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HARRY bore Nell carefully down the steeps of Arthur’s Seat, and,
accompanied by James Starr and Jack Ryan, they reached Lambert’s Hotel. There
a good breakfast restored their strength, and they began to make further plans
for an excursion to the Highland lakes.
Nell was now refreshed, and able to look boldly forth into the sunshine,
while her lungs with ease inhaled the free and healthful air. Her eyes learned
gladly to know the harmonious varieties of color as they rested on the green
trees, the azure skies, and all the endless shades of lovely flowers and
plants.
The railway train, which they entered at the Waverley Station, conveyed
Nell and her friends to Glasgow. There, from the new bridge across the Clyde,
they watched the curious sea-like movement of the river. After a night’s
rest at Comrie’s Royal Hotel, they betook themselves to the terminus of
the Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway, from whence a train would rapidly carry
them, by way of Dumbarton and Balloch, to the southern extremity of Loch
Lomond.
“Now for the land of Rob Roy and Fergus MacIvor!—the scenery
immortalized by the poetical descriptions of Walter Scott,” exclaimed
James Starr. “You don’t know this country, Jack?”
“Only by its songs, Mr. Starr,” replied Jack; “and
judging by those, it must be grand.”
“So it is, so it is!” cried the engineer, “and our
dear Nell shall see it to the best advantage.”
A steamboat, the SINCLAIR by name, awaited tourists about to make the
excursion to the lakes. Nell and her companions went on board. The day had
begun in brilliant sunshine, free from the British fogs which so often veil the
skies.
The passengers were determined to lose none of the beauties of nature to
be displayed during the thirty miles’ voyage. Nell, seated between James
Starr and Harry, drank in with every faculty the magnificent poetry with which
lovely Scottish scenery is fraught. Numerous small isles and islets soon appeared,
as though thickly sown on the bosom of the lake. The SINCLAIR steamed her way
among them, while between them glimpses could be had of quiet valleys, or wild
rocky gorges on the mainland.
“Nell,” said James Starr, “every island here has its
legend, perhaps its song, as well as the mountains which overshadow the lake. One
may, without much exaggeration, say that the history of this country is written
in gigantic characters of mountains and islands.”
Nell listened, but these fighting stories made her sad. Why all that
bloodshed on plains which to her seemed enormous, and where surely there must
have been room for everybody?
The shores of the lake form a little harbor at Luss. Nell could for a
moment catch sight of the old tower of its ancient castle. Then, the SINCLAIR
turning northward, the tourists gazed upon Ben Lomond, towering nearly 3,000
feet above the level of the lake.
“Oh, what a noble mountain!” cried Nell; “what a view
there must be from the top!”
“Yes, Nell,” answered James Starr; “see how haughtily
its peak rises from amidst the thicket of oaks, birches, and heather, which
clothe the lower portion of the mountain! From thence one may see two-thirds of
old Caledonia. This eastern side of the lake was the special abode of the clan
McGregor. At no great distance, the struggles of the Jacobites and Hanoverians
repeatedly dyed with blood these lonely glens. Over these scenes shines the
pale moon, called in old ballads ‘Macfarlane’s lantern.’ Among
these rocks still echo the immortal names of Rob Roy and McGregor
Campbell.”
As the SINCLAIR advanced along the base of the mountain, the country
became more and more abrupt in character. Trees were only scattered here and
there; among them were the willows, slender wands of which were formerly used
for hanging persons of low degree.
“To economize hemp,” remarked James Starr.
The lake narrowed very much as it stretched northwards.
The steamer passed a few more islets, Inveruglas, Eilad-whow, where
stand some ruins of a stronghold of the clan MacFarlane. At length the head of
the loch was reached, and the SINCLAIR stopped at Inversnaid.
Leaving Loch Arklet on the left, a steep ascent led to the Inn of
Stronachlacar, on the banks of Loch Katrine.
There, at the end of a light pier, floated a small steamboat, named, as
a matter of course, the Rob Roy. The travelers immediately went on board; it
was about to start. Loch Katrine is only ten miles in length; its width never
exceeds two miles. The hills nearest it are full of a character peculiar to
themselves.
“Here we are on this famous lake,” said James Starr. “It
has been compared to an eel on account of its length and windings: and justly
so. They say that it never freezes. I know nothing about that, but what we want
to think of is, that here are the scenes of the adventures in the Lady of the
Lake. I believe, if friend Jack looked about him carefully, he might see, still
gliding over the surface of the water, the shade of the slender form of sweet
Ellen Douglas.”
“To be sure, Mr. Starr,” replied Jack; “why should I
not? I may just as well see that pretty girl on the waters of Loch Katrine, as
those ugly ghosts on Loch Malcolm in the coal pit.”
It was by this time three o’clock in the afternoon. The less hilly
shores of Loch Katrine westward extended like a picture framed between Ben An
and Ben Venue. At the distance of half a mile was the entrance to the narrow
bay, where was the landing-place for our tourists, who meant to return to
Stirling by Callander.
Nell appeared completely worn out by the continued excitement of the
day. A faint ejaculation was all she was able to utter in token of admiration
as new objects of wonder or beauty met her gaze. She required some hours of
rest, were it but to impress lastingly the recollection of all she had seen.
Her hand rested in Harry’s, and, looking earnestly at her, he
said, “Nell, dear Nell, we shall soon be home again in the gloomy region
of the coal mine. Shall you not pine for what you have seen during these few
hours spent in the glorious light of day?”
“No, Harry,” replied the girl; “I shall like to think
about it, but I am glad to go back with you to our dear old home.”
“Nell!” said Harry, vainly attempting to steady his voice,
“are you willing to be bound to me by the most sacred tie? Could you
marry me, Nell?”
“Yes, Harry, I could, if you are sure that I am able to make you
happy,” answered the maiden, raising her innocent eyes to his.
Scarcely had she pronounced these words when an unaccountable phenomenon
took place. The Rob Roy, still half a mile from land, experienced a violent
shock. She suddenly grounded. No efforts of the engine could move her.
The cause of this accident was simply that Loch Katrine was all at once
emptied, as though an enormous fissure had opened in its bed. In a few seconds
it had the appearance of a sea beach at low water. Nearly the whole of its
contents had vanished into the bosom of the earth.
“My friends!” exclaimed James Starr, as the cause of this
marvel became suddenly clear to him, “God help New Aberfoyle!”
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