Travellers Stories | Page 9

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 in a small room in the castle, in which they were found after being buried there for more than a century. It is a small room, not more than twelve feet square. On one side is the iron chest in which the Regalia were found; and in the middle of the room is a marble table, entirely white, surrounded by an iron grating, on which is the crown which Robert Bruce had made for himself, the sword of James the First, the signet ring of Charles the First, and other jewels that had belonged to some of the Scottish kings. Around these and the other insignia of their former royalty the lamps are always burning. This is an altar sacred to Auld Lang Syne.
I arrived in York at half past two o'clock at night. All was dark in the city,