Stirling, June 17, P. M.—The Abbey of Dunblane and the battle-field of Sheriff-Muir were the only objects of interest during the ride from Perth: and there is little to excite curiosity in the old and irregular town of Stirling, except its noble castle, scarcely second to that of Edinburgh in fame and importance. Entering the esplanade, I happened to meet the commanding officer, who inquired if I was a stranger, and politely escorted me to every part of the extensive fortification. 'In that room,' said he, 'James VI. was born;' this palace was built by James V., (the 'Knight of Snowdon, James Fitz James,') who often travelled alone in various disguises, etc. The views from the ramparts of the castle are very extensive, and in many respects have been pronounced unrivalled. They reach from Arthur's Seat, on one side, to the highlands of Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond on the other, a distance of sixty-five miles. Eleven counties, comprising most of the places celebrated in Scottish history, may be seen from these battlements. On the south, two miles distant, is the memorable field of Bannockburn, where thirty thousand Scotchmen under Bruce routed the English army of one hundred thousand men, thirty thousand of whom were killed. During the battle, when victory was yet doubtful, the boys ('killies') who had charge of the Scotch luggage, curious to know the result of the contest, came with their carts to the top of the hill near by, and the English, supposing them to be a fresh army, took fright and scampered. So the place is called 'Killies' Hill,' to this day.
At five P. M., set off for Callender, fifteen miles, crossing the Forth, and passing 'the Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doune,' (but not Burns',) and the ruins of Doune Castle, a strong fortress, where Waverley was confined. A little farther, we ride along the Teith, pass the seat of Buchanan, where Scott spent much of his boyhood, and had his taste for the sublime and beautiful in nature inflamed into a noble passion, by contemplating the scenery spread before him.
Callender is a retired and quite a rude little village, at the south-west entrance to the highlands, and is the usual stopping place for tourists. The people here generally speak Gäelic, and the children wear the highland kilt. The inn is the only decent house in the place. Joined an agreeable party from Edinburgh, and walked out to Bracklinn Bridge, and a beautifully-romantic waterfall. For eighteen hours out of the twenty-four, at this place, at present, (June) it is light enough to read without a candle; and at eleven P. M., it is as light as our twilight.
Stewart's Inn, Loch Achray, Friday Eve.—This has been a most delightful day. It was a soft and brilliant morning, and we walked eight miles before breakfast to the celebrated Pass of Leven, one of the grandest in the highlands. Ben Ledi, 'the Hill of God,' (where the natives are said to have worshipped the sun,) lifts its lofty summit on one side, and at its base are two lovely little lakes, their glassy surface reflecting clearly the splendid picture around.
After an excellent breakfast, M'Gregor, our host, furnished us with the 'Rob Roy' car, and we were soon ushered into the classic and romantic region of the 'Lady of the Lake;' Ben Ledi being on our right, Ben An and Ben Venue frowning upon us in front. Riding along the banks of Loch Vennachar, on our left, we see Coilantogle Ford, where was the 'Combat', in which Fitz James mastered Roderick Dhu:
'By thicket green and mountain grey,
A wildering path! they winded now
Along the precipice's brow,
Commanding the rich scenes beneath,
The windings of the Forth and Teith,
And all the vales between that lie,
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky.'
Our course was the same as that of the Knight of Snowdon, reversed; and every turn of the road brought new beauties to view, in the splendid landscape. On the opposite shore of Loch Vennachar, we saw the 'Gathering Place of Clan Alpine,' where, at the shrill whistle of Roderick Dhu, and to the surprise of Fitz James:
'Instant through copse and heath arose
Bonnets, and spears, and bended bows;
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprang up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles grey their lances start,
The bracken bush sends forth the dart;
The rushes and the willow-wand
Are bristling into axe and brand;
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior, armed for strife.'
Every visitor here must remark the singular accuracy of the pictures of scenery throughout this poem. We can find the original of every passage of local description, and I cannot help quoting some of them.