Travellers Stories | Page 9

poring
over a directory. All he could learn was what we had already told him,
and so on he went, not knowing whether right or wrong, giving us a
fine opportunity of seeing the city in the evening. At last, he came to
the bridge over the Clyde, and there the tollman directed us to the
Observatory.
After a long drive, evidently over not a very good road, the driver
stopped, and told us that here was Dr. Nichol's house. He began to take
off our luggage. We insisted upon his inquiring, first, if that was Dr.

Nichol's. He took off our trunk, and would have us go in; we resisted;
and after a while he rang the bell, and the answer was, "Dr. Nichol lives
in the next house." Still higher we had to climb, and at last stopped at
the veritable Observatory, where our friend, who was expecting us,
lived. Nothing could exceed the hospitality with which we were
received.
Early, one misty, smoky morning, I embarked in one of the famous
little Clyde steamers, and set out on a Highland tour. I had heard of old
Scotia's barren hills, clothed with the purple heather and the yellow
gorse, of her deep glens, of her romantic streams; but the reality went
far beyond the description, or my imagination. The hills are all bare of
trees, but their outline is very beautiful and infinitely varied. Picture to
yourself a ridge of hills or mountains all purple with the heather,
relieved with the silver-gray of the rocks and with patches of the bright
yellow gorse, and all this harmony of color reflected in the green sea
water which runs winding far in among the hills. As the light changes,
these colors are either brought out more strongly, or mingle into one
soft lilac color, or sometimes a sort of purple-gray. Your eye is
enchanted, and never weary of looking and admiring. I would not have
any trees on the Scotch hills; I would not have them other than they are.
If I were dying I could look at them with joy; they are lovely beyond
words to tell.
I was on all the most celebrated and beautiful lakes. I was rowed in an
open boat, by two Highland youths, from one end of Loch Katrine to
the other, and through those beautiful, high, heathery, rocky banks at
one end of the lake, called the Trosachs. These exquisite rocks are
adorned, and every crevice fringed and festooned with harebells,
heather, gorse, and here and there beautiful evergreen trees. We passed
by "Ellen's Isle," as it is called, the most exquisite little island ever
formed, a perfect oval, and all covered with the purple heather, the
golden gorse, and all sorts of flowers and exquisitely beautiful trees. O,
what a little paradise it is! A number of little row-boats, with
fine-looking Highland rowers and gay companies of ladies and
gentlemen, were visiting the island as we passed. They show the oak
tree to which they say Ellen fastened her boat. It was beautiful to see
the glancing of the sunlight on the oars of these boats, and the bright
colors of the shawls and bonnets of the ladies in them, and to witness

this homage to nature and genius which they were paying in their visit
to Ellen's Isle. I was glad to join them, and do reverence too. The
heather is usually not more than two feet high,--sometimes higher, but
often shorter; but on Ellen's Isle it grows to the height of four and five
feet.
Just before we came to Oban, we passed the estate of Lord Heigh,
where we heard the following story. The origin of his name and rank is
this: When King Kenneth ruled in Scotland, he was beaten in a great
battle by the Danes, and his army scattered among the hills, while the
enemy was marching home in triumph. A man in the Scottish army said
that he knew a pass through which the victor must go, where one man
might stop a thousand, and offered himself and his two sons to defend
it. He came to the pass armed only with an ox-yoke, but made such use
of his weapon that the Danes were kept at bay, till the Scots rallied and
cut them to pieces. When Kenneth reached the pass, he found his brave
subject lying in truth quite exhausted. He raised him up, and inquired
his name; the fainting man could only gasp, "Heigh-ho, heigh!" From
that moment he was called the Lord of Heigh, and the king gave him as
much land as an eagle could fly over without alighting. The family
arms are an eagle on the wing over an ox-yoke.
At Edinburgh, I went to see the Regalia, which are kept