THE HIGHLAND GLEN.
THE PROFITS WILL BE GIVEN FOR THE BENEFIT OFTHE SUFFERING HIGHLANDERS.
THE
HIGHLAND GLEN;
OR,
PLENTY AND FAMINE.
BY
MATILDA WRENCH.
LONDON:
B. WERTHEIM, ALDINE CHAMBERS,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
M DCCC XLVII.
MACINTOSH, PRINTER,
GREAT NEW-STREET LONDON.
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THE HIGHLAND GLEN.
Reader, have you ever visited thewestern Highlands of Argyleshire?If you have, you will doubtless retainmany a pleasant memory of thewild glens and the fair lakes, andthe picturesque and magnificentmountains that make up the lovelyscenery of these regions of the beautiful.If you have not, trust yourselffor a few brief minutes to our guidance,while we strive to recal theimpressions of one day, out of manyhappy days, passed in a Highlandvillage there, not very long ago.
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The traveller who visits this spot,seldom leaves it without exploringthe upper shores and the Serpent’sFall, at the head of Loch ——, nordid I and my companion; and, aswe were slowly rowed up it againstthe tide, we gazed in admirationat the pyramidal and craggy mountainsthat towered majestically abovethe deep blue waters of the lake,shelving into them, and jutting outin little promontories that almostmet on either side, damming up thecurrent so as to make it dischargeitself with tenfold impetuosity as itescaped from the narrowed channel.One of our guides was a studentof St. Andrew’s, the son of one ofthe smaller tenantry on the Lochielestates, and, during the vacation, he[Pg 7]was endeavouring, by rowing visitorsabout the lake, to raise a smallsum of money for the purchase ofbooks to enable him to pursue hisstudies on his return to college. Hewas a fine athletic-looking lad, witha countenance of remarkable intelligence,and was perfectly well versedin all the legends of the locality.Indeed, his older and more staidfellow-labourer at the oar now andthen allowed a half increduloussmile to steal over his weather-beatenface, as Mr. —— relatedhow the shepherd of the glen, inages past, had, after many warnings,been changed into a mountain onthe Inverness side (where, alas! hewas wont to stray), and how hisfaithful wife, who had many a time[Pg 8]strained her eyes in vain in watchingfor his return, was rewarded forher fidelity and devotion, by findingherself and the stone, on which sheused to sit in the dim twilight,gradually growing into the shapelymountain that still bears her name,[1]so that, while the world lasts, sheshall never again lose sight of hergude man. It was truly an idletale, and yet not