I have often reminded you, good readers, that the coaching party, with a few exceptions, hailed with delight every opportunity for a walk. Contrary to expectation, these came much less frequently in Scotland than in England. Far away up among the towering hills, where the roads necessarily follow the streams which have pushed themselves through the narrow defiles, we get miles and miles in the glens along the ever-changing streams; but it is too level for pedestrianism unless we reduce the pace of the coach and walk the horses. It is after a two hours' climb up the glen to see such a waterfall as the Bruar that we return to the coach, feeling, as we mount to our seats, that we have done our duty. We were many miles from our lunching site, and long ere it was reached we were overtaken by the mountain hunger. When we arrived at the house on the moors where entertainment had been promised us, it was to find that it had been rented for the season for a shooting-box by a party of English gentlemen, who were to arrive in a few days for their annual sport—the slaughter of the carefully preserved birds. The people, however, were very kind, and gave us the use of the house. Few midday halts gave rise to more gayety than this, but there is one item to be here recorded which is peculiar to this luncheon. For the first and only time the stewardess had to confess that her supplies were exhausted. Due allowance, she thought, had been made for the effects of Highland air, but the climb to Bruar, "or the brunt of the weather," had produced an unusual demand. The very last morsel was eaten, and there seemed a flavor of hesitancy in the assurance some of us gave her that we wished for nothing more. There was not even one bite left for the beautiful collies we saw there.
Has the amount and depth of affection which a woman can waste on a collie dog ever been justly fathomed? was a question raised to-day; but our ladies declined to entertain it at all unless "waste" was changed to "bestow." The amendment was accepted. Many stories were told of these wonderful pets, and what their mistresses had done for them. My story was a true one. Miss Nettie having to go abroad had to leave her collie in some one's care. Many eligible parties had been thoughtfully canvassed, when I suggested that, as I had given her the dog, it might be perfectly safe to leave him with me, or rather with John and the horses. A grave shake of the head, and then, "I have thought of that, but have given it up. It would never do. Trust requires a woman's care." Not a smile, all as grave as if her pet had been a delicate child. "You are quite right," I replied; "no doubt he would have a dog's life of it at the stable." She said yes, mournfully, and never suspected a joke. In a stable in New York I once saw a doctor's card nailed up. Inquiry revealed that this gave the coachman the address of the physician who was to be called in case the lady's dog should be taken ill during her absence. If the ladies must go wild over some kind of a dog, let it be a collie. I like them myself a little.
In the Highlands.
It was gloaming ere we reached Loch Ericht, twelve hundred and fifty feet above the sea. What a wild, solitary country it is around us! The lake lies as it were in the lap of the mountains. It is easy to believe that this was a famous Highland stronghold in the olden time. Even Cromwell's Ironsides met with a rude check in its savage glens from the men of Athol. Do you see rugged Ben Alder yonder, the highest of the group that looks down into the still waters of the lake? In its recesses is the cave where Prince Charlie was hidden by Cluny Macpherson.
The gathering of the night shadows warn us that we must seek shelter, and in a few minutes we are housed in the queer little inn at Dalwhinnie. A bright fire was made, and we were as gay as larks at dinner. I am sure nothing could surprise Americans more than the dinners and meals generally which were given us even in such out-of-the-way stations as this. Everything is good, well-cooked, and nicely served. It is astonishing what a good dinner and a glass of genuine old claret does for a party after such a long day's drive and a climb.
Reassembling after dinner in our neat little parlor, the Stars and Stripes displayed as usual over the mantel, we were all as fresh and bright as if we had newly risen, and were in for a frolic. The incidents of the day gave us plenty to talk about—the falls, the glen, that mountain blue, the lake, and oh! that first dazzling glint of purple heather upon the high rock in the glen which drew forth such exclamations! A little patch it was which, having caught more of the sunshine there than that upon the moors, had burst before it into the purple, and given to the most of us for the first time ample proof of the rich, glorious beauty of that famous plant.
What says Annie's song?
"I can calmly gaze o'er the flowery lea,
I can tentless muse o'er the summer sea;
But a nameless rapture my bosom fills