At this point Mrs. Opie became really ill; the cold she had taken was succeeded by fever, and her night was one of “pain, choking, and distress.” Happily some benevolent strangers (Dr. now Sir J. Richardson, the well known arctic traveller, and his lady) came to her assistance, and rendered her all necessary succour. She mentions that Professor Whewell walked ten miles, giving her his seat in a carriage, and at length she reached Callander again; “deeply thankful for the aid received.” Her Journal continues:—
Off, on the fourth, at six, for Stirling; in the coach were some Americans, who overwhelmed me with thanks and praises for the good derived from my works. I was fool enough to be pleased! Stirling Castle on the whole disappointed me. Took boat for Edinburgh at twelve.
She remained at Edinburgh about three weeks, and records in her note book many events of interest; visiting Dr. Chalmers, pleasing meetings with numerous friends, &c. On the 22nd of September she departed, to carry into effect her proposed journey to the Highlands. A few extracts from her note book will enable the reader to trace her route.
On the 22nd of September I left Edinburgh for Glasgow, and dined at the house of Sir W. Hooker, with whom I had the pleasure of renewing acquaintance at the Scientific Meeting at Edinburgh, a short time previously. My day at Glasgow is dear to my recollection. Next morning I set off, per steam boat along the Clyde, to Dumbarton; from thence, by coach, to Loch Lomond. How glad was I to find myself at last gliding up that “Lake full of Islands.” One of these is appropriated to the use of harmless insane people, who are permitted to wander about it at will: had I known this at the time, my interest would have been greatly enhanced. * * * It was a lovely afternoon, the sky was blue, and the clouds floated in silvery brightness above the mountains, and even the lofty head of Ben Lomond was unveiled! As I gazed upon his grandeur, and listened to the gentle ripplings of the waters of the lake as they broke against the shore, I felt a soothing calm and a devotional enjoyment.
When a girl, I had delighted to read “Gilpin on Picturesque Scenery,” and particularly had admired the coloured print of the Castle of Inverary, with the sun setting behind it: now I had come to see it! As we rowed over the clear and lovely waters, skirting the proud domains of the house of Argyle, how busy was my memory! The waters were so transparent that I could see to the bottom, which in the mid-day sun, seemed paved with emeralds, and I could also see shells and seaweed of varied sorts.
* * * * The morrow came, and what a lovely scene did I gaze upon when I entered my sitting room. The sea was so smooth that the vessels on it, though all the sails were up, appeared quite motionless, when first beheld. The top of Mull was cloudless, but the mists of night were slowly and gracefully unwinding themselves from the verdant sides of Morven, and I was indeed gazing on the Western Isles, so often imaged to my fancy, so full to me of Ossian and poetical associations. But regret mingled with my pleasure, as I knew I was come too late in the year to visit Staffa and Iona. Still it was satisfaction to look at them, and I could not long keep away from the window.
* * * As we steamed past “rocky Morven” it was clothed in lights, shadows, and tints which no pencil could paint, nor pen describe. I gazed, almost spell bound, as I floated by. There was an unearthly hue over the western side of the scene, which would soon have assisted the fancy to trace on it the forms of the heroes of Ossian. The declining sun, while scattering over surrounding objects the brightest tints, threw, at the same time, over the Western Isles, and their lofty boundary of rocks, a mysterious, faintly coloured mantle of ever vanishing, yet ever renewed, vapour; the rippling waves were bright with gold and silver; the black shadows of the rocks of Morven were reflected in the glassy bosom of the sea; and the magic colouring of the western vales, mountains, and waters, rendered me insensible to the attractions of the eastern shore, till there was pointed out to me the land of “Selma and of song.”
* * * * It was a bright, blue, and nearly cloudless day, and the waters of Lochleven, though motionless, glistened in places, with the rays of the early morning, as I approached the darkly frowning entrance of Glencoe, which reminded me of that of Borrowdale; but Glencoe is formed of higher rocks, and shapes more strangely fantastic. How congenial to such scenes are the deep solitude and stillness that reigns here! In the Glen of the massacre especially, the ruined walls, and cottages destroyed, and the absence of the once cheerful population, tell, without language, a tale of death and destruction, on which silence and desolation are the heart-touching comments! I could apply to Glencoe, with justice, the description “beauty in the lap of horror!” I was in the midst of precipitous and bare mounts, and of peaked rocks, some of which shewed indelible marks of mountain torrents; while below them were gracefully swelling hillocks, which appeared to smile away the gloom of the awful creations above them. The recollection of the horrible crime committed here, thrilled through my heart. Why is it one lingers, as if reluctant to leave a scene of powerful and even painful emotion? It must be from the love of excitement; a love which few outgrow.
* * * From Dalmally I retraced my steps to Strongmachran. My way lay up a very steep, high hill, called the “hill of surprise,” from whence I beheld Loch Awe, with its twenty-four islands, lying in its watery grandeur before me. It was a surprise, and I was sorry that I was unable to stop, and visit some of the ruins on the Islands: I was on the wrong side, too, for seeing the magnificent pass of Awe.
The notes of this Journal are closed with the following lines:—