Stirling-Callander-The We left Melrose the morning after the day we spent in the valley of the Tweed. We reached Edinburgh in time for the steamer which leaves Granton pier on the Firth of Forth for Stirling. We accordingly passed directly through Edinburgh by the train to Granton, and were soon speeding through the Firth for the winding river. The boat was quite full of passengers. There was an easy sociality among them quite characteristic of the Scots; and we were insensibly drawn into a lively conversation with a variety of individuals. Among the rest was a Major D- who seemed the very quintessence of affability and good humor, and who was on his way to his pleasant country-seat on the river. We observed many fine seats as we proceeded. Hopetoun House, belonging to the Earl of Hopetoun, is very splendid. From Allou to Stirling the windings of the Forth become very eccentric, so that a distance of six miles in a direct line becomes sixteen by the course of the river. This affords us, however, the better opportunity of observing the rich and charming country through which it flows. In approaching Stirling, too, the castle was brought into different points of view, almost as if we were sailing around it. The weather became quite hazy, with occasional showers, and the huge structure upon the lofty rock dimly peered out like a monstrous spectre from its throne of storms. We reached the town in the course of the afternoon. It is very irregular; and some parts are quite ancient, while others are handsomely rebuilt in modern style. The castle, which is the principal object of interest, commands the town, and shows very clearly how in feudal times the dwellings of the people clung to the baronial walls for protection. By the terms of the union of the two kingdoms, Stirling Castle must be occupied as a military post. It contains nothing very curious, and the buildings are interesting only from association. The birthplace of Kings is merely a garrison, and the palace of Kings has degenerated into barracks for the troops. The ascent to the castle is made by a steep road on the one side, while the other presents a lofty precipice. In clear weather, the view from the Castle Rock is said to be extensive and magnificent; and this I could well imagine from its elevation and the nature of the surrounding country; but to us unfortunately it was shut in by the haze of the atmosphere. 222 BANNOCKBURN. A short drive of a mile brings the tourist to the field of Bannockburn, where thirty thousand Scots under Bruce defeated one hundred thousand English under Edward II. The dead have long since mouldered into kindred dust, and peaceful verdant fields cover the place of the slain. Not even the spirited description of Scott in the "Lord of the Isles" can make you now realize the dread conflict. And yet, standing on that field, there is a strange pleasure in repeating the lines: "Rushing, ten thousand horsemen came, With blazing crests and banners spread, It was a glorious day for Scotland. But Southron and Scot are mingled in a common nationality; and better is the repose and prosperity of peace than the glory of battle. The route we pursued to Callander led us up the valley of the Forth, by the House of Craigforth, and across the river at the bridge of Drip, and thence, by a private road through the beautiful estate of Blair Drummond, composed of woods and plantations. Sixty years ago, Lord Kames became the proprietor of this estate, and by judicious and tasteful planting and cultivation began its transformation from an unproductive marsh into its present rich and picturesque condition. Eight miles from Stirling we crossed the Teith and entered the village of Doune. Here the ruins of the old castle of Doune, built in the fourteenth century, overhang a green bank washed by the river. Thence to Callander is eight miles more. After leaving Doune, the aspect of the country begins to change, the scenery becomes wilder, and you realize that you are approaching the Highlands. But the road is fine, and many beautiful residences are scattered along. We arrived at Callander before night-fall, and passing through a long street which forms the principal portion of the village, we stopped at the farther extremity before a large hotel built of stone, and kept by McGregor. We heard the strange sounds of the Gaelic tongue on all sides, and Benledi three thousand feet high rose before us, its top capped with clouds. And there was the boundary of the Highlands. The hotel of McGregor furnished us with a pleasant private parlor, comfortable beds, and excellent fare. Here we had the mountain mutton, fresh salmon, and delicious butter served in little fantastic rolls, made to imitate acorns, strawberries and oak sprigs. As the next day was the Sabbath, we hailed our accommodations with the satisfaction of wearied travellers who have found a good haven for a day's repose. The next morning I looked out of my window, and there was Benledi, his head still capped with clouds, and the mists curling over his breast. It was a dark rainy day, but the hue of the fields and hills and mountains was a deep rich green. It was a solemn beauty well befitting the legendary Highlands. I attended church twice. In the morning, in the Kirk of Scotland. In the afternoon, in the Free Church. In both, 224 THE BRACKLINN. the preachers were very respectable, and delivered discourses filled with good doctrine. It may be that both churches had better preaching through that competition which secretly adds its influence to better motives, and cannot be entirely excluded even from holy places. The edifice of the Free Church had the appearance of being very economically constructed; but it contained a larger audience than the other. After church, the rain having ceased, I took a walk accompanied by my daughter to "Bracklinn's thundering wave," about a mile from the village. Our guide was a Gaelic boy who told us he was of the clan of McFarlane. The path led us over rocks and stones, up hill and down, but sometimes afforded us a fine view in the direction of Stirling. The cascade we were approaching, is made by a mountain stream called the Keltie. It lies in so deep a chasm that you are not aware of its vicinity, except by the roar of the waters, until you reach the very brink. A narrow bridge is thrown over the chasm, from which you look down upon the wild brook precipitating itself from a height of fifty feet. There are also some points of rock jutting over the chasm from which other views are obtained. It is altogether wild and awful. And yet I felt the power of a fascination which drew me to the brink to look again and again. I have experienced the same in looking from Table Rock at Niagara. Although not insensible to the dizzying effect of great heights, I have found that where emotions of the grand and beautiful are strongly excited, the weaker sensibility subsides. There is a good bridge now over the Bracklinn, protected by a firm railing, a precaution suggested by a sad accident |