A Companion and Useful Guide to the Beauties of Scotland/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI.
I did not quit Rannoch by the road I entered it, except the length of the lake; for at the east end of it I left the shivering rocks on the north side of the Tumel, and took the road to the south of that river; and arrived at Cross Mount, at the base of Schiehallion, where I ascended a very steep hill, and turned my face towards the south, still winding at the foot of Schiehallion; rising high on the right, above the clouds.
It was on a shoulder of this mountain that Doctor Maskelyne, a few years since, erected a temporary habitation for his observations. All the country gentlemen thought it their duty to pay the philosopher every civility in their power, particularly by frequent visits; which, probably, the doctor would gladly have excused, as he must thereby be continually interrupted in his pursuit. The lower class of people believed, and declared, he came thither to look for a lost star.
In a short time after I quitted the base of Schiehallion, which is 3564 feet above the level of the sea, I entered the high road from Tumel Bridge to Crieff, at about seven miles from Weem. Around the junction of the roads, nothing can be more desolate and dreary; but soon after I came to a steep declivity, leading to a plain, the richest and most beautiful in Scotland; and taking in the tout ensemble, it may be equal to any thing in the world: its wood and mountains, at the declivity, were the only parts that began to open to the sight. The wheels of the carriage were dragged, and I went slowly down the winding steep hill, with a torrent, and the ruin of Garth on my right. The ruin is surrounded by a variety of ground and wood. At length I came down close by the burn side, just above Cashaville, where it falls in a very curious manner, and extremely picturesque; bursting from a dark-looking cave, forming a sort of arch; partly concealed by a profusion of beautiful wood, of birch, ash, nut, crooked oak, and mountain ash, hanging over the cataract, and creeping to the top of the rocks and banks; branching and twining in the sweetest style. The very great variety of the trees and bushes, at the fall at Cashaville, afford such a mixture of lovely tints, that I was charmed with every part of it that I could get within my view. The owner of it would do well, if he would clear a passage to the bottom of the fall, and cut openings for it to be seen more perfectly from the small field near it, on the road side; for it certainly is a very curious fall. This burn rises in Schiehallion, called the burn of Haltnie, running to the Lyon River; to which I soon descended, and met it issuing from its glen. A very handsome stone bridge is over it, less than half a mile before its junction with the Tay. On the road leading to Kenmore, near to the bridge of Lyon, and hanging over it, are charming trees; amongst which is a ruin of an old castle. I did not, at that time, go to Kenmore, consequently turned to the east; and the scene before me was every thing to delight the sight. Such a plano-valley cannot be imagined, without seeing it. It was in the midst of harvest, a fine afternoon, and the inhabitants in the fields, busy with their corn. The west end of this valley, called Appneydow, is bounded by fine lofty mountains, and the extensive and luxuriant woods of Taymouth. Appneydow may be about a mile in breadth, of an uniform flat; with the Tay, joined by the Lyon, winding through the middle of it; stretching nearly eastward as far as the eye can see, to join the Tumel at Logie Rait. The vista is bounded by a gradation of mountains on each side of it, beautifully blending in the distant horizon. The ranges of mountains, both on the north, and the south of this valley, rise steep and sudden; some craggy, but mostly covered with wood. Tay Bridge, or Wade's Bridge, that most extraordinary structure, presents itself with its spires, in the middle of the vale; there teeming with plenty of corn of every sort, and grazing ground; all richly ornamented with wood and water. The southern ridge of mountains are finely clad with trees, and their bases enlivened by gentlemens' houses, and the town of Aberfeldie; over which hang the heights of Moness, covered with timber, and enchanting woods, which continue towards the east as far as I could see. Under the northern craggy range of hills, is the kirk of Dull, Castle Menzies, and the inn at Weem; besides other houses and huts, dotted amongst crags and trees. The trees close to the Castle, and the wood creeping to the tops of the highest crags, both behind it, and extending as far as I could see to the east, from one of the finest views of the sort that I think can be seen. Castle Menzies is a large antique-looking building, with frightful short round towers and turrets, the whole whitened with lime; but it being much concealed by the hanging woods on the crags behind, and the fine trees that surround it; neither its white glare, nor its clumsy towers, offend the eye. The view from it must make ample amends for every imperfection of its shell: and after all, I question whether it does not suit the scene it stands in, far better than a modern house would do. The enclosures about Castle Menzies, and at Taymouth, pleased me prodigiously, being in character with the style of the country. They are round erections of stone, with small tower tops; and placed at certain distances, slight wood, or chain, running through them, to prevent the cattle from creeping under, or leaping over them: trees growing carelessly here and there amongst these little towers, which had been whitened; but by the weather were softened to the mellow tints of grey, brown, green, and yellow, mixed: coarse grass and weeds also sticking about them; giving them less the appearance of a fence than any thing I ever saw; they are also lighter, and far less formal.
The small inn at Weem, when I was at it, was not a good house, but a new one was building to it; but what the house wanted, the landlord, Menzies, made up by civility and attention. I arrived at Weem to dinner; and in the evening drove over Wade's Bridge to Aberfeldie, and to the top of the brae, near the house of Moness: no farther could I go in the carriage. From thence to the falls, is about three quarters of a mile. I entered the wood accompanied by my servant, and a guide, a boy about twelve years of age; and I walked on, delighted with the scene before me, on the bank of a burn, so shaded with wood and rocks, that, as I advanced between them, daylight became twilight. There is a very good path winding amongst the rocks, and leading to the falls, which I began to hear, though I could not see them. By way of something to say to my little guide, I asked him who had made the walks, which were so convenient, and executed with so much judgment; "ah!" said the lad, who spoke good English, naming the late proprietor, "he is a fine man, and did a great deal of good, and took much pleasure in all these places; he planned all these walks himself, worked at them, and helped to blow up the rocks; planting, and improving the place all his life."—I asked, "is he dead?" "No; he lives over the hills!"—"Why did he leave Moness, which he was so fond of?" What makes many leave what they like; the want of money!"—I began to look upon my diminutive guide as a very sharp wight; which, ere long, I was thoroughly convinced of. The evening was towards the close, and I was amusing myself with my guide's remarks, till I entered the windings of the darker recesses of the woods and rocks, hanging over the water; when on a short turn, we perceived before us, a stout man, whose aspect was by no means promising. The lad came near me, and whispered, "he is a thief."—A hatchet was on the man's shoulder; it struck me (particularly as I was in the Highlands), that that instrument aimed at wood, not at me; so I advanced without fear, and passed the man; who, however, looked very conscious of executed, or meditated mischief. The lad and he turned the point of a rock, and began talking Galic pretty loud: still I advanced, thinking more of what I saw before me (for just then I came to the beginning of the Moness Falls), than of what they were chattering about. Soon after, the lad came running after me, and laughing, said, "I have sent him off over the hills as hard as he can run."—"How have you done that?" "I told him you were Mrs. Campbell, my Lord's mother, and that you would send him to Botany Bay for stealing the wood."—Moness now belongs to Lord Breadalbane. I could not help laughing at the quick invention of the boy, who certainly had an amazing capacity for his age. The falls of Moness are infinitely superior to any falls in that part of Scotland: they extend near half a mile in length, and are numberless; not only of the burn itself, but of a continued chain of torrents dashing in every direction from the rocky banks; some hopping from rock to rock, others, from immense heights, slipping down grassy beds, winding round the stumps and stems of trees, and through dark thick copse. The explorer now begins to walk from rock to rock, in the bed of the burn, or creeping over places blown out of the rocks hanging over the falls and whirlpools, which, when full of water, that walk cannot be attempted. The broken rocks on each side rise perpendicularly to a great height, inclining to a junction at the top; and are entirely covered with trees of all sorts, which branch wide, and feather down to the edge of the burn; and by their embraces at the top, form a beautiful canopy over the whole. The masses of pointed and flaky rocks, constantly washed over, look brown and dark; others are covered with green slime, moss, fern, and rushes, which, joined by the never-ceasing roar of the numerous falls, give a darkness and solemnity to this scene not to be described. At length, after creeping over slippery stages of flaky rock, and clambering up and down steps on the rocks, from one huge mass to another, the pools whirling beneath me, and the water dashing, white, and foaming around me, with the mirky canopy above, for a quarter of a mile, I arrived at the highest, and first fall. It is a termination like the concave head of a cavern, open at top, though almost darkened to night by the high over hanging rocks and trees, which no axe has ever reached; no track of any sort, but the channel made by the water, that from a very great height gushes with prodigious violence round a pointed rock, from a black confined passage, arched over by rocks, considerably above it, and covered with impenetrable wood. The water then spreads, and forms one of the most beautiful cataracts in Nature; I say in Nature, for at the falls of Moness that goddess reigns in triumph, there not appearing the least trace of man, or his interference; it is even beyond the art of man to copy them, it having been often tried without success; and I am persuaded, that no pencil can truly delineate the beauties of the falls of Moness.
The next day I turned my face towards Taymouth. Every step was beautiful; but the house I did not see, by reason of hills and woods, until I came to the lodge gate, to which the road winds down a sharp descent, through a fine and extensive wood. The large front of the house faces the lodge at this entrance. The extended centre of this noble mansion is in a very old style of building, with short round towers stuck on from the top of each corner, downwards, for only one story, something like those at Castle Menzies. Two large flights of steps lead to the doors, and, like Castle Menzies too, the fabrick is whitened with lime. There are also two extensive wings, in a more modern style, and joined by covered colonnades to the old centre. All around the house, except immediately in front of it, there are as fine trees as any I ever saw, with the Tay unseen winding at the back of it. Permission is given to drive through the park, which is but a small flat, surrounded on every side but one (towards the lake), by high mountains planted to their summits; and those plantations are flourishing luxuriantly. Clumps and single trees of very fine timber grow handsomely in every part of the park. There is no view from the house, it being built upon the lowest ground about Loch Tay, and on a dead flat. To the east it has the castle, like small hills that I observed generally blocked the entrance of almost every great lake I saw. Those to Loch Tay being covered by very thick trees, the shape of castles are confounded by a general outline of a wood; but when I walked over the pleasure ground, I perceived Loch Tay has its natural castle guards, as well as Loch Catheine, Loch Earn, &c. At the western gate of the park is the almost new and neat town of Kenmore, built close on the foot of the lake. The view from Kenmore is mostly similar to that which is seen from Maxwell's Temple, in his lordship's pleasure ground. The church of Kenmore stands upon ground rather higher than the town, from which, (though not joining) a row of houses, on each side, form a broad street towards Lord Breadalbane's gate. The inn and its appendages take up the chief of the northern row, between which and the church-yard a road winds down to the bridge; a beautiful one of five arches over the Tay, as it issues from the lake. The church and church-yard are on the very brink of the lake; but not a tree immediately about them. On my arrival at the inn, as it was a fine day, I directly got a conductor, and proceeded to see the beauties of Taymouth. My search was not for what is to be seen in the interior of fine houses; for when one has seen half a dozen, they are in a manner all seen; I therefore refused to run over the house at Taymouth, determining, all the time I had to spare, should be dedicated to the out-of-door beauties. Very soon after I entered the pleasure ground, nearest the inn, I arrived by a verdant bank at Maxwell's Temple; a very neat room, with a green platform before it, otherwise it is surrounded and nearly covered by trees and shrubs. In it was a large prospect glass, with a blackground on a moveable stand; it (like all other glasses of the kind) diminishes, and sharpens every part of the landscape; and at the same time mellows down every object to the softest tone. I turned my back upon the Temple, and advanced to the edge of the grassplat: before me, to the west, was a view which must be a feast to every eye that delights in the noble productions of Nature. The immediate fore-ground is an uneven lawn, and shrubberies leading down to the town of Kenmore, and the river; then come the town, the church, the bridge, and the wide expanse of the lake beyond them, extending to a great distance, with bold projecting promontories, and fertile tracts of land running far into it; also a chain of woody mountains bordering it on the south; and on the north a still higher range, broken by small glens, and sloping fields of corn descending to the lake's edge. The part of the road to Kielin, on the north side of Loch Tay, near to Kenmore, makes no inconsiderable figure in the landscape, as from the bridge it winds up an almost perpendicular crag, chiefly covered with firs. This brown-looking road, and its wall of defence, indicate that the crag may be ascended by man and beast; otherwise it would seem that none but winged animals could soar thus high, and there hang trembling over the deep lake below. Beyond that crag sweep away to the west, mountain upon mountain (Ben Lawers occupying the middle of the gradation high above its neighbours), till all is lost behind the towering points of Benmore, in the centre of the utmost distance. The mountains on the south and on the north of the lake, are chiefly clothed with wood; even the corn and grass-fields partake of a copious share of trees. In short, the view is a complete landscape of lake and alpine scenery, mixed with the haunts and habitations of man, and all in style; no eye-sore; no red tiles or bricks: all is harmony and in tune. I must not forget a small island, not far from the bridge, towards the north shore of the loch, covered with trees, through which peeps a ruin, adding to the beauty of the rest of the scenery. I was almost rivetted to the spot, though I did not, the first day, see it in perfection. The sun had gotten too forward to the west, but the next morning made me amends, by that luminary shining gloriously in the east upon the opening to Killin, and beyond it. Benmore too was uncovered.
When I left Maxwell's Temple, I entered a beautiful walk close to the Tay, and an avenue of lime trees, more noble than I can describe, which leads round the back of the house. After crossing the Tay, I came to an elevated broad terrace, called the Beech Walk, or Drive, hanging over the river. I was told it continued many miles, bordered by fine beech trees. Through a wood, and by a pleasant walk, I afterwards ascended a high hill, opposite the house, where is a sham fort: from it are lovely views both to the east and west. Having tired my legs, and greatly feasted my eyes, I returned from the beech walk, through some pleasant corn fields, to the stone bridge over the Tay and Kinmore.
I had heard and read of the great yew tree at Fortingal, in Glen Lyon; I therefore, in the afternoon, took the north road on the river Tay, under a towering woody crag, and arrived at the bridge over the river Lyon. The view, at the turn of the road from Kenmore towards that bridge over Appneydow, is enchanting. I then came to the picturesque cluster of trees about the old ruin, near Lyon bridge, which I crossed, and retraced the steps I took from Cashaville, until I came to the entrance of Glen Lyon: a narrow, but beautiful district, flanked by high mountains; some well wooded, others bare; and the space between them tolerably fertile in corn and grass. The fine river Lyon winds through the glen, shaded by continued wood, and very fine trees hanging over it, which mostly meeting each other, partially conceal, and greatly ornament the water, as it roughly rolls along. Its banks are dotted with tolerable houses on each side, and many small clusters of Highland habitations and farm houses. In short, Glen Lyon is a beautiful, though a confined district. At length I arrived at the kirk of Fortingal; and in that kirk yard is the ruin of the famous yew tree, which, when in vigour, measured fifty-two feet in girth. The sound of the carriage at the kirk gate, brought out the clergyman from his manse adjoining. No set of beings can surpass the inhabitants of the Highlands (of every description), in hospitality and attention to strangers; but at the same time they are extremely curious, and must know every thing, of every body who comes in their way; who they are, what they are, whence they come, and whither going. They in an instant combine circumstances, and are au fait in a moment. They put me in mind of what Doctor Franklin mentions of the Americans. That their curiosity about strangers and travellers, took place of every other consideration; that they would not stir an inch till that curiosity was satisfied. He, therefore, when he travelled through the country, in order to save time and trouble, made it a custom, the moment he went into an inn, to accost the landlord with, "I am Benjamin Franklin; I am a printer; I live at Philadelphia; I am going to Boston, or ; I have with me a servant and two horses: now pray tell me what I can have for supper?"
Perhaps this sort of curiosity may be common to all thinly inhabited, and seldom visited, countries, where the novel sight of strangers, leads to a desire of knowing every thing concerning them; particularly as in such an uniform round of life, where their minds are less employed and filled, than in cities and places of commerce and trade; their mental powers are open, and quickly alive to every adventitious incident.
The worthy Mr. Mackay accompanied me to the fence of the yew tree, which is surrounded by a high wall, to secure it from being diminished by depredations for ornamental boxes, &c. The door leading to the tree was nailed up, and I found the wall too high for me to scale. The black wild mountains in the closer and higher parts of Glen Lyon now caught my eye; at the same time saying to my reverend conductor, "these are wild indeed; but not more so than in the region of Rannoch." "Have you been in Rannoch, madam?" "Yes." "At Carrie, perhaps?" "No; but at the west end of the lake." "Oh! madam, you are Mrs. Murray; I heard you were there." (Glen Lyon and Rannoch, over the hills, are not at a great distance; but the carriage road is near 40 miles.) At this part of the conversation Mrs. Mackay appeared; and with infinite kindness pressed me to enter their habitation, where tea, she said, was made, and I must partake of it. I could not resist the hospitable manner in which I was invited: my name was announced to her, and I was soon acknowledged by her as a relative by marriage. An abundance of every good thing was then produced; the horses were fed, my servants treated, and I in an instant looked upon as one of their family. Two young men entered; the one Mr. Mackay's son, and the other, a son of the gentleman who owns the yew tree. I was introduced to them, and before I quitted the house, the door to the yew tree was forced open, and the way cleared for me to enter the enclosure. In short, had I been a queen, I could not have been treated with greater attention; and what was still more pleasing to me, with the affection of relations. I learnt too that Mr. Mackay had been the instructor of my husband's two brothers in their early youth. In short, all conspired to make me feel myself at home, and as easy as if we had been friends of a long standing. I left them with regret; and proceeded, by their direction, to a bridge over the Lyon, somewhat above Fortingal, and turned from the river to the left, which was soon lost to me in the tremendous mountains of the glen, which I also there quitted, to join Loch Tay; which in a mile or two opened beautifully to my view, and I soon entered the north road from Killin to Kenmore, and came down by that hanging steep piece of road already described, seen from Maxwell's Temple.
In my way to Killin, on the south-side of the loch, I went up to see the fall at the hermitage, of a burn, with rocky close banks covered with wood. The height of the fall, I was told, is 240 feet: it is a very fine fall; but, in my mind, not half so beautiful as those of Moness, though higher. The one is dressed; the other is in its lovely, enchanting, native undress: even the hand of man, in favouring the access to the head of Moness, is concealed. That to the fall, at the hermitage, is art throughout, except the rock in which the hermitage is scooped. The ceremony of the dark passages to it, and all the curiosities within the hermitage, perhaps put me somewhat out of humour, and made me think less of the fall than I should have done, had I found myself on the points of rocks at the top of the hermitage, unadorned by any thing but what simple nature bestows: at the foot of the fall, however, it is very handsome; and the wood about it, were it left to its natural bent, would be delightful. The smaller fall, under the bridge above, and the rocks and trees hanging about it, pleased me much; and the views towards Kenmore and Taymouth, from the hermitage, are very fine.