met with little to engage our curioſity. The houſe ſtands on a lawn, between two mountains, which open to the lake; tho the architect has contrived to ſkreen it intirely from the view of the water. The lawn is about a mile in breadth, diverſified with a great variety of ground. Under the ſouthern mountain, a quarter of a mile be⯑hind the houſe, runs the Tay; which, tho not ſo grand a river, as we found it at Dun⯑keld, is however a noble, and rapid ſtream. The banks of the river, the lawn, and the mountains around, are all well cloathed with wood; and the whole ſcene is capable of great improvement: but when we ſaw it^*, nothing like taſte had been exerciſed upon it. [158] The houſe was formerly a turreted caſtle, and is now by the addition of two wings, a large, convenient, tho unpleaſing manſion. The grounds around it were laid out with little beauty; and the walks were formal, and ill contrived; pacing under the paling of the park, inſtead of winding around, and taking ſuch circuits as might ſhew the lake, and mountains to moſt advantage. There was a grand walk alſo beyond the Tay; which had coſt more than it deſerved. Indeed the walks on neither ſide of the river ſeemed intended to ſhew the ſcenery; but rather as avenues to a few tawdry, inelegant buildings, which terminated them. Nothing could ſhew a more thorough inattention to every idea of beauty and taſte, than the whole contrivance of the place.

Perhaps no country in the world abounds more with grand ſituations, eſpecially in the highland parts of it, than Scotland: and per⯑haps none of the Scotch nobility have a greater variety of noble ſituations, than the earls of Breadalbin. Whether they wiſhed for ele⯑vated, or ſheltered ſituations—for views of wood, of water, or of mountains—they had [159] choice of every kind. When therefore, we ſee a ſituation ſo unhappily choſen, in the neighbourhood of ſuch a ſcene as Loch-Tay; we are apt to think it required ſome inge⯑nuity, and contrivance to fix it. The ſitu⯑ation indeed in itſelf would not be ſo bad, if we did not ſee every where around it, ſituations that are ſo much better.

Of all the views which a great houſe ſhould wiſh to command, I think a noble diſtance is the moſt deſirable. This was the opinion of Horace. He commends the houſe, ‘— longos quae proſpicit agros.’ And I think he is right. Diſtant views, if there is a good foreground, are generally the moſt pleaſing; as they contain the greateſt variety, both in themſelves, and in their accidental variations. But if you have before your windows, a beautiful lake retiring among mountains into remote diſtance, as lord Bread⯑albin might have had, adorned with woody banks, and tufted iſlands; while his houſe might have been ſkreened from the rough quarters of the ſky; it is all one would wiſh for in a ſituation.

[160]As we left lord Breadalbin's, we had, from the road near Maxwell's temple, a very pic⯑tureſque view of the lake and it's environs. The water bears only a ſmall proportion; but the promontories ſweeping into it, the iſlands detached from the main, and a diſtant view of the grand mountain of Benavoir, which occupies the head of the lake, unite in form⯑ing a very noble landſcape.

In this country originated the maſſacre of Glencoe. The fact is noted: but a detail of circumſtances does not often find it's way into hiſtory^*. They who have never met with this detail, will be ſhocked to find in the ſeventeenth century, an action marked with ſuch circumſtances of horrid cruelty and treachery, as are rarely found in the annals of a Roman, or an Eaſtern deſpot.

This chief it ſeems, in the violence of the times, a little before the revolution, had plun⯑dered the lands of the earl of Breadalbin. For this, and ſome other acts of animoſity, that nobleman, it is thought, had devoted him to deſtruction; and is accuſed of per⯑ſuading king William to put him, and all his clan under military execution, as a terror to other diſaffected parts of the Highlands. No inquiry therefore was made, whether Macdonald had ſubmitted, or would ſubmit; but a warrant for putting to death near two hundred innocent people, was diſpatched with as little ceremony, as if it had been an order to apprehend a ſmuggler. This horrid war⯑rant having paſſed through all the uſual forms, was brought to the king, who ſigned it, it is ſaid, without ſcruple; tho I think, it is probable, that Macdonald's ſubmiſſion was con⯑cealed from him. Biſhop Burnet indeed^* endeavours to make the king intirely ignorant of the whole affair. He was rather dilatory, the biſhop ſays, in buſineſs; and uſed to put [163] off ſigning papers, till they began to multi⯑ply; when he would ſign them in a lump with too little examination. In this preci⯑pitate manner, he gives us to underſtand, the king ſigned the fatal warrant againſt the in⯑habitants of Glencoe.

From the king it was directed to the ſe⯑cretary of ſtate in Scotland; who ſent it, in the courſe of buſineſs, to the commanding officer of Argyle's regiment, then in garriſon at Fort William.

Early in February, 1691, a detachment from that corps took poſſeſſion of the valley of Glencoe; and when Macdonald inquired into their intention, he was told it was friend⯑ly; and had in view only to levy the arrears of ſome ill-paid taxes. Upon this Macdo⯑nald and his dependents, laid aſide all appre⯑henſions (as indeed having ſubmitted to go⯑vernment, they had no grounds to harbour any) and entertained the troops hoſpitably, during the ſpace of fifteen days.

On the evening of the ſixteenth day, young Macdonald obſerved the guards were doubled; and thought he ſaw ſomething among the troops, which he did not well underſtand. He brought his ſuſpicions to his father: but [164] the old man endeavoured with jocularity to diſperſe them. The youth however at the cloſe of day, drew his brother aſide, and carried him out privately among the ſoldiers, to make obſervations. Approaching a guard under the cover of the night, they overheard a centinel tell his fellow, that ‘It was a brutal work, but their officers muſt anſwer for it.’ Upon this the two young men in terror made inſtantly to the [...] father's houſe: —but the bloody deed was begun. As they approached, they heard the report of fire arms —they heard the ſhrieks of deſpair; and ſaw the houſe ſurrounded by armed men. Old Macdonald was ſhot through the head, as he ſlept by his wife: and, at the ſame time, a Highland gentleman, who was then upon a viſit to him; tho he had the king's pro⯑tection in his pocket. The houſes of the tenants, and dependents of the family, were ſurrounded alſo, and every man butchered, who was found. A pillage enſued; and all the wanton cruelty was practiſed, which is cuſtomary at the ſacking of a town.

The women and children indeed were ſpared: but ſuch of them, as had neither died of the fright, nor had been butchered by miſ⯑take, [165] were turned out naked, at the dead of night—a keen, freezing night,—with all their calamities about them, into a waſte covered with ſnow.

When the morning roſe, the horrid deed appeared in all it's guilt. Thirty-eight ſlaughtered bodies were drawn out; and the women, who had never attempted to fly, were in general found either ſtarved to death; or expiring with their children under hedges. It was thought, that about a hundred of thoſe deſtined to ſlaughter, had eſcaped through the intelligence given them by their friends among the troops.

This horrid affair was, never ſufficiently examined. King William endeavoured to repel the odium from himſelf, by throwing it upon the Scotch ſecretary; who had exceeded, he ſaid, his orders. But various circumſtances, and eſpecially the lenity ſhewn to all concerned in this buſineſs, rendered ſuch an apology very defective. ‘The king ſent orders, ſays Burnet, to inquire into the matter; but when the letters writ upon this buſineſs, were all examined, which I myſelf read, it appeared, that ſo many were involved in the matter, that [166] the king's gentleneſs prevailed on him to a fault; and he contented himſelf with diſmiſſing only the maſter of Stair from his ſervice. Indeed the not puniſhing this with due rigour, was the greateſt blot in this whole reign.’

We did not ſee the valley of Glencoe; as it would have carried us too far out of our road: but it is deſcribed as one of the moſt inte⯑reſting ſcenes in the whole country; hung with rock, and wood; and abounding with beauties of the moſt romantic kind. This valley is famous alſo for being the birth place of Oſcian. In it's wild ſcenes that bard is ſaid to have caught his firſt poetic raptures. Near it lies the country of Morven; which Fingal hath turned into claſſic ground by his huntings, and his wars.

SECT. XVII.

FROM Kenmore we propoſed great plea⯑ſure in our ride to Killin, which was our next ſtage. It lies at the head of the lake, which is about fifteen miles long; and as the road kept almoſt intirely by the water ſide, we expected many beautiful ſcenes. But we were diſappointed. We had ſeen the lake in it's greateſt glory from Kenmore. It never ſpreads into any conſiderable expanſe of water; but has the appearance rather of a river of unequal dimenſions. Where it is wideſt, it ſeldom exceeds a mile: but in general it is much narrower. Nor are it's boundaries plea⯑ſing. They exhibit no bold ſhores, broken promontories, nor other forms of beauty; but are rather tame hills, than pictureſque moun⯑tains. Nor are they furniſhed with wood, or other pleaſing appendages.—Upon the whole however, as the evening was cold, [168] ſour, and unpleaſant, it is probable, that it tinged the landſcape with ſimilar ideas. The effect is common. A clear evening might have diſpelled theſe gloomy viſions, which we attributed to the landſcape; and might have opened new beauties. I have heard indeed judicious travellers, who have ſeen it under a more favourable aſpect, ſpeak of many grand views from advantageous ſtands along the ſhores of the lake. Of this I have not the leaſt doubt; and am only unhappy in not being able to add my own teſtimony to what I have heard.

As we approached Killin, the country began to amend, and pleaſed us in ſpite of the untoward medium of a drizzling rain, through which we viewed it. Many of the hills were cloathed with wood; and ſome of them finely diſpoſed, ſkreening little irriguous vallies, which played among them. But as the evening grew worſe, and ſet in wet, we could not examine the landſcape as it deſerved. In general, however, the two ends of Loch-Tay are certainly the moſt beautiful parts of it.

The town of Killin is celebrated for being the receptacle of the bones of Fingal. We [169] were ſhewn the place, where tradition ſays, they were buried: but the traveller muſt view his tomb with the eye of faith. Not the leaſt monumental fragment remains.

At Killin we heard the little hiſtory of a Highland migration. Several expeditions of this kind to America, from different parts of Scotland (which were ſuppoſed to have been attended with ſucceſs) began to make a noiſe in the country; and a diſcontented ſpirit got abroad, even in thoſe parts, where no oppreſ⯑ſion could be complained of; particularly in the domains of the earl of Breadalbin; the happineſs of whoſe tenants ſeems to have been among the principal ſources of the happineſs of their lord. The word was given, as it was phraſed, in the beginning of March 1775; and a rendezvous was appointed at Killin, on the firſt of the enſuing May. Here convened about thirty families, making in all above three hundred people. The firſt night they ſpent at Killin, in barns, and other out-houſes, which they had previouſly engaged. Early the next morning the whole company was called together by the ſound of bag-pipes, and the order of their march was ſettled. Men, women, and children, had all their [170] proper ſtations aſſigned. They were all dreſſed in their beſt attire; and the men were armed in the Highland faſhion. They who were able, hired carts for their baggage: the reſt diſtributed it in proper proportions, among the ſeveral members of their little families; each of them, in the patriarchal ſtyle, carrying proviſions for the way. Then taking a long adieu of their friends, and rela⯑tions, who gathered round them, the muſic began to play, and in the midſt of a thouſand good wiſhes mutually diſtributed, the whole train moved on.

Goldſmith, in his deſerted village, gives a melancholy picture of a body of emigrants, taking a laſt farewell of their country.

But theſe emigrants were of a different ſtamp. Many of them were poſſeſſed of two or three hundred pounds, and few of leſs than thirty or forty; which at leaſt ſhewed, they had not ſtarved upon their farms. They were [171] a jocund crew; and ſet out, not like people flying from the face of poverty; but like men, who were about to carry their health, their ſtrength, and little property, to a better mar⯑ket. The firſt day's march brought them to Loch-Lomond, which is about twenty-five or thirty miles from Killin. At the head of this lake they had provided veſſels, in which the greater part of them embarked; and were carried by water twenty-four miles farther, into the neighbourhood of Dunbar⯑ton; where they cantoned themſelves, till their tranſport veſſel was ready at Grenock.

We propoſed alſo to viſit Loch-Lomond, and Dunbarton; but not by the rout of theſe emigrants; which would have abridged our tour. We choſe a wider circuit by Tindrum and Inverary.

From the pleaſing environs of Killin we launched out into a wild country, which na⯑ture had barely produced; but had done little to adorn. Neither had art ever deigned to viſit it, except in the ſhape of a ſoldier work⯑ing on a military road. Even the cottage ſmoking among a few trees, which almoſt every heath preſents, was not here to be found. All was wide, waſte and rude; to⯑tally [172] naked; and yet in it's ſimplicity often ſublime; the ground heaving, like the ocean into ample ſwells; and ſubſiding into vallies equally magnificent. The ideas were grand, rather than pleaſing. The imagination was intereſted, but not the eye. Here and there indeed a mountain-ſcene fell within the rules of compoſition. But in general, we had few forms of pictureſque beauty, at leaſt in the larger parts. In the ſmaller, we often found them; in the winding of rivulets, in their rocky beds, and in their little buſtling caſcades, of which we had great variety.

The great pictureſque uſe of iſlands, in theſe ſituations, is to break the tedious lines of ſuch promontories, and mountains, as fall into the water. But this iſland, beſides it's uſe in compoſition, is itſelf an object of beauty. It is decorated with wood; and adorned with a caſtle.

Caſtles in the middle of lakes, tho not proper for regal fortreſſes, were commonly choſen as ſeats of ſecurity by thoſe chiefs, who had the advantage of ſuch ſituations. The iſland-caſtle could only be attacked by water. In ſummer the lake could not af⯑ford navigation to carry over a body of men; and in winter the ice formed ſo expoſed an approach, that troops would hardly attempt it. There was no covering above ground; and the mattock could make none beneath. This caſtle however was once ſtormed by the M'greggors, in the midſt of a froſty winter, by a well contrived project. They brought [174] a vaſt quantity of faſcines to the edge of the lake, with which they made a ſtout breaſt-work. This they puſhed before them along the ſmooth ſurface of the ice; and being ſufficiently defended by it from the ſhot of the caſtle, they made good their landing, if I may ſo ſpeak; and quickly overpowered the place, which truſted more in it's ſituation, than in the ſtrength of it's garriſon.

About Tindrum we had attained the ſum⯑mit of our aſcent. This place is ſuppoſed to be one of the higheſt inhabited parts of Scotland—ſome ſay of Great-Britain. The word Breadalbin, in which country we now travelled, has that ſignification.

Among the mountains, which compoſe theſe wild ſcenes, the mountains of Bendoran are the moſt conſpicuous. The country-people conſider them as inchanted mountains. Before the ſtorm begins to rage, they emit a hollow ſound, which forebodes it. The ſhepherd knows it well, and inſtantly ſhelters his flock. Sounds however of this kind are not peculiar to mount Bendoran. They are often mentioned among the ſigns of bad weather. They were prognoſtics of ancient times.

At Tindrum the ground which had been riſing from Loch-Tay begins immediately to fall. The Tay which takes it's ſource at the ſummit of this elevation, runs due eaſt; and a little lake within a quarter of a mile of the fountains of the Tay, diſcharges it's waters due weſt. Along the banks of this little buſtling ſtream we deſcended through a valley, wild like that we had left behind, and nearly in the ſame ſtyle of landſcape; but of quicker deſcent.

Near Dalmaly the view opened upon a rich cultivated country, at leaſt ſuch it appeared— a ſight we had not met with for many days. We thought it could hardly be compoſed of the plains of Lorn, tho that is the richeſt part of Argyleſhire; and lay directly before the eye; but our maps ſeemed to place Lorn at too great a diſtance; and we had no op⯑portunity of inquiring. The remote diſtance however was dubious; and tho it appeared to us a cultivated ſcene, it might have been through ſome deception in the light. The [176] nearer grounds were varied by a part of Loch-Awe; towards which we approached.

Loch-Awe is one of the grandeſt lakes in Scotland. It extends thirty miles; and con⯑tains near a dozen iſlands. We ſkirted only it's northern ſhores; but were much amuſed with what we ſaw. On the oppoſite ſhore ariſes, in appearance almoſt perpendicular to the lake, the vaſt mountain of Crouachan, near enough for the eye to diſtinguiſh it's woods and rocks. Beneath it, on an iſland, ſtands the caſtle of Kilchurn, which is a grand object under the impending gloom of the mountains. This caſtle was built originally by the Lady of one of the Campbells, who went to the holy wars. Here in ſolitary retirement, ſhe mourned his abſence, and waited his return. In after ages the caſtle of Kilchurn taking a more dignified form, became the ſeat of the earls of Breadal⯑bin, and was admired chiefly for the view it commanded over the lake, and over a rich vale, bounded by lofty mountains. It afterwards be⯑came a fortreſs; and when the rebellion broke out in the year 1745, was haſtily fortified by Lord Breadalbin for the government, and garriſoned to defend this paſs into the Highlands; which intention I believe it fully anſwered.

[177]Beſides this iſland, we had two others in view, both woody, and both very ornamental. On one of them ſtood formerly a convent. We had alſo a long extent of water before us. The lake winds ſlowly, and falls off in good perſpective, exhibiting a great variety of bays, promontories, and large peninſulas. In many parts alſo the ſcenery around it was woody; but yet on the whole, it had rather an unpictureſque appearance. The iſlands are formally ſtationed; and many of the moun⯑tain-ſkreens, which are unadorned with wood, are tame, and unbroken.

We took two drawings however upon this lake. In one of them, two of the iſlands appeared with great advantage; and the moun⯑tain-ſkreens behind them, conſiſting only of ſimple parts, were magnificent.

The other view was more contracted, and exhibited a large promontory, under which ſtood the iſland, with the ruins of Kilchurn-caſtle. The conſtituent parts of this latter view are the ſame as thoſe we had obſerved upon Loch-Dochart: but it is one of nature's ſameneſſes: it is alter et idem. There the iſland appeared connected with the promon⯑tory, under which it ſtood; here it appeared [178] detached from the lake, and connected with the foreground. In each ſituation the iſlands broke the lines of the promontories, and had a good effect. But the iſland on Loch-Awe afforded the better picture.

Both theſe lakes deſerved more attention, than we were able to pay them. We wiſhed to make a circuit round them, and view them in various points. The iſlands upon Loch-Awe, however formal they might appear in ſome views, would unqueſtionably have a fine effect in many other ſituations: and pro⯑montories, which, on one ſide, appeared ſmooth, tame and unadorned, might appear broken, animated, and rich on another: but our time was limited; and we were obliged to ſatisfy our curioſity with little more than a view of ſuch parts, as the road preſented.

From the neighbourhood of Loch-Awe we purſued our rout to Inverary-caſtle, the prin⯑cipal ſeat of the duke of Argyle. A very long and dreary ride had made us languiſh for the contraſt of a little woody ſcenery: when the foreſts roſe, as if by inchantment; vaſt, rich, and luxuriant. Whole mountains [179] in a great degree, were covered with woods of ancient ſtanding; which ſinking into their deep ſhadowy receſſes, or ſtanding out boldly upon their knolls in broad maſſes enlightened by the ſun, wonderfully charmed the eye, both with the greatneſs, and novelty of the ſcene. They ſeemed planted to exemplify the following precept.

Some powerful hand, it was evident, had been at work in cloathing the naked ſides of all theſe vaſt ridges; and we might have known, by the noble decoration of the ſcene, that we were in the dominions of ſome po⯑tent chieftain, tho we had not known it, by the geography of the country. Every moment we looked, when the caſtle would open to our view. But we travelled at leaſt four miles among theſe Alpine plantations, before we arrived at it.

SECT. XVIII.

INVERARY-CASTLE fully anſwered the grandeur of the approach. It ſeems equally adapted to all the purpoſes of great⯑neſs, beauty, and accommodation. It ſtands upon a gentle riſe, the ground gradually ſloping from it in various directions. The area, which ſurrounds it, is ſpacious, con⯑taining two or three miles in circumference; and is bounded, behind the caſtle, by a ſemi-circular ſkreen of mountains, riſing in different forms, ſome of them broken, and others adorned with wood; ſo that the caſtle ſtands in a kind of mountain-receſs, open in front; where it commands a ſpacious view over Loch-Fyne. One of theſe mountains, called Doniquaick, is a noble, ſpirited object. It's ſides are ſhaggy, and broken; and the inter⯑ſtices of ſoil are filled with wood. On it's ſummit ſtands a lonely watch-tower, which [182] like every thing characteriſtic has a good effect. Had it been an ornamental building of any kind, thus loftily ſeated, it had been abſurd.

At the foot of this mountain, runs the Aray, a conſiderable ſtream. It iſſues through a narrow valley, behind the houſe; and taking a ſemicircular ſweep around it, at the bottom of the lawn enters Loch-Fyne.

This lake which is the glory of the ſcene, ſpreads into a noble bay before the front of the caſtle; forming an irregular circle of about twelve or fourteen miles in circumference, beautifully indented with a variety of penin⯑ſulas, and ſurrounded by mountains. It is an object, not only beautiful in itſelf; but it makes a fine contraſt with the woods, and mountains around it.

Loch-Fyne is a ſalt lake, communicating with the ſea, at the diſtance of about twenty-five miles from Inverary caſtle, but as the tide has no very great effect upon it here, it has almoſt all the beauties of an inland lake; and ſome, which an inland lake cannot have; particularly that of a very crouded navigation. It is one of the favourite haunts of herring; and at certain ſeaſons of the year is frequented by innumerable ſhoals. The country-people [183] expreſs the quantities of this fiſh in ſtrong language. At thoſe ſeaſons, they ſay, the lake contains one part water, and two parts fiſh. In this ſingle bay of the lake, we were told that above ſix hundred boats are ſometimes employed in taking them. The groups of theſe little fiſhing veſſels with their circling nets make a beautiful moving picture; which is frequently varied by veſſels of a larger ſize, ſhooting athwart; threading the ſeveral little knots of anchoring barks; and making their tacks in every direction.

The herring-boats commonly take their ſtation on the lake, as the evening comes on; and if all this moving picture ſhould happen to be enlightened with a ſplendid ſun ſet, the effect is very fine. The crews of theſe boats ſeem generally to be a cheerful, happy race. Among the implements of each boat, the bag⯑pipe is rarely forgotten; the ſhrill melody of which you hear conſtantly reſounding from every part; except when all hands are at work. On Sunday, the mirth of the ſeveral crews is changed into devotion: as you walk by the ſide of the lake, if the evening be ſtill, you hear them ſinging pſalms, inſtead of playing on the bagpipe.

[184]The mountain of Doniquaick, and the lake, are two very harmonious neighbours, in every point, in which they are brought together. We ſaw them contraſted in ſeveral forms; and always beautifully. One of the grandeſt views of the whole may be taken ſomewhere about the new-inn. The mountain of Doni⯑quaick—a bridge over the Aray—the lake, and the mountains, which ſkreen it, all unite in very pleaſing compoſition.

From the bay, which Loch-Fyne forms before the caſtle of Inverary, run two grand openings; one to the north-eaſt into the country; and the other to the ſouth-weſt towards the ſea: but all appearance of theſe outlets is excluded from the caſtle by the folding of the mountains. I mean not by this remark, to expreſs any peculiar excellence in the circular form of a bay. This particular one indeed contains great variety, and is very beautiful in it's kind: but ſtill there is in general more variety, and more beauty, in the fading diſtance of a lake going off in per⯑ſpective.

In one of the apartments we were ſtruck with a number of ſmall paintings in a fine old mellow ſtyle; but all of them evi⯑dently by the ſame hand. Upon examining them more attentively, we found them all copies from pictures we knew; ſome of which were very modern. Enquiring farther into the myſtery, we were informed, they were all the work of the preſent ducheſs of Argyle; and were in fact mezzotinto-prints, varniſhed [186] with gum-copal; and painted on the back, in a manner lately invented. I have ſeen no invention of the kind that has ſo much merit. Coloured prints are in general miſerable daubings^*.

This noble caſtle was built by Archibald, duke of Argyle, who finiſhed little more than the ſhell: but his ideas ſeem to have been ſo grand; that it is probable he would have ſtruck out ſomething beyond the taſte of the times, in the improvements around it, if he had lived to complete his deſigns. One great work he had in view, was to remove the whole town of Inverary, which was in⯑deed a great nuiſance to him. Part of it had even ſtraggled between the caſtle and the lake; and the whole, a dirty, ill-built hamlet, was a diſgrace to the ſcene. With a grandeur of conception, equal to his other deſigns, the duke reſolved to pull the whole down; and rebuild it upon a peninſula in the lake, about half a mile from his caſtle. The ſituation was admirably choſen, at leaſt for the benefit [187] of the town; tho it may ſtill perhaps a little interfere with the views of the caſtle; par⯑ticularly of that down the lake towards the ſouth. The duke proceeded ſo far in his plan, as to build a noble row of houſes; one of which is an inn, and another a cuſtom houſe: but his death prevented the completion of this grand deſign.

In his ſucceſſor's time, all operations were at a ſtand: but the preſent duke has called his workmen again together. He has already removed as much of the old town, as was a nuiſance to himſelf: but whether he means to carry his predeceſſor's full intention into exe⯑cution does not yet appear^*. About the caſtle however he is making great improvements; and, as far as he has yet done, in a very good taſte. A grand walk is conducted over a noble bridge, at the foot of Doniquaick, and along the banks of the river; from which an offset carries you in a ſpiral up the moun⯑tain. From the watch-tower, at the ſum⯑mit, we were informed, that one of the grandeſt views in Scotland is exhibited, over [188] Loch-Fyne, and the neighbouring mountains. —But a wet morning prevented our ſeeing it.

In a word, as Inverary-caſtle has one of the nobleſt ſituations that can be conceived, it will probably in a few years, be as well worth viſiting, as any place in Britain; if the improvements continue in the ſame ſtyle of ſimplicity and grandeur, in which they are begun. No place we had yet ſeen in Scot⯑land, if we except Hopeton-houſe, can bear the leaſt compariſon with it. If we found fault with any thing, it was with ſome little decorations, and caſcade-work upon the river; but as theſe things might have been executed be⯑fore, and may eaſily be altered, all cenſure ſhould ceaſe, till the whole be finiſhed.

We had now almoſt completed our tour through the Highlands of Scotland, Inverary being the laſt town of any conſequence we viſited in that diſtrict; and through our whole journey were greatly pleaſed both with the face of the country, and with the manners of the inhabitants. The former may pro⯑bably have ſome effect upon the latter. The [189] extremes of heat and cold produce nearly per⯑haps the ſame effect. The ſavage, under a ſouthern clime, is languid, and inert; under a northern one, benumbed, and torpid. It is in the middle regions, that we find the boldeſt, and moſt ſpirited exertions. I ſpeak of men in a barbarous ſtate. Civilization brings all to a level. The early and un⯑civilized native of this country ſeems to have had great vigour of mind and body; but it was the vigour of a wild beaſt. Indolence and activity took their turns in his breaſt. Every paſſion had it's courſe, and when it's rage was ſpent, he ſunk into ſloth. He was eaſily offended: fierce in his anger, and im⯑placable in his revenge, he ſhed blood without remorſe.

Some years ago, an old manuſcript was printed at Glaſgow, under the title of Feuds and conflicts among the Scottiſh clans. It con⯑tains many anecdotes, very deſcriptive of the ancient manners of the country. One little hiſtory I ſhall preſent to the reader from the materials ^* which it furniſhes, and the co-incident circumſtances of the times. It is [190] an account of the petty wars between Angus Macdonald of Kintire, and Sir Laughlan Mac⯑lean of the Iſle of Mull; and is both curi⯑ous in itſelf, and will give a better idea of the ancient ſtate of the Highlands, than any ſyſtematic inquiry. It is likewiſe nearly connected with the ſcenes we are now ſur⯑veying. The characters too are drawn from the life, and well marked.

SECT. XIX.

ABOUT two centuries ago, it happened, that Donald Gorme, a gentleman of the iſle of Sky, propoſing to viſit his relation Angus Macdonald of Kintire, was driven by adverſe winds into Invernook-bay in the iſle of Jura. This place belonged to Sir Laughlan Maclean; who happened to be there himſelf at that time, tho his principal reſidence was in Mull.

In Jura alſo, by an unuſual concurrence of circumſtances, happened to lurk ſome out-laws; whom Donald Gorme for certain offences, had lately driven from their country. Theſe fugitives, underſtanding to whom the veſſel in the bay belonged; and not having [192] it in their power to injure Gorme themſelves, contrived a very malicious ſcheme to draw upon him the reſentment of Maclean. In the ſilence of the night, they drove ſome of Maclean's cattle towards the bay; and carried them off; not doubting but the ſuſpicion would reſt on Gorme.

Suſpicion is the evidence of barbarians. Maclean, a young, fiery chief, without farther inquiry, collected his clan the next night, fell upon Gorme, and killed ſixteen of his people. Gorme himſelf, and a few of his followers, with difficulty eſcaped.

When Angus Macdonald of Kintire, to whom Gorme's viſit had been intended, heard of this diſaſter, he was much diſtreſſed; and the more, as he was nearly related to both parties. He was firſt couſin to Gorme; and had married the ſiſter of Maclean. Fearing therefore the conſequences of the affair, he reſolved to employ his good office in making it up.

His firſt efforts were in the iſle of Sky, were he found Gorme not untractable. From thence he ſailed to Mull; propoſing an in⯑terview with Maclean at Caſtle-Duart, the [193] place of his reſidence.—But his friends adviſed him to be cautious.

As the Scottiſh government inclined to ariſtocracy, it had ever been the regal policy to divide the clans: and to this end the crown, on feudal principles would often take the occaſion of very ſlight pretences, to grant ſome favoured chief a claim on the lands of his more obnoxious neighbour. Theſe grants being commonly obtained, when families were at va⯑riance, gave a kind of ſanction to their quar⯑rels.

A claim of this kind had formerly, it ſeems, been granted to the Macleans, upon ſome lands in Ilay, which belonged to the Macdonalds: and tho the claim had long lain dormant, and the families were now united by marriage; yet the friends of Mac⯑donald adviſed him not to put himſelf in the hands of a youth, whoſe character was little known; and whom, for that reaſon, it was imprudent to truſt. But Macdonald naturally frank, and generous, and unacquaint⯑ed with fear, could not conceive, that a man, whom he had never offended, and whoſe ſiſter he had married, could poſſibly intend him ill. He went therefore with all confi⯑dence [194] to Caſtle-Duart: and even left, the greateſt part of his retinue behind.

Maclean received him courteouſly; and gave him hopes that Gorme's conditions might be the baſis of an agreement; and put an end to the unhappy affair between them. But in the hour of retirement other thoughts poſſeſſed him. The ſecret whiſpers of intereſt and am⯑bition intervened; and all ſcruples of integrity, and honour were thrown aſide. Before the morn⯑ing he had ſettled the whole affair in his own mind; and with a confident air informed his aſtoniſhed gueſt, that he muſt expect to ſpend his future life in captivity, unleſs he gave up all title to the diſputed lands in Ilay. The unfortunate Macdonald had no choice. He was obliged to ſubmit; and to leave his ſon, and brother, as pledges of his faith.

This act of perfidy rouſed all the ſpirit of Macdonald. The affair of Invernook-bay was forgotten. The quarrel was now his own. But being as cool, as he was determined, not the ſlighteſt whiſper of diſcontent paſſed his lips. All appearance of reſentment was ſtifled, till he could ſhew it with effect.

It was neceſſary, it ſeems, for Maclean in perſon to take poſſeſſion of thoſe lands, which had thus been ceded to him. He [195] went therefore to Ilay, and encamped his little company upon the ruins of a fort, near the Kinnes, which was the name of the lands, he was going to poſſeſs.

It was a cuſtom among the highland chiefs to invite all ſtrangers to their houſes; and make them welcome, as long as their pro⯑viſion laſted. When this was conſumed, the maſter of the family accompanied them to his next neighbour's, where their viſit was limit⯑ed by the ſame neceſſity. This chief alſo join⯑ed the proceſſion; and thus they went on, increaſing their company, and devouring the proviſions of a whole diſtrict.

Of this jovial cuſtom, and the inconvenient ſituation of the camp of Kinnes, Macdonald took the advantage. He offered Maclean the uſe of his own habitation at Mullintrea; and deſcribing his neighbours, as diſpoſed to mirth and jollity, wiſhed him to pay a friend⯑ly viſit among them: obſerving, that his retinue, which was numerous, and eſpecially his hoſtages, would effectually ſecure him from any affront.

Credulity is as much the characteriſtic of a ſtate of barbariſm, as ſuſpicion. Maclean with little heſitation complied; and ſcrupled [196] not to accept an invitation from a man, with whom he had juſt before broken every rite of hoſpitality.

But other thoughts than thoſe of merriment poſſeſſed the mind of Macdonald. He had privately ſent orders to his clan to rendezvous in arms, at an appointed place; and at mid⯑night to ſurround a houſe, which he had appropriated for the reception of Maclean.— The habitation of a highland chief was a little town, conſiſting of various appendages; many of which were detached.

The carouſal, which had purpoſely been prolonged to a late hour, was now over; all were retired to reſt; and the highland-clan had taken their appointed ſtand around the lodgings of Maclean, when Macdonald in a peremptory tone calling loud at the window of his gueſt, ordered him to come down. The alarmed chief ſtarted from his bed; and ſeeing through the lattice, the houſe ſurrounded by armed men, he curſed his own imprudence, gave up all for loſt, and opened the door, holding the young ſon of Macdonald, his hoſtage, before his breaſt, to prevent any ſudden attack. But Macdonald aſſured him, that nothing againſt his life was intended. [197] The poſſeſſion of his perſon was all he deſired, and having obtained this, he proclaimed liberty to all the reſt of Maclean's followers. Two of them only were excepted, who were thought to have been their chief's principal adviſers. With theſe Macdonald made ſhort work, ordering fire to the out-houſe in which they lodged, and leaving them to periſh in the flames.

Maclean had ſcarce taken poſſeſſion of his dungeon, when a plot nearer home was contrived to compleat his ruin. One of his near relations, Allen Maclean, thinking this a favourable opportunity to ſerve his own intereſt, ſpread a report that Maclean had ſent ſecret orders to put Macdonald's brother to death, who had been left as an hoſtage in Mull. In conſequence of this he hoped, that Macdonald would retaliate upon his priſoner; while he himſelf, being pre⯑pared, might ſeize the eſtate. His contrivance miſcarried in it's principal aim; tho it had horrid conſequences. Macdonald believing the report, maſſacred in his rage all the retinue of Maclean, above eighty men, who had not yet left the iſland. Maclean himſelf [198] he ſpared, reſerving him probably for a more exemplary puniſhment.

The ſuperiority of Macdonald in this con⯑teſt, and his own perſonal abilities, began now to raiſe the jealouſy of the little court of Inverary. The territories of Kintire, which lay upon the ſhores of Loch-Fyne, were contiguous to thoſe of Argyle; and the large iſland of Ilay, which belonged alſo to Macdonald, was immediately upon the coaſt. Theſe inſular poſſeſſions gave him the con⯑ [...]quence of a maritime power: he had a navy in his ports, and could have carried a ſudden war up Loch-Fyne to the very walls of In⯑verary. So potent a neighbour therefore became matter of juſt alarm. Many councils were called, and it was at length, reſolved to raiſe a body of forces, oſtenſively to adjuſt the quarrel between theſe contending chiefs, but really to check the power of Macdonald.

The earl of Argyle however ſoon found he had embarked in a matter above his ſtrength. Macdonald had addreſs in council, and abilities in the field, beyond the barbariſm of the times, in which he lived; and put on ſo reſolute a countenance, that Argyle thought it prudent to draw back. His attempts took [199] a ſafer channel. He made an application to the king, whom by certain arguments he induced to come forward in the affair. James the ſixth, who was then king of Scotland, menaced in his uſual tone of magnificence: but a highland chief, tho of a ſecondary order, would not eaſily at that day, ſubmit to a royal mandate, when iſſued from ſuch a prince as James.

It happened however that Macdonald was himſelf at this time diſpoſed to ſettle his dif⯑ference with Maclean. He had juſt engaged to aſſiſt the quarrel of a neighbouring chief upon the coaſt of Ireland; and wiſhed to tranſport himſelf into that country, as ſoon as he could. On ſome rigid conditions therefore; and the delivery of ſeveral hoſtages; Maclean was ſet at liberty.

Neither prudence, foreſight, nor contrivance, mark the events of ſavage war: every man ſeizes his prey, like a wild-beaſt, either by open force, or by a ſudden ſpring, when it is off it's guard. He conſiders not, whether he is able to maintain the quarrel. He begins it with temerity, and thinks not beyond the firſt attack.—Thus Macdonald had no ſooner embarked for Ireland, than Maclean incited probably by the counſel, and aſſiſtance of [200] Argyle, entered Ilay with fire and ſword. He had every reaſon to believe, that Macdonald would put his hoſtages to inſtant death: but he gave up every motive to the gratification of revenge.

Macdonald however with unuſual gener⯑oſity, ſcorned to revenge a public quarrel upon a few unfortunate individuals. The innocent blood he ſhed at Mullintrea, had probably taught him this leſſon of humanity. But he was rapid in taking open vengeance. He inſtantly tranſported his troops from Ire⯑land into the iſle of Mull, which he burned, ravaged, and deſtroyed from one end to the other. The clan Lean could make no re⯑ſiſtance, flying before him like ſheep; whom the raging chief ſometimes ſlaughtered in a ſcattered purſuit; and ſometimes driving them in bodies into corners of the iſland, butchered in a promiſcuous heap. Cattle and every thing of value he carried off; and left the place ſmoking under the effects of his vengeance. Nullum in barbaris ſaevitiae genus omittit ira, et victoria ^*.

[201]Maclean, in the mean time, was not back⯑ward in retaliating; but finding himſelf un⯑able to cope with the proweſs of Macdonald, he had, as uſual, recourſe to perfidy.

John Macean, of the kindred of Macdonald, had, in peaceable times, expreſſed a great at⯑tachment to Maclean's mother, who was then a blooming widow. The diſpoſal of a mo⯑ther in marriage, was, it ſeems, among the privileges of a highland-chief; and Maclean was eager to bring on this match, in expecta⯑tion, that it might be the mean of alluring his new father-in-law into a confderacy againſt Macdonald. Macean heard with pleaſure, that his propoſals would be accepted; and came to Mull with great joy, where the marriage was ſolemnized. But after the nup⯑tials, when Maclean ſounded him about a league againſt Macdonald, the propoſal was received with diſdain. Macean would not hear of acting ſo perfidious a part againſt his friend, his patron, and his near relation.

In revenge for this diſappointment, Mac⯑lean, with a brutality almoſt unparalleled, broke at midnight into Macean's chamber, tore him from his bride, put him to death; [202] and killed eighteen of his men, who ran to aſſiſt their chief.

Barbarous as the country was, an act like this was received with horror. The maſſa⯑cre at Mullintrea had thrown no odium on Mac⯑donald. He was pitied for a miſtake. But Macean's nuptials became a proverb to expreſs every thing that was vile, and ſhocking in human nature.

This horrid deed ſeemed the expiring act of deſpair. The credit, which Maclean had loſt, accrued of courſe to Macdonald; and all Scotland acknowledged the inequality of the conteſt between them. The king ſaw it with concern; and conſidered the chief who preſſ⯑ed before his peers, as diſturbing the balance of the ariſtocracy, and treſpaſſing on the royal authority.

In this light Macdonald appeared at court; where James, incited by ſuſpicion, and jea⯑louſy, determined to curb his influence. That prince, ever inclined to an oblique path, inſtead of boldly calling the man to account (as he might legally have done) who in the open defiance of law, durſt preſume to re⯑venge his own quarrel; had recourſe to an act of perfidy. He pretended great zeal to ſerve [203] two kinſmen, who ought to be ſo dear to each other: he cajoled them with the kindeſt expreſſions, and gave each of them a ſafe conduct to Edinburgh, where he promiſed to make up the matter to the ſatisfaction of both. The method he took to ſettle their differences, if we except the perfidy of it, was ſenſible enough. He ſhut them both up together in Edinburgh-caſtle; and left them to manage the diſpute by themſelves. This conference brought affairs to a ſpeedy iſſue. The two chiefs tired of their com⯑pany, and confinement, made the king every promiſe he deſired; and to recover their li⯑berty, left their ſons as hoſtages for their fu⯑ture behaviour.

A peace during ſeveral years enſued. But the highland quarrel of thoſe days was never worn out. Macdonald growing old, and leaving the management of his affairs to his ſon, who was a mere youth, the revenge and ambition of Maclean again took fire. He got his old claims on Ilay confirmed, and enlarged, by a new grant from the crown; and at the head of his clan entered the iſland.

[204]Young Macdonald, hearing of his prepar⯑ations, raiſed forces likewiſe; and appeared in Ilay at the ſame time. Great endeavours were made by their common friends to prevent blood-ſhed; and young Macdonald offered to give up half the diſputed lands, rather than have his father's age diſturbed: but Maclean reject⯑ed the offer, and proudly bad him prepare for battle.

At the head of a ſmall lake, called Groinart, theſe two little highland-bodies were drawn up; and began one of thoſe deſperate conflicts, which is ſeldom ſeen among regular troops. Maclean's party were more numerous; but Macdonald's were better ſoldiers, having been trained in the Iriſh wars, and long inured to diſcipline.

The event of the battle was favourable to Macdonald. By a feigned retreat, that young chief diſordered the enemy, and wheeling ſuddenly round, charged them with ſuch un⯑expected fury, that after a brave, tho ineffec⯑tual defence, they gave way. A great ſlaugh⯑ter enſued. Three hundred were left dead upon the field; near eighty of whom were of the kindred of Maclean; and the dead body [205] of that reſtleſs, and perfidious chief himſelf was found amidſt the carnage.

Before Maclean engaged in this enterprize he conſulted one of the weird ſiſters of thoſe uninlightened times; and was anſwered, that if he landed in Ilay on a thurſday; or drank of a well near Groinart, he waged a war with fate. Both theſe injunctions he tranſgreſſed. A ſtorm drove him upon the coaſt on a thurſday; and he drank of the well before he had inquired the name of the place.

Thus ended, this long diſpute between the Madonalds, and the Macleans; and it ended as the diſputes of thoſe times commonly did, in the death of one of the contending parties.

Victory however did not ſecure repoſe to the brave Macdonald. Other conteſts en⯑ſued. The death of Maclean had thrown ſo much power into his hands, that it ex⯑cited anew the jealouſy and ambition of the earl of Argyle. That protent chief got a grant from the crown, as was uſual in thoſe days, of the diſputed lands both in Kintire, and in Ilay, which Macdonald now poſſeſſed. This produced a new ſeries of wars, which laſted many years, between the Campbells, [206] and the Macdonalds. Old Angus Macdonald was dead; but tho his ſon inherited his virtues, the power of the houſe of Inverary at length prevailed; and the lands in diſpute were finally annexed to it's vaſt domains.

This narrative places in a ſtrong light, the character of thoſe barbarous times—the ſpirit of ariſtocratic chiefs—and the extenſive miſchief of their quarrels, which were continually raging in ſome part of Scotland. In the mean time the lower members of each little community were as frequently making depredations on their neighbours in a lower ſtyle; and often indeed under the influence of their chiefs, who inriched themſelves at the hazard of their vaſſals, or made them the inſtruments of ſome act of vengeance, in which they did not care to appear openly themſelves. When the chief did not want the ſervices of his clan, they pillaged for themſelves. It was no uncommon thing, we are told, for a father to give as a dowry with his daughter, what he could plunder in three Michaelmas moons.

The arts of rapine generated the arts of defence. Cattle were the great objects of [207] plunder; and many ingenious modes of ſecur⯑ing them were practiſed. Among theſe arts we are told wonderful ſtories of the ſagacity of the highlanders in tracing their cattle. They could diſtinguiſh the track of their own beaſts from any other—either by their number —or by their different ages—or by ſome other ſigns we are ignorant of; and would purſue it through the territories of different clans, with the certainty of hounds following their game. Whenever the track was loſt, the owner of the land was obliged to recover it: and if he could not, he was ſued for the damage. This plea had by long cuſtom obtained the force of law.

SECT. XX.

HAVING thus ſhewn the unfavourable ſide of the highland character, let us conſider it next in a more pleaſing light. The whole ſyſtem of manners indeed which belongs to it, is now wholly changed. You may travel through any part of Scotland; and rarely hear of an atrocious deed. Con⯑tention among the chiefs is ſubſided; and theft, and rapine among the inferior orders are at an end.

There are very few inſtances, in the annals of human nature of a country ſo ſuddenly reclaimed. After the battle of Culloden, when the ſovereignty of the highland chiefs was aboliſhed by act of parliament, this happy change immediately took place.

[210]But yet, wiſe as this meaſure was, it would have anſwered no end in reclaiming the man⯑ners of the people, if they had not been naturally of a virtuous caſt. They thieved not ſo much from principle, as through the force of clanſhip. When this was aboliſhed, the honeſt principles of nature revived. And yet it is very certain, that the prohibition of theft, and rapine among barbarous nations makes no part of their moral code. From the times of the ancient Greeks, to the preſent Arabs, the invaſion of another's pro⯑perty was never conſidered as having any criminality in it; tho one would obviouſly be apt to ſuppoſe, that juſtice ſhould be among the firſt principles of nature. At this very day, the young Circaſſian prince is taught by his preceptor to ride, to uſe his arms, to ſteal, and to conceal his thefts. The word thief is a term of the utmoſt reproach; but only as it implies detection. He is afterwards led to more conſiderable, and dangerous rob⯑beries; till his cunning, his addreſs, and ſtrength are ſuppoſed to be perfect^*.

[211]The Scotch highlander was greatly addicted alſo to revenge: and carried his quarrels, (as we have juſt ſeen), to the laſt extremity. But for this we can eaſily account: it was chiefly through a deſire to do himſelf juſtice; and to repair wrongs, for which the law, but weakly executed, would give him no redreſs. This we ſee verified in the narra⯑tive I have juſt given. But one of the ſtrongeſt illuſtrations of this remark, is a ſtory told of James Hamilton, who aſſaſſinated the regent Murray^*. After the aſſaſſination, Ha⯑milton fled into France; where party then raged high. A perſon there, who knew him, and who wiſhed to aſſaſſinate the admiral Coligny; but had not reſolution to perpetrate the deed himſelf; thought he could not apply to a properer man, than Hamilton, who had juſt committed an act of the ſame kind in his own country. Hamilton ſhocked at the pro⯑poſal, cried out; "What! Villain, do you ſuppoſe me an aſſaſſin?" and challenged him on the ſpot.

But notwithſtanding the proneneſs of the Scotch highlander to acts of revenge, and [212] rapine, he was, in other reſpects, in the worſt of times, a virtuous character. He was faithful, hoſpitable, temperate, and brave; and if he did not eaſily forget an injury; he was always eſteemed grateful for a benefit. How ſtrict he was where confidence was repoſed, appears in a very ſtrong light from that univerſal protection and fidelity, which the pretender experienced after the battle of Culloden. Tho the penalty for concealing him was ſo great; and the reward for giving him up ſo tempting; there was not a ſingle man ſound among ſuch numbers whom he was obliged to truſt, who did not contribute all he could to conceal, and ſuccour him. A fellow of the name of Kennedy, to whom he was particularly obliged, is often mentioned. This man had virtue enough to reſiſt the temptation of £ 30,000, tho he was afterwards hanged, I have heard, for ſtealing a cow. We are told alſo of a very celebrated robber of the name of Roy M'greggor, who even formed thieving into a ſcience; and yet was one of the moſt benevolent men in the country; and remarkable for his many acts of kindneſs, and friendſhip.—There appears to be therefore in the Scotch highlander, notwithſtanding the [213] blemiſhes in his national character, a good foundation of moral virtue. A ſpurious kind of religion he always had: but it diſturbed the career of none of his paſſions. It ſtruck no root in his heart; but appeared only in a few wild ſhoots of ſuperſtition. He was a religious obſerver, for inſtance, of his oath: but it was only when he had ſworn by ſome⯑thing, which for ſome whimſical reaſon he deemed ſacred; his dagger perhaps, or his father's ſoul: but he would break an oath, taken on a bible, without ſcruple.

A better direction hath now been given to minds thus in a degree prepared by ſuperſtition. King George the ſecond gave, out of the forfeited eſtates, £ 1000 a year, which is ſtill continued, to erect ſchools—to tranſlate the bible into Erſe—and to maintain miniſters, and catechiſts. The good effects of this bounty are very viſible^*. Through the whole country we found not only a pleaſing ſimplicity, and civility of manners; but a ſerious, and religious [214] deportment among the common people, which can hardly be conceived by thoſe, who are acquainted with the prophaneneſs and pro⯑fligacy of the lower ranks near the capital. A ſmall Erſe bible is the highlander's uſual companion; and it is common to ſee him reading it, as he tends his cattle, or reſts upon the road. We had frequently this pleaſing ſight. It is common alſo, when you enter his little cottage, to ſee the mother ſpinning, or knitting, and the children ſtand⯑ing round either reading in the bible; or repeating their catechiſm.

To this virtuous diſpoſition of the high⯑lander may be added, what commonly accom⯑panies a virtuous diſpoſition, an independent ſpi⯑rit. There are no poor-rates in Scotland; and indeed a relief of that kind would be but ill-reliſhed in the country. While the Engliſh peaſant will often forge pretences to live on the labour of others; the Scotch highlander, even in his real diſtreſſes, will make his laſt effort, and ſubmit to any inconvenience, before he will complain.

To theſe remarks on the preſent character of the Scotch highlander I ſhall ſubjoin a pleaſing picture of domeſtic life, both as an [215] illuſtration of what I have ſaid; and as a contraſt to the bloody ſcenes I preſented a little above. It is taken from a book of poems, which I have juſt quoted, by Robert Burns, a bard as he calls himſelf, from the plough: but the images being caught from nature, are ſuch as muſt give pleaſure to every feeling heart. The whole indeed is equal to any praiſe.