Transcriber’s Notes.

Hyphenation has been standardised.

Footnotes were moved to the ends of the text they pertain to and numbered in one continuous sequence.

The words ‘gillie’ and ‘ghillie’ have been left unchanged. Both spellings appear to be acceptable.

Other changes made are noted at the [end of the book.]

BALMORAL.

From a Photograph by Whitlock, Birmingham.

LEAVES
FROM THE JOURNAL
OF
OUR LIFE IN THE HIGHLANDS,
FROM 1848 TO 1861.

TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED AND ADDED EXTRACTS FROM THE SAME
JOURNAL GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF
EARLIER VISITS TO SCOTLAND,
AND TOURS IN ENGLAND AND IRELAND,
AND
YACHTING EXCURSIONS.

EDITED BY ARTHUR HELPS.

LONDON:
SMITH, ELDER AND CO. 1868.

[THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.]

TO

THE DEAR MEMORY OF HIM

WHO MADE THE LIFE OF THE WRITER BRIGHT AND HAPPY,

THESE SIMPLE RECORDS

ARE LOVINGLY AND GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED.

EDITOR’S PREFACE.

The circumstances which have led to the publication of this Volume are, briefly, these.

During one of the Editor’s official visits to Balmoral, her Majesty very kindly allowed him to see several extracts from her journal, relating to excursions in the Highlands of Scotland. He was much interested by them; and expressed the interest which he felt. It then occurred to her Majesty that these extracts, referring, as they did, to some of the happiest hours of her life, might be made into a book, to be printed privately, for presentation to members of the Royal Family and her Majesty’s intimate friends; especially to those who had accompanied and attended her in these tours.

It was then suggested to her Majesty by some persons, among them a near and dear relative of the Queen, and afterwards by the Editor, that this work, if made known to others, would be very interesting to them as well as to the Royal Family and to her Majesty’s intimate friends. The Queen, however, said, that she had no skill whatever in authorship; that these were, for the most part, mere homely accounts of excursions near home; and that she felt extremely reluctant to publish anything written by herself.

To this the Editor respectfully replied, that, if printed at all, however limited the impression, and however careful the selection of persons to whom copies might be given, some portions of the volume, or quite as probably incorrect representations of its contents, might find their way into the public journals. It would therefore, he thought, be better at once to place the volume within the reach of her Majesty’s subjects, who would, no doubt, derive from it pleasure similar to that which it had afforded to the Editor himself. Moreover, it would be very gratifying to her subjects, who had always shown a sincere and ready sympathy with the personal joys and sorrows of their Sovereign,—to be allowed to know how her rare moments of leisure were passed in her Highland home, when every joy was heightened, and every care and sorrow diminished, by the loving companionship of the Prince Consort. With his memory the scenes to which this volume refers would always be associated.

Upon these considerations her Majesty eventually consented to its publication.

While the book was being printed, the Editor suggested that it would gain in interest if other extracts were added to it, describing her Majesty’s progresses in England, Ireland, and the Channel Islands.

The Queen was pleased to assent; and the additions were accordingly made.

It will easily be seen that this little work does not make any pretension to be more than such a record of the impressions received by the Royal Author in the course of these journeys, as might hereafter serve to recall to her own mind the scenes and circumstances which had been the source of so much pleasure. All references to political questions, or to the affairs of Government, have, for obvious reasons, been studiously omitted. The book is mainly confined to the natural expressions of a mind rejoicing in the beauties of nature, and throwing itself, with a delight rendered keener by the rarity of its opportunities, into the enjoyment of a life removed, for the moment, from the pressure of public cares.

It would not be becoming in the Editor to dwell largely upon the merits of this work. He may, however, allude to the picturesque descriptions of scenery in which the work abounds; to the simplicity of diction throughout it; and to the perfect faithfulness of narration which is one of its chief characteristics; for in every page the writer describes what she thinks and feels, rather than what she might be expected to think and feel.

Moreover, he may point out the willingness to be pleased, upon which so much of the enjoyment of any tour depends: and also the exceeding kindliness of feeling—the gratitude even—with which the Royal Tourists recognize any attention paid to them, or any manifestation of the cordial attachment felt towards them, by any of her Majesty’s subjects, from the highest to the humblest, whom they happen to meet with in the course of their journeys.

The Editor thinks that he should not be doing justice to the Royal Author’s book—not doing what, if it were any other person’s work which was entrusted to his editing, he should do—if he were to forbear giving utterance to the thoughts which occurred to him in reference to the notes to the Volume.

These notes, besides indicating that peculiar memory for persons, and that recognition of personal attachment, which have been very noticeable in our Sovereigns, illustrate, in a striking manner, the Patriarchal feeling (if one may apply such a word as “patriarchal” to a lady) which is so strong in the present occupant of the Throne. Perhaps there is no person in these realms who takes a more deep and abiding interest in the welfare of the household committed to his charge than our gracious Queen does in hers, or who feels more keenly what are the reciprocal duties of masters and servants.

Nor does any one wish more ardently than her Majesty, that there should be no abrupt severance of class from class, but rather a gradual blending together of all classes,—caused by a full community of interests, a constant interchange of good offices, and a kindly respect felt and expressed by each class to all its brethren in the great brotherhood that forms a nation.

Those whose duty it has been to attend upon the Queen in matters of business, must have noticed that her Majesty, as a person well versed in the conduct of affairs, is wont to keep closely to the point at issue, and to speak of nothing but what is directly connected with the matter before her. But whenever there is an exception to this rule, it arises from her Majesty’s anxious desire to make some inquiry about the welfare of her subjects—to express her sympathy with this man’s sorrow, or on that man’s bereavement—to ask what is the latest intelligence about this disaster, or that suffering, and what can be done to remedy or assuage it—thus showing, unconsciously, that she is, indeed, the Mother of her People, taking the deepest interest in all that concerns them, without respect of persons, from the highest to the lowest.

The Editor thinks that one point of interest which will incidentally be disclosed by this publication, is the aspect of the Court in these our times. What would not the historian give to have similar materials within his reach, when writing about the reigns of the great Queen Elizabeth or the good Queen Anne? There is always something in the present which has the appearance of being trivial and prosaic; but the future historian will delight in having details before him furnished by this book and by the Life of the Prince Consort[1], which will enable him fully to describe the reign of Victoria, and justly to appreciate the private life of a Sovereign whose public life will enter so largely into the annals of the nineteenth century.

[1] A work which has met with a very cordial reception from the public, and which, from what the Editor has seen, will not by any means diminish in interest as it proceeds to describe the full and busy life of the Prince as a man.

One more remark the Editor cannot refrain from making; namely, that it is evident that her Majesty never takes for granted the services and attentions which are rendered to her, and which we all know would be rendered to her from dutiful respect and regard, but views them as especial kindnesses shown to herself, and to which she makes no claim whatever from her exalted position as a Sovereign.

This latter trait, very characteristic of the Royal Author, gives, throughout, an additional charm to the book, which, on that account alone, and apart even from its many other merits, will, the Editor doubts not, be gratefully and affectionately welcomed by the public.

London,
January, 1868.

CONTENTS.

Earlier Visits to Scotland.

EARLIER VISITS TO SCOTLAND.

First Visit to Scotland.

On Board the Royal George Yacht,

Monday, August 29, 1842.

At five o’clock in the morning we left Windsor for the railroad, the Duchess of Norfolk, Miss Matilda Paget, General Wemyss, Colonel Bouverie, and Mr. Anson following us. Lord Liverpool, Lord Morton, and Sir James Clark, who also accompany us, had already gone on to Woolwich.

We reached London at a quarter to six, got into our carriages, and arrived at Woolwich before seven. Albert and I immediately stepped into our barge. There was a large crowd to see us embark. The Duke of Cambridge, Lord Jersey, Lord Haddington, Lord Bloomfield, and Sir George Cockburn were present in full uniform. Sir George handed me into the barge. It was raining very hard when we got on board, and therefore we remained in our sitting-room.

I annex a list of our squadron:—

1. The ship “Pique,” 36 guns.

2. The sloop “Daphne,” 18 guns—(both of which join us at the Nore).

3. The steam-vessel “Salamander” (with the carriages on board).

4. The steam-vessel “Rhadamanthus” (Lord Liverpool and Lord Morton on board).

5. The steam-vessel “Monkey” Tender, which has towed us till nine o’clock (Mr. Anson and the equerries on board).

6. The steam-vessel “Shearwater,” which is now towing us (Sir James Clark on board).

7. The steam-vessel “Black Eagle” (which has the ladies on board, and which tows us in front of the “Shearwater”).

8. The steam-vessel “Lightning” (with the Jäger Benda, and our two dogs, “Eôs” and “Cairnach,” on board) in front, which has gone to take our barge on board from the “Pique.”

9. The steam-vessel “Fearless” (for survey).

This composes our squadron, besides which the Trinity-House steamer goes with us, and, also, a packet. Innumerable little pleasure steamboats have been following us covered with people.

Tuesday, August 30.

We heard, to our great distress, that we had only gone 58 miles since eight o’clock last night. How annoying and provoking this is! We remained on deck all day lying on sofas; the sea was very rough towards evening, and I was very ill. We reached Flamborough Head on the Yorkshire coast by half-past five.

Wednesday, August 31.

At five o’clock in the morning we heard, to our great vexation, that we had only been going three knots an hour in the night, and were 50 miles from St. Abb’s Head.

We passed Coquet Island and Bamborough Castle on the Northumberland coast, which I was unfortunately unable to see; but from my cabin I saw Ferne Island, with Grace Darling’s lighthouse on it; also Rocky Islands and Holy Island. At half-past five I went on deck, and immediately lay down. We then came in sight of the Scotch coast, which is very beautiful, so dark, rocky, bold, and wild, totally unlike our coast. We passed St. Abb’s Head at half-past six. Numbers of fishing-boats (in one of which was a piper playing) and steamers full of people came out to meet us, and on board of one large steamer they danced a reel to a band. It was a beautiful evening, calm, with a fine sunset, and the air so pure.

One cannot help noticing how much longer the days are here than they were in England. It was not really dark till past eight o’clock, and on Monday and Tuesday evening at Windsor it was nearly dark by half-past seven, quite so before eight. The men begged leave to dance, which they did to the sound of a violin played by a little sailor-boy; they also sang.

We remained on deck till twenty-five minutes to nine, and saw many bonfires on the Scotch coast—at Dunbar—Lord Haddington’s place, Tyninghame, and at other points on the coast. We let off four rockets, and burned two blue lights. It is surprising to see the sailors climb on the bowsprit and up to the top of the mast-head—this too at all times of the day and night. The man who carried the lantern to the main-top ran up with it in his mouth to the top. They are so handy and so well conducted.

We felt most thankful and happy that we were near our journey’s end.

Thursday, September 1.

At a quarter to one o’clock, we heard the anchor let down—a welcome sound. At seven we went on deck, where we breakfasted. Close on one side were Leith and the high hills towering over Edinburgh, which was in fog; and on the other side was to be seen the Isle of May (where it is said Macduff held out against Macbeth), the Bass Rock being behind us. At ten minutes past eight we arrived at Granton Pier, where we were met by the Duke of Buccleuch, Sir Robert Peel and others. They came on board to see us, and Sir Robert told us that the people were all in the highest good-humour, though naturally a little disappointed at having waited for us yesterday. We then stepped over a gangway on to the pier, the people cheering, and the Duke saying that he begged to be allowed to welcome us. Our ladies and gentlemen had landed before us, safe and well, and we two got into a barouche, the ladies and gentlemen following. The Duke, the equerries, and Mr. Anson rode.

There were, however, not nearly so many people in Edinburgh, though the crowd and crush were such that one was really continually in fear of accidents. More regularity and order would have been preserved had there not been some mistake on the part of the Provost about giving due notice of our approach. The impression Edinburgh has made upon us is very great; it is quite beautiful, totally unlike anything else I have seen; and what is even more, Albert, who has seen so much, says it is unlike anything he ever saw; it is so regular, everything built of massive stone, there is not a brick to be seen anywhere. The High Street, which is pretty steep, is very fine. Then the Castle, situated on that grand rock in the middle of the town, is most striking. On the other side the Calton Hill, with the National Monument, a building in the Grecian style; Nelson’s Monument; Burns’ Monument; the Gaol; the National School, &c.; all magnificent buildings, and with Arthur’s Seat in the background, over-topping the whole, form altogether a splendid spectacle. The enthusiasm was very great, and the people very friendly and kind. The Royal Archers Body Guard[2] met us and walked with us the whole way through the town. It is composed entirely of noblemen and gentlemen, and they all walked close by the carriage; but were dreadfully pushed about. Amongst them were the Duke of Roxburgh and Lord Elcho on my side; and Sir J. Hope on Albert’s side. Lord Elcho[3] (whom I did not know at the time) pointed out the various monuments and places to me as we came along. When we were out of the town, we went faster. Every cottage is built of stone, and so are all the walls that are used as fences.

[2] The Duke of Buccleuch told me the other day, that the Archers Guard was established by James I., and was composed of men who were mounted and armed from head to foot, and who were bound always to be near the Sovereign’s person. At Flodden Field, King James IV.’s body, it is said, was found covered and surrounded by the bodies of the Archers Guard.

[3] Now Earl of Wemyss.

The country and people have quite a different character from England and the English. The old women wear close caps, and all the children and girls are bare-footed. I saw several handsome girls and children with long hair; indeed all the poor girls from sixteen and seventeen down to two or three years old, have loose flowing hair; a great deal of it red.

As we came along we saw Craigmillar Castle, a ruin, where Mary, Queen of Scots, used to live. We reached Dalkeith at eleven; a large house, constructed of reddish stone, the greater part built by the Duchess of Monmouth, and the park is very fine and large. The house has three fronts, with the entrance on the left as you drive up. The

Duchess of Buccleuch arrived directly after us, and we were shown up a very handsome staircase to our rooms, which are very comfortable. We both felt dreadfully tired and giddy.

We drove out together. The park is very extensive, with a beautiful view of Arthur’s Seat and the Pentland Hills; and there is a pretty drive overhanging a deep valley. At eight we dined—a large party. Everybody was very kind and civil, and full of inquiries as to our voyage.

Dalkeith House, Friday, September 2.

At breakfast I tasted the oatmeal porridge, which I think very good, and also some of the “Finnan haddies.” We then walked out. The pleasure-grounds seem very extensive and beautiful, wild and hilly. We walked down along the stream (the river Esk), up a steep bank to a little cottage, and came home by the upper part of the walk. At four o’clock we drove out with the Duchess of Buccleuch and the Duchess of Norfolk—the Duke and equerries riding—the others in another carriage. We drove through Dalkeith, which was full of people, all running and cheering.

Albert says that many of the people look like Germans. The old women with that kind of cap which they call a “mutch,” and the young girls and children with flowing hair, and many of them pretty, are very picturesque; you hardly see any women with bonnets.

Such a thick “Scotch mist” came on that we were obliged to drive home through the village of Lasswade, and through Lord Melville’s Park, which is very fine.

Saturday, September 3.

At ten o’clock we set off—we two in the barouche—all the others following, for Edinburgh. We drove in under Arthur’s Seat, where the crowd began to be very great, and here the Guard of Royal Archers met us; Lord Elcho walking near me, and the Duke of Roxburgh and Sir J. Hope on Albert’s side. We passed by Holyrood Chapel, which is very old and full of interest, and Holyrood Palace, a royal-looking old place. The procession moved through the Old Town up the High Street, which is a most extraordinary street from the immense height of the houses, most of them being eleven stories high, and different families living in each story. Every window was crammed full of people. They showed us Knox’s House, a curious old building, as is also the Regent Murray’s House, which is in perfect preservation. In the Old Town the High Church, and St. Paul’s in the New Town, are very fine buildings. At the barrier, the Provost presented us with the keys.

The girls of the Orphan Asylum, and the Trades in old costumes, were on a platform. Further on was the New Church, to which—strange to say, as the church is nearly finished—they were going to lay the foundation stone. We at length reached the Castle, to the top of which we walked.

The view from both batteries is splendid, like a panorama in extent. We saw from them Heriot’s Hospital, a beautiful old building, founded, in the time of James, by a goldsmith and jeweller, whom Sir Walter Scott has made famous in his Fortunes of Nigel. After this, we got again into the carriages and proceeded in the same way as before, the pressure of the crowd being really quite alarming; and both I and Albert were quite terrified for the Archers Guard, who had very hard work of it; but were of the greatest use. They all carry a bow in one hand, and have their arrows stuck through their belts.

Unfortunately, as soon as we were out of Edinburgh, it began to rain, and continued raining the whole afternoon without interruption. We reached Dalmeny, Lord Roseberry’s, at two o’clock. The park is beautiful, with the trees growing down to the sea. It commands a very fine view of the Forth, the Isle of May, the Bass Rock, and of Edinburgh; but the mist rendered it almost impossible to see anything. The grounds are very extensive, being hill and dale and wood. The house is quite modern: Lord Roseberry built it, and it is very pretty and comfortable. We lunched there. The Roseberrys were all civility and attention. We left them about half-past three, and proceeded home through Leith.

The view of Edinburgh from the road before you enter Leith is quite enchanting; it is, as Albert said, “fairy-like,” and what you would only imagine as a thing to dream of, or to see in a picture. There was that beautiful large town, all of stone (no mingled colours of brick to mar it), with the bold Castle on one side, and the Calton Hill on the other, with those high sharp hills of Arthur’s Seat and Salisbury Crags towering above all, and making the finest, boldest background imaginable. Albert said he felt sure the Acropolis could not be finer; and I hear they sometimes call Edinburgh “the modern Athens.” The Archers Guard met us again at Leith, which is not a pretty town.

The people were most enthusiastic, and the crowd very great. The Porters all mounted, with curious Scotch caps, and their horses decorated with flowers, had a very singular effect; but the fishwomen are the most striking-looking people, and are generally young and pretty women—very clean and very Dutch-looking, with their white caps and bright-coloured petticoats. They never marry out of their class.

At six we returned well tired.

Sunday, September 4.

We walked to see the new garden which is being made, and saw Mackintosh there, who was formerly gardener at Claremont. The view of Dalkeith (the village, or rather town) from thence is extremely picturesque, and Albert says very German-looking. We returned over a rough sort of bridge, made only of planks, which crosses the Esk, and which, with the wooded banks on each side, is excessively pretty. Received from Lady Lyttelton good accounts of our little children. At twelve o’clock there were prayers in the house, read by Mr. Ramsay, who also preached.

At half-past four the Duchess drove me out in her own phaeton, with a very pretty pair of chestnut ponies, Albert riding with the Duke and Colonel Bouverie. We drove through parts of the park, through an old wood, and along the banks of the South Esk and the North Esk, which meet at a point from which there is such a beautiful view of the Pentland Hills. Then we drove, by a private road, to Newbattle, Lord Lothian’s place. The park is very fine, and the house seems large; we got out to look at a most magnificent beech-tree. The South Esk runs close before the house, by a richly wooded bank.

From thence we went to Dalhousie, Lord Dalhousie’s. The house is a real old Scotch castle, of reddish stone. We got out for a moment, and the Dalhousies showed us the drawing-room. From the window you see a beautiful wooded valley, and a peep of the distant hills.

Lord Dalhousie said there had been no British sovereign there since Henry IV. We drove home by the same way that we came. The evening was—as the whole day had been—clear, bright, and frosty, and the Moorfoot Hills (another range) looked beautiful as we were returning. It was past seven when we got home.

Monday, September 5.

I held a Drawing-room at Dalkeith to-day, in the gallery. The Ministers and Scotch Officers of State were in the room, and the Royal Archers were in attendance in the room and outside of it, like the Gentlemen at Arms in London. Before the Drawing-room I received three addresses—from the Lord Provost and Magistrates, from the Scotch Church, and from the Universities of St. Andrews, Glasgow, and Edinburgh—to which I read answers. Albert received his just after I did mine, and read his answers beautifully.

Tuesday, September 6.

At nine o’clock we left Dalkeith as we came. It was a bright, clear, cold, frosty morning. As we drove along we saw the Pentlands, which looked beautiful, as did also Arthur’s Seat, which we passed quite close by. The Salisbury Crags, too, are very high, bold, and sharp. Before this we saw Craigmillar. We passed through a back part of the town (which is most solidly built), close by Heriot’s Hospital, and had a very fine view of the Castle.

I forgot to say that, when we visited the Castle, we saw the Regalia, which are very old and curious (they were lost for one hundred years); also the room in which James VI. of Scotland and the First of England was born—such a very, very small room, with an old prayer written on the wall. We had a beautiful view of Edinburgh and the Forth. At Craigleith (only a half-way house, nine miles) we changed horses. The Duke rode with us all the way as Lord-Lieutenant of the county, until we arrived at Dalmeny, where Lord Hopetoun met us and rode with us. At eleven we reached the South Queensferry, where we got out of our carriage and embarked in a little steamer; the ladies and gentlemen and our carriages going in another. We went a little way up the Forth, to see Hopetoun House, Lord Hopetoun’s, which is beautifully situated between Hopetoun and Dalmeny. We also saw Dundas Castle, belonging to Dundas of Dundas, and further on, beyond Hopetoun, Blackness Castle, famous in history. On the opposite side you see a square tower, close to the water, called Rosyth, where Oliver Cromwell’s mother was said to have been born, and in the distance Dunfermline, where Robert Bruce is buried. We passed close by a very pretty island in the Forth, with an old castle on it, called Inchgarvie; and we could see the Forth winding beautifully, and had a distant glimpse of Edinburgh and its fine Castle. We landed safely on the other side, at North Queensferry, and got into our carriages. Captain Wemyss, elder brother to General Wemyss, rode with us all the way beyond Cowdenbeath (eight miles). The first village we passed through on leaving the Queensferry, was Inverkeithing. We passed by Sir P. Durham’s property.

We changed horses at Cowdenbeath. At a quarter-past one we entered Kinross-shire. Soon after, the country grew prettier, and the hills appeared again, partly wooded. We passed Loch Leven, and saw the castle on the lake from which poor Queen Mary escaped. There the country is rather flat, and the hills are only on one side. We changed horses next at Kinross. Soon after this, the mountains, which are rather barren, began to appear. Then we passed the valley of Glen Farg; the hills are very high on each side, and completely wooded down to the bottom of the valley, where a small stream runs on one side of the road—it is really lovely.

On leaving this valley you come upon a beautiful view of Strathearn and Moncrieffe Hill. We were then in Perthshire. We changed horses next at the Bridge of Earn (12 miles). At half-past three we reached Dupplin, Lord Kinnoull’s. All the time the views of the hills, and dales, and streams were lovely. The last part of the road very bad travelling, up and down hill. Dupplin is a very fine modern house, with a very pretty view of the hills on one side, and a small waterfall close in front of the house. A battalion of the 42nd Highlanders was drawn up before the house, and the men looked very handsome in their kilts. We each received an address from the nobility and gentry of the county, read by Lord Kinnoull; and from the Provost and Magistrates of Perth. We then lunched. The Willoughbys, Kinnairds, Ruthvens, and Lord Mansfield, and one of his sisters, with others, were there. After luncheon, we walked a little way in the grounds, and then at five o’clock we set off again. We very soon came upon Perth, the situation of which is quite lovely; it is on the Tay, with wooded hills skirting it entirely on one side, and hills are seen again in the distance, the river winding beautifully.

Albert was charmed, and said it put him in mind of the situation of Basle. The town itself (which is very pretty) was immensely crowded, and the people very enthusiastic; triumphal arches had been erected in various places. The Provost presented me with the keys, and Albert with the freedom of the city. Two miles beyond is Scone (Lord Mansfield’s), a fine-looking house of reddish stone.

Lord Mansfield and the Dowager Lady Mansfield received us at the door, and took us to our rooms, which were very nice.

Wednesday, September 7.

We walked out, and saw the mound on which the ancient Scotch kings were always crowned; also the old arch with James VI.’s arms, and the old cross, which is very interesting.

Before our windows stands a sycamore-tree planted by James VI. A curious old book was brought to us from Perth, in which the last signatures are those of James I. (of England) and of Charles I., and we were asked to write our names in it, and we did so. Lord Mansfield told me yesterday that there were some people in the town who wore the identical dresses that had been worn in Charles I.’s time. At eleven o’clock we set off as before. We drove through part of Perth, and had a very fine view of Scone. A few miles on, we passed the field of battle of Luncarty, where tradition says the Danes were beaten by Lord Erroll’s ancestor. We also passed Lord Lynedoch’s property. We then changed horses at the “New Inn” at Auchtergaven. The Grampians came now distinctly into view; they are indeed a grand range of mountains.

To the left we saw Tullybelton, where it is said the Druids used to sacrifice to Bel; there are a few trees on the top of the mountain.

To the left; but more immediately before us, we saw Birnam, where once stood Birnam Wood, so renowned in Macbeth. We passed a pretty shooting place of Sir W. Stewart’s, called Rohallion, nearly at the foot of Birnam. To the right we saw the Stormont and Strathtay. Albert said, as we came along between the mountains, that to the right, where they were wooded, it was very like Thüringen, and on the left more like Switzerland. Murthly, to the right, which belongs to Sir W. Stewart, is in a very fine situation, with the Tay winding under the hill. This lovely scenery continues all along to Dunkeld. Lord Mansfield rode with us the whole way.

Just outside Dunkeld, before a triumphal arch, Lord Glenlyon’s Highlanders, with halberds, met us, and formed our guard—a piper playing before us. Dunkeld is beautifully situated in a narrow valley, on the banks of the Tay. We drove in to where the Highlanders were all drawn up, in the midst of their encampments, and where a tent was prepared for us to lunch in. Poor Lord Glenlyon[4] received us; but he had suddenly become totally blind, which is dreadful for him. He was led about by his wife; it was very melancholy. His blindness was caused by over-fatigue. The Dowager Lady Glenlyon, the Mansfields, Kinnoulls, Buccleuchs, and many others were there. We walked down the ranks of the Highlanders, and then partook of luncheon, the piper played, and one of the Highlanders[5] danced the “sword dance.” (Two swords crossed are laid upon the ground, and the dancer has to dance across them without touching them.) Some of the others danced a reel.

[4] The late Duke of Athole.

[5] Charles Christie, now steward to the present Dowager Duchess of Athole.

At a quarter to four we left Dunkeld as we came, the Highland Guard marching with us till we reached the outside of the town. The drive was quite beautiful all the way to Taymouth.[6] The two highest hills of the range on each side are (to the right, as you go on after leaving Dunkeld) Craig-y-Barns and (to the left, immediately above Dunkeld) Craigvinean. The Tay winds along beautifully, and the hills are richly wooded. We changed horses first at Balanagard (nine miles), to which place Captain Murray, Lord Glenlyon’s brother, rode with us. The hills grew higher and higher, and Albert said it was very Swiss-looking in some parts. High ribbed mountains appeared in the distance, higher than any we have yet seen. This was near Aberfeldy (nine miles), which is charmingly situated and the mountains very lofty. At a quarter to six we reached Taymouth. At the gate a guard of Highlanders, Lord Breadalbane’s men, met us. Taymouth lies in a valley surrounded by very high, wooded hills; it is most beautiful. The house is a kind of castle, built of granite. The coup-d’œil was indescribable. There were a number of Lord Breadalbane’s Highlanders, all in the Campbell tartan, drawn up in front of the house, with Lord Breadalbane himself in a Highland dress at their head, a few of Sir Neil Menzies’ men (in the Menzies red and white tartan), a number of pipers playing, and a company of the 92nd Highlanders, also in kilts. The firing of the guns, the cheering of the great crowd, the picturesqueness of the dresses, the beauty of the surrounding country, with its rich background of wooded hills, altogether formed one of the finest scenes imaginable. It seemed as if a great chieftain in olden feudal times was receiving his sovereign. It was princely and romantic. Lord and Lady Breadalbane took us upstairs, the hall and stairs being lined with Highlanders.

[6] I revisited Taymouth last autumn, on the 3rd of October, from Dunkeld (incognita), with Louise, the Dowager Duchess of Athole, and Miss MacGregor. As we could not have driven through the grounds without asking permission, and we did not wish to be known, we decided upon not attempting to do so, and contented ourselves with getting out at a gate close to a small fort, into which we were led by a woman from the gardener’s house, near to which we had stopped, and who had no idea who we were.

We got out, and looked from this height down upon the house below, the mist having cleared away sufficiently to show us everything; and then, unknown, quite in private, I gazed—not without deep emotion—on the scene of our reception twenty-four years ago, by dear Lord Breadalbane, in a princely style, not to be equalled in grandeur and poetic effect.

Albert and I were then only twenty-three, young and happy. How many are gone that were with us then!

I was very thankful to have seen it again.

It seemed unaltered.—1866.

The Gothic staircase is of stone and very fine; the whole of the house is newly and exquisitely furnished. The drawing-room, especially, is splendid. Thence you go into a passage and a library, which adjoins our private apartments. They showed us two sets of apartments, and we chose those which are on the right hand of the corridor or ante-room to the library. At eight we dined. Staying in the house, besides ourselves, are the Buccleuchs and the two Ministers, the Duchess of Sutherland and Lady Elizabeth Leveson Gower,[7] the Abercorns, Roxburghs, Kinnoulls, Lord Lauderdale, Sir Anthony Maitland, Lord Lorne,[8] the Fox Maules, Belhavens, Mr. and Mrs. William Russell, Sir J. and Lady Elizabeth, and the Misses Pringle, and two Messrs. Baillie, brothers of Lady Breadalbane. The dining-room is a fine room in Gothic style, and has never been dined in till this day. Our apartments also are inhabited for the first time. After dinner the grounds were most splendidly illuminated,—a whole chain of lamps along the railings, and on the ground was written in lamps, “Welcome Victoria—Albert.”

[7] Now Duchess of Argyll.

[8] The present Duke of Argyll.

A small fort, which is up in the woods, was illuminated, and bonfires were burning on the tops of the hills. I never saw anything so fairy-like. There were some pretty fireworks, and the whole ended by the Highlanders dancing reels, which they do to perfection, to the sound of the pipes, by torch-light, in front of the house. It had a wild and very gay effect.

Taymouth, Thursday, September 8.

Albert went off at half-past nine o’clock to shoot with Lord Breadalbane. I walked out with the Duchess of Norfolk along a path overlooking the Tay, which is very clear, and ripples and foams along over the stones, the high mountains forming such a rich background. We got up to the dairy, which is a kind of Swiss cottage, built of quartz, very clean and nice. From the top of it there is a very pretty view of Loch Tay.

We returned home by the way we came. It rained the whole time, and very hard for a little while. Albert returned at half-past three. He had had excellent sport, and the trophies of it were spread out before the house—nineteen roe-deer, several hares and pheasants, and three brace of grouse; there was also a capercailzie that had been wounded, and which I saw afterwards, a magnificent large bird.

Albert had been near Aberfeldy, and had to shoot and walk the whole way back, Lord Breadalbane himself beating, and 300 Highlanders out. We went out at five, with Lady Breadalbane and the Duchess of Sutherland; we saw part of Loch Tay, and drove along the banks of the Tay under fine trees, and saw Lord Breadalbane’s American buffaloes.

Friday, September 9.

Albert off again after nine o’clock, to shoot. Soon after he left I walked out with the Duchess of Norfolk across the iron bridge, and along a grass walk overhanging the Tay.

Two of the Highland Guard (they were stationed at almost every gate in the park) followed us, and it looked like olden times to see them with their swords drawn.

We then walked to a lodge on the same road. A fat, good-humoured little woman, about forty years old, cut some flowers for each of us, and the Duchess gave her some money, saying, “From Her Majesty.” I never saw any one more surprised than she was; she, however, came up to me and said very warmly, that my people were delighted to see me in Scotland. It came on to rain very heavily soon afterwards, but we walked on. We saw a woman in the river, with her dress tucked up almost to her knees, washing potatoes.

The rain ceased just as we came home, but it went on pouring frequently. Albert returned at twenty minutes to three, having had very hard work on the moors, wading up to his knees in bogs every now and then, and had killed nine brace of grouse. We lunched; then we went to the drawing-room, and saw from the window the Highlanders dancing reels; but unfortunately it rained the whole time. There were nine pipers at the castle; sometimes one, and sometimes three played. They always played about breakfast-time, again during the morning, at luncheon, and also whenever we went in and out; again before dinner, and during most of dinnertime. We both have become quite fond of the bagpipes.

At a quarter-past five we drove out with the Duchess of Buccleuch and the Duchess of Sutherland (poor Lady Breadalbane not being very well), Lord Breadalbane riding the whole time before us. We took a most beautiful drive, first of all along part of the lake and between the hills—such thorough mountain scenery,—and with little huts, so low, so full of peat smoke, that one could hardly see anything for smoke. We saw Ben Lawers, which is said to be 4,000 feet high, very well, and further on, quite in the distance, Ben More—also the Glenlyon, and the river Lyon, and many fine glens. It was quite dark when we came home at half-past seven. At eight we dined; Lord and Lady Ruthven and Lord and Lady Duncan dined here. After dinner came a number of people, about ninety, and there was a ball. It opened with a quadrille, which I danced with Lord Breadalbane, and Albert with the Duchess of Buccleuch. A number of reels were danced, which it was very amusing and pretty to see.

Saturday, September 10.

We walked to the dairy and back—a fine bright morning; the weather the two preceding days had been very unfortunate. I drove a little way with Lady Breadalbane, the others walking, and then got out, and each of us planted two trees, a fir and an oak. We got in again, and drove with the whole party down to the lake, where we embarked. Lady Breadalbane, the Duchess of Sutherland and Lady Elizabeth went by land, but all the others went in boats. With us were Lord Breadalbane and the Duchess of Norfolk and Duchess of Buccleuch; and two pipers sat on the bow and played very often. I have since been reading in The Lady of the Lake, and this passage reminds me of our voyage:—

“See the proud pipers on the bow,

And mark the gaudy streamers flow

From their loud chanters down, and sweep

The furrow’d bosom of the deep,

As, rushing through the lake amain,

They plied the ancient Highland strain.”

Our row of 16 miles up Loch Tay to Auchmore, a cottage of Lord Breadalbane’s, near the end of the lake, was the prettiest thing imaginable. We saw the splendid scenery to such great advantage on both sides: Ben Lawers, with small waterfalls descending its sides, amid other high mountains wooded here and there; with Kenmore in the distance; the view, looking back, as the loch winds, was most beautiful. The boatmen sang two Gaelic boat-songs, very wild and singular; the language so guttural and yet so soft. Captain McDougall, who steered, and who is the head of the McDougalls, showed us the real “brooch of Lorn,” which was taken by his ancestor from Robert Bruce in a battle. The situation of Auchmore is exquisite; the trees growing so beautifully down from the top of the mountains, quite into the water, and the mountains all round, make it an enchanting spot. We landed and lunched in the cottage, which is a very nice little place. The day was very fine; the Highlanders were there again. We left Auchmore at twenty minutes past three, having arrived there at a quarter before three. The kindness and attention to us of Lord and of Lady Breadalbane (who is very delicate) were unbounded. We passed Killin, where there is a mountain stream running over large stones, and forming waterfalls.

The country we came to now was very wild, beginning at Glen Dochart, through which the Dochart flows; nothing but moors and very high rocky mountains. We came to a small lake called, I think, Laragilly, amidst the wildest and finest scenery we had yet seen. Glen Ogle, which is a sort of long pass, putting one in mind of the prints of the Kyber Pass, the road going for some way down hill and up hill, through these very high mountains, and the escort in front looking like mere specks from the great height. We also saw Ben Voirlich. At Loch Earn Head we changed horses. Lord Breadalbane rode with us the whole way up to this point, and then he put his Factor (in Highland dress) up behind our carriage. It came on to rain, and rained almost the whole of the rest of the time. We passed along Loch Earn, which is a very beautiful long lake skirted by high mountains; but is not so long or so large as Loch Tay. Just as we turned and went by St. Fillans, the view of the lake was very fine. There is a large detached rock with rich verdure on it, which is very striking.

We also saw Glenartney, the mountain on which Lord Willoughby has his deer forest. We passed by Sir D. Dundas’s place, Dunira, before we changed horses at Comrie, for the last time, and then by Mr. Williamson’s, and by Ochtertyre, Sir W. Keith Murray’s.

Triumphal arches were erected in many places. We passed through Crieff, and a little past seven reached Drummond Castle, by a very steep ascent. Lord Willoughby received us at the door, and showed us to our rooms, which are small but nice. Besides Lord and Lady Willoughby and the two Misses Willoughby, and our own people, the dinner-party was composed of the Duchess of Sutherland and Lady Elizabeth L. Gower, Lord and Lady Carington, Mr. and Mrs. Heathcote, the Duke de Richelieu, Lord Ossulston, Mr. Drummond, and the officers of the Guard.

Drummond Castle, Sunday, September 11.

We walked in the garden, which is really very fine, with terraces, like an old French garden. Part of the old castle and the archway remains.

At twelve o’clock we had prayers in the drawing-room, which were read by a young clergyman, who preached a good sermon.

It poured the whole afternoon, and, after writing, I read to Albert the three first cantos of The Lay of the Last Minstrel, which delighted us both; and then we looked over some curious, fine old prints by Ridinger. At eight we dined. The Duchess of Sutherland and Lady Elizabeth had gone; but Lord and Lady Abercorn and Lord and Lady Kinnoull and their daughter added to the party.

Monday, September 12.

Albert got up at five o’clock to go out deer-stalking. I walked out with the Duchess of Norfolk.

All the Highlanders (Lord Willoughby’s people, 110 in number), were drawn up in the court, young Mr. Willoughby and Major Drummond being at their head, and I walked round with Lady Willoughby. All the arms they wore belonged to Lord Willoughby; and there was one double-hilted sword, which had been at the battle of Bannockburn. I hear that at Dunkeld there were nearly 900 Highlanders, 500 being Athole men; and, altogether, with the various Highlanders who were on guard, there were 1,000 men.

At length—a little before three—to my joy, Albert returned, dreadfully sunburnt, and a good deal tired; he had shot a stag. He said the exertion and difficulty were very great. He had changed his dress at a small farm-house. Glenartney is ten miles from Drummond Castle; he drove there. Campbell of Monzie (pronounced “Monie”), a young gentleman who has a place near here, went with him and was, Albert said, extremely active. To give some description of this curious sport, I will copy an extract from a letter Albert has written to Charles,[9] giving a short account of it:—

“Without doubt deer-stalking is one of the most fatiguing, but it is also one of the most interesting of pursuits. There is not a tree, or a bush behind which you can hide yourself.... One has, therefore, to be constantly on the alert in order to circumvent them; and to keep under the hill out of their wind, crawling on hands and knees, and dressed entirely in grey.”

[9] My half-brother, Prince Leiningen, who died in 1856.

At half-past four we drove out with Lady Willoughby and the Duchess of Buccleuch. We drove through Fern Tower (belonging to the widow of the first Sir D. Baird), where we stopped the carriage; then to Abercairny, Major Moray’s. We got out there a moment to look at the very fine house he is building, then drove home by Monzie (Campbell of Monzie’s), and Sir W. Murray’s, and had a very good view of the Highland hills—a very fine day. At eight we dined. The Belhavens, Seftons, Cravens, Campbell of Monzie, and various others composed the party. After dinner more people came—several in kilts; and many reels were danced; Campbell of Monzie is an exceedingly good dancer. We danced one country dance—I with Lord Willoughby—and Albert with Lady Carington.

Tuesday, September 13.

We had to start early, and therefore got up soon after seven o’clock; breakfast before eight. At nine we set off. The morning was very foggy and hazy. We passed near Lord Strathallan’s place and stopped for a moment where old Lady Strathallan was seated. Lord Willoughby rode with us the whole way till we arrived here. Soon after this we came to a very extraordinary Roman encampment at Ardoch, called the “Lindrum.” Albert got out; but I remained in the carriage, and Major Moray showed it to him. They say it is one of the most perfect in existence.

We changed horses at Greenloaning, and passed through Dunblane. At twelve o’clock we reached Stirling, where the crowd was quite fearful, and the streets so narrow, that it was most alarming; and order was not very well kept. Up to the Castle, the road or street is dreadfully steep; we had a foot procession before us the whole way, and the heat was intense. The situation of the Castle is extremely grand; but I prefer that of Edinburgh Castle. Old Sir Archibald Christie explained everything to us very well. We were shown the room where James II. killed Douglas, and the window out of which he was thrown. The ceiling is most curious. A skeleton was found in the garden only twenty-five years ago, and there appears to be little doubt it was Douglas’s. From the terrace the view is very extensive; but it was so thick and hazy, that we could not see the Highland hills well. Sir A. Christie showed us the field of the battle of Bannockburn; and the “Knoll,” close under the walls of the Castle, from which the ladies used to watch the tournaments; all the embankments yet remain. We also saw Knox’s pulpit.

We next passed through Falkirk, and changed horses at Callander Park, Mr. Forbes’s; both he and Sir Michael Bruce having ridden with us from beyond Stirling. We passed Lord Zetland on the road, and shortly before reaching Linlithgow, where we changed horses, Lord Hopetoun met us. Unfortunately, we did not see the Palace, which, I am told, is well worth seeing. The Duke of Buccleuch met us soon after this, and, accompanied by a large number of his tenants, rode with us on horseback to Dalkeith. We changed horses at Kirkliston, and lastly at the outskirts of Edinburgh. There were a good many people assembled at Edinburgh; but we were unable to stop. We reached Dalkeith at half-past five.

The journey was 65 miles, and I was very tired, and felt most happy that we had safely arrived here.

Dalkeith, Wednesday, September 14.

This is our last day in Scotland; it is really a delightful country, and I am very sorry to leave it. We walked out and saw the fine greenhouse the Duke has built, all in stone, in the Renaissance style. At half-past three o’clock we went out with the Duchess of Buccleuch, only Colonel Bouverie riding with us. We drove through Melville Park, and through one of the little collier villages (of which there are a great many about Dalkeith), called Loanhead, to Rosslyn.

We got out at the chapel, which is in excellent preservation; it was built in the fifteenth century, and the architecture is exceedingly rich. It is the burying place of the family of Lord Rosslyn, who keeps it in repair. Twenty Barons of Rosslyn are buried there in armour. A great crowd had collected about the chapel when we came out of it.

From Rosslyn we then drove to Hawthornden, which is also beautifully situated at a great height above the river. To our great surprise we found an immense crowd of people there, who must have run over from Rosslyn to meet us.

We got out, and went down into some of the very curious caves in the solid rock, where Sir Alexander Ramsay and his brave followers concealed themselves, and held out for so long a time. The Duchess told us there were many of these caves all along the river to Rosslyn.

We came home through Bonnyrigg, another collier village, and through Dalkeith.

Thursday, September 15.

We breakfasted at half-past seven o’clock, and at eight we set off, with the Duchess of Buccleuch, Lord Liverpool, and Lord Hardwicke following. The ladies and equerries had embarked earlier. The day was very bright and fine. The arrangements in Edinburgh, through which we had to pass, were extremely well managed, and excellent order was kept. We got out of the carriage on the pier, and went at once on board the “Trident,” a large steamboat belonging to the General Steam Navigation Company. The Duke and Duchess of Buccleuch, Lady J. Scott, the Emlyns, Lord Cawdor, and Lady M. Campbell, came on board with us, and we then took leave of them. We both thanked the Duke and Duchess for their extreme kindness, attention, and hospitality to us, which really were very great—indeed we had felt ourselves quite at home at Dalkeith.

As the fair shores of Scotland receded more and more from our view, we felt quite sad that this very pleasant and interesting tour was over; but we shall never forget it.

On board the “Trident” (where the accommodation for us was much larger and better than on board the “Royal George,” and which was beautifully fitted up,) were Admiral Sir E. Brace, a pleasant old man, Commander Bullock, and three other officers. The “Rhadamanthus,” with some servants and carriages, set off last night, as well as the “Shearwater,” with Lord Liverpool and Lord Hardwicke on board.

The “Salamander” (with Mr. and Mrs. Anson on board), the “Fearless,” and the “Royal George” yacht set off at the same time with us, but the wind being against us, we soon lost sight of the yacht, and, not very long after, of all our steamers, except the “Monarch,” which belongs to the General Steam Navigation Company, and had some of our horses on board. It started nearly at the same time, and was the only one which could keep up with us. We passed Tantallon Castle, a grand old ruin on the coast, and quite close to the Bass Rock, which is very fine, and nearly opposite Tantallon. It was entirely covered with sea-gulls and island geese, which swarm in thousands and thousands, quite whitening its sides, and hovering above and around it.

At two o’clock we passed the famed St. Abb’s Head, which we had so longed to see on our first voyage to Scotland. I read a few stanzas out of Marmion, giving an account of the voyage of the nuns to Holy Island, and saw the ruins of the convent on it; then Bamborough Castle, and a little further on the Ferne Islands. We were very sorry to hear that poor Grace Darling had died the night before we passed the first time.

Friday, September 16.

We heard that we had passed Flamborough Head at half-past five in the morning. The “Black Eagle” we passed at half-past eight last night, and we could only just see her smoke by the time we came on deck. At half-past nine I followed Albert on deck; it was a fine, bright morning. We had some coffee, and walked about; we were then quite in the open sea; it was very fine all day. At five we were close to the “Rhadamanthus,” which had been in sight all day. We had a very pleasant little dinner on deck, in a small tent made of flags, at half-past five. We passed Yarmouth at about a quarter to six—very flat—and looking, Albert said, like a Flemish town. We walked up and down on deck, admiring the splendid moonlight, which was reflected so beautifully on the sea.

We went below at half-past seven, and I read the fourth and fifth cantos of The Lay of the Last Minstrel to Albert, and then we played on the piano.

Saturday, September 17.

At three o’clock in the morning we were awakened by loud guns, which, however, were welcome sounds to us, as we knew that we were at the Nore, the entrance of the river. About six we heard the “Rhadamanthus” had just passed us, and they said we were lying off Southend, in order to let the “Black Eagle” come up. It was a very bright day, though a little hazy.

The shipping in the river looked very pretty as we passed along. At ten minutes past ten we got into the barge and landed. The Duchess of Norfolk and Miss Matilda Paget and the equerries were all there, but the others we knew nothing of. Sir James Clark had been on board the “Trident” with us. We drove off at once to the railway terminus, and reached Windsor Castle at half-past twelve o’clock.

Visit to Blair Athole.

Monday, September 9, 1844.

We got up at a quarter to six o’clock. We breakfasted. Mama came to take leave of us; Alice and the baby[10] were brought in, poor little things, to wish us “good-by.” Then good Bertie[11] came down to see us, and Vicky[12] appeared as “voyageuse,” and was all impatience to go. At seven we set off with her for the railroad, Viscountess Canning and Lady Caroline Cocks[13] in our carriage. A very wet morning. We got into the carriage again at Paddington, and proceeded to Woolwich, which we reached at nine. Vicky was safely put into the boat, and then carefully carried on deck of the yacht by Renwick,[14] the sergeant-footman, whom we took with us in the boat on purpose. Lord Liverpool, Lord Aberdeen, and Sir James Clark met us on board. Sir Robert Peel was to have gone with us, but could not, in consequence of his little girl being very ill.

[10]Prince Alfred, then only five weeks old.

[11] Name by which the Prince of Wales is always called in his family.

[12] Victoria, Princess Royal.

[13] Now Lady C. Courtenay.

[14] Now pensioned: promoted to Gentleman Porter in 1854. A very good servant; and a native of Galashiels.

Blair Athole, Wednesday, September 11.

At six o’clock we inquired and heard that we were in the port of Dundee. Albert saw our other gentlemen, who had had a very bad passage. Tuesday night they had a dreadful storm. Dundee is a very large place, and the port is large and open; the situation of the town is very fine, but the town itself is not so. The Provost and people had come on board, and wanted us to land later, but we got this satisfactorily arranged. At half-past eight we got into our barge with Vicky, and our ladies and gentlemen. The sea was bright and blue; the boat danced along beautifully. We had about a quarter of a mile to row.

A staircase, covered with red cloth, was arranged for us to land upon, and there were a great many people; but everything was so well managed that all crowding was avoided, and only the Magistrates were below the platform where the people were. Albert walked up the steps with me, I holding his arm and Vicky his hand, amidst the loud cheers of the people, all the way to the carriage, our dear Vicky behaving like a grown-up person—not put out, nor frightened, nor nervous. We got into our postchaise, and at the same time Renwick took Vicky up in his arms, and put her in the next carriage with her governess and nurse.

There was a great crowd in Dundee, but everything was very well managed, and there would have been no crowding at all, had not, as usual, about twenty people begun to run along with the carriage, and thus forced a number of others to follow. About three miles beyond Dundee we stopped at the gate of Lord Camperdown’s place: here a triumphal arch had been erected, and Lady Camperdown and Lady Duncan and her little boy, with others, were all waiting to welcome us, and were very civil and kind. The little boy, beautifully dressed in the Highland dress, was carried to Vicky, and gave her a basket with fruit and flowers. I said to Albert I could hardly believe that our child was travelling with us—it put me so in mind of myself when I was the “little Princess.” Albert observed that it was always said that parents lived their lives over again in their children, which is a very pleasant feeling.

The country from here to Cupar Angus is very well cultivated, and you see hills in the distance. The harvest is only now being got in, but is very good; and everything much greener than in England. Nothing could be quieter than our journey, and the scenery is so beautiful! It is very different from England: all the houses built of stone; the people so different,—sandy hair, high cheekbones; children with long shaggy hair and bare legs and feet; little boys in kilts. Near Dunkeld, and also as you get more into the Highlands, there are prettier faces. Those jackets which the girls wear are so pretty; all the men and women, as well as the children, look very healthy.

Cupar Angus is a small place—a village—14 miles from Dundee. There you enter Perthshire. We crossed the river Isla, which made me think of my poor little dog “Isla.” For about five or six miles we went along a very pretty but rough cross-road, with the Grampians in the distance. We saw Birnam Wood and Sir W. Stewart’s place in that fine valley on the opposite side of the river. All along such splendid scenery, and Albert enjoyed it so much—rejoicing in the beauties of nature, the sight of mountains, and the pure air.

The peeps of Dunkeld, with the river Tay deep in the bottom, and the view of the bridge and cathedral, surrounded by the high wooded hills, as you approached it, were lovely in the extreme. We got out at an inn (which was small, but very clean) at Dunkeld, and stopped to let Vicky have some broth. Such a charming view from the window! Vicky stood and bowed to the people out of the window. There never was such a good traveller as she is, sleeping in the carriage at her usual times, not put out, not frightened at noise or crowds; but pleased and amused. She never heard the anchor go at night on board ship; but slept as sound as a top.

Shortly after leaving Dunkeld, which is 20 miles from Blair, and 15 from Cupar Angus, we met Lord Glenlyon in a carriage; he jumped out and rode with us the whole way to Blair,—and a most beautiful road it is. Six miles on, in the woods to the left, we could see Kinnaird House, where the late Lady Glenlyon (Lord Glenlyon’s mother, who died about two or three months ago) used to live. Then we passed the point of Logierait, where there are the remains of an ancient castle,—the old Regality Court of the Dukes of Athole. At Moulinearn we tasted some of the “Athole brose,” which was brought to the carriage.

We passed Pitlochrie, a small village, Faskally, a very pretty place of Mr. Butter’s, to the left, and then came to the Pass of Killiecrankie, which is quite magnificent; the road winds along it, and you look down a great height, all wooded on both sides; the Garry rolling below it. I cannot describe how beautiful it is. Albert was in perfect ecstasies. Lude, Mr. Mc Inroy’s, to the right, is very pretty. Blair Athole is only four or five miles from the Killiecrankie Pass. Lord Glenlyon has had a new approach made. The house is a large plain white building, surrounded by high hills, which one can see from the windows. Lord and Lady Glenlyon, with their little boy, received us at the door, and showed us to our rooms, and then left us.

Blair Castle, Blair Athole,

Thursday, September 12.

We took a delightful walk of two hours. Immediately near the house the scenery is very wild, which is most enjoyable. The moment you step out of the house you see those splendid hills all round. We went to the left through some neglected pleasure-grounds, and then through the wood, along a steep winding path overhanging the rapid stream. These Scotch streams, full of stones, and clear as glass, are most beautiful; the peeps between the trees, the depth of the shadows, the mossy stones, mixed with slate, &c., which cover the banks, are lovely; at every turn you have a picture. We were up high, but could not get to the top; Albert in such delight; it is a happiness to see him, he is in such spirits. We came back by a higher drive, and then went to the Factor’s house, still higher up, where Lord and Lady Glenlyon are living, having given Blair up to us. We walked on, to a cornfield where a number of women were cutting and reaping the oats (“shearing” as they call it in Scotland), with a splendid view of the hills before us, so rural and romantic, so unlike our daily Windsor walk (delightful as that is); and this change does such good: as Albert observes, it refreshes one for a long time. We then went into the kitchen-garden, and to a walk from which there is a magnificent view. This mixture of great wildness and art is perfection.

At a little before four o’clock Albert drove me out in the pony phaeton till nearly six—such a drive! Really to be able to sit in one’s pony carriage, and to see such wild, beautiful scenery as we did, the farthest point being only five miles from the house, is an immense delight. We drove along Glen Tilt, through a wood overhanging the river Tilt, which joins the Garry, and as we left the wood we came upon such a lovely view—Ben-y-Ghlo straight before us—and under these high hills the river Tilt gushing and winding over stones and slates, and the hills and mountains skirted at the bottom with beautiful trees; the whole lit up by the sun; and the air so pure and fine; but no description can at all do it justice, or give an idea of what this drive was.

Oh! what can equal the beauties of nature! What enjoyment there is in them! Albert enjoys it so much; he is in ecstasies here. He has inherited this love for nature from his dear father.

We went as far as the Marble Lodge, a keeper’s cottage, and came back the same way.

Monday, September 16.

After our luncheon at half-past three, Albert drove me (Lord Glenlyon riding with us) to the Falls of the Bruar. We got out at the road, and walked to the upper falls, and down again by the path on the opposite side. It is a walk of three miles round, and a very steep ascent; at every turn the view of the rushing falls is extremely fine, and looking back on the hills, which were so clear and so beautifully lit up, with the rapid stream below, was most exquisite. We threw stones down to see the effect in the water. The trees which surround the falls were planted by the late Duke of Athole in compliance with Burns’s “Petition.”[15]

[15] The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to the Noble Duke of Athole.

The evening was beautiful, and we feasted our eyes on the ever-changing, splendid views of the hills and vales as we drove back. Albert said that the chief beauty of mountain scenery consisted in its frequent changes. We came home at six o’clock.

Tuesday, September 17.

At a quarter to four o’clock we drove out, Albert driving me, and the ladies and Lord Glenlyon following in another carriage. We drove to the Pass of Killiecrankie, which looked in its greatest beauty and splendour, and appeared quite closed, so that one could not imagine how one was to get out of it. We drove over a bridge to the right, where the view of the pass both ways, with the Garry below, is beautiful. We got out a little way beyond this and walked on a mile to the Falls of the Tummel, the stream of which is famous for salmon; these falls, however, are not so fine, or nearly so high, as those of the Bruar. We got home at half-past six; the day was fast fading, and the lights were lovely.

We watched two stags fighting just under our window; they are in an enclosure, and roar incessantly.

Wednesday, September 18.

At nine o’clock we set off on ponies, to go up one of the hills, Albert riding the dun pony and I the grey, attended only by Lord Glenlyon’s excellent servant, Sandy McAra, in his Highland dress. We went out by the back way across the road, and to the left through the ford, Sandy leading my pony and Albert following closely, the water reaching up above Sandy’s knees. We then went up the hill of Tulloch, first straight up a very steep cabbage-field, and then in a zigzag manner round, till we got up to the top; the ponies scrambling up over stones and everything, and never making a false step; and the view all round being splendid and most beautifully lit up. We went up to the very highest top, which cannot be seen from the house or from below; and from here the view is like a panorama: you see the Falls of the Bruar, Ben-y-Chat, Ben Vrackie, Ben-y-Ghlo, the Killiecrankie Pass, and a whole range of distant hills on the other side, which one cannot at all see from below. In the direction of Taymouth you also see Dalnacardoch, the first stage from Blair. Blair itself and the houses in the village looked like little toys from the great height we were on. It was quite romantic. Here we were with only this Highlander behind us holding the ponies (for we got off twice and walked about)—not a house, not a creature near us, but the pretty Highland sheep, with their horns and black faces,—up at the top of Tulloch, surrounded by beautiful mountains.

We came back the same way that we went, and stopped at the ford to let the ponies drink before we rode through. We walked from inside the gate, and came home at half-past eleven,—the most delightful, most romantic ride and walk I ever had. I had never been up such a mountain, and then the day was so fine. The hill of Tulloch is covered with grass, and is so delightfully soft to walk upon.

Thursday, September 19.

Albert set off, immediately after luncheon, deer-stalking, and I was to follow and wait below in order to see the deer driven down. At four o’clock I set off with Lady Glenlyon and Lady Canning, Mr. Oswald and Lord Charles Wellesley riding, by the lower Glen Tilt drive. We stopped at the end; but were still in the wood; Sandy was looking out and watching. After waiting we were allowed to come out of the carriage, and came upon the road, where we saw some deer on the brow of the hill. We sat down on the ground, Lady Canning and I sketching, and Sandy and Mr. Oswald, both in Highland costume, (the same that they all wear here, viz. a grey cloth jacket and waistcoat, with a kilt and a Highland bonnet,) lying on the grass and looking through glasses. After waiting again some time, we were told in a mysterious whisper that “they were coming,” and indeed a great herd did appear on the brow of the hill, and came running down a good way, when most provokingly two men who were walking on the road—which they had no business to have done—suddenly came in sight, and then the herd all ran back again and the sport was spoilt. After waiting some little while we observed Albert, Lord Glenlyon, and the keepers on the brow of the hill, and we got into the carriage, drove a little way, went over the bridge, where there is a shepherd’s “shiel,” and got out and waited for them to join us, which they did almost immediately,—looking very picturesque with their rifles. My poor Albert had not even fired one shot for fear of spoiling the whole thing, but had been running about a good deal. The group of keepers and dogs was very pretty. After talking and waiting a little while, we walked some way on, and then Albert drove home with us.

Saturday, September 21.

After breakfast Albert saw Lord Glenlyon, who proposed that he should go deer-stalking and that I should follow him. At twenty minutes to eleven we drove off with Lady Canning for Glen Tilt. The day was glorious and it would have been a pity to lose it, but it was a long hard day’s work, though extremely delightful and enjoyable, and unlike anything I had ever done before. I should have enjoyed it still more had I been able to be with Albert the whole time.

We drove nearly to Peter Fraser’s house, which is between the Marble Lodge and Forest Lodge. Here Albert and I walked about a little, and then Lady Canning and we mounted our ponies and set off on our journey, Lord Glenlyon leading my pony the whole way, Peter Fraser, the head-keeper (a wonderfully active man) leading the way; Sandy and six other Highlanders carrying rifles and leading dogs, and the rear brought up by two ponies with our luncheon-box. Lawley,[16] Albert’s Jäger, was also there, carrying one of Albert’s rifles; the other Albert slung over his right shoulder, to relieve Lawley. So we set off and wound round and round the hill, which had the most picturesque effect imaginable. Such a splendid view all round, finer and more extensive the higher we went! The day was delightful; but the sun very hot. We saw the highest point of Ben-y-Ghlo, which one cannot see from below, and the distant range of hills we had seen from Tulloch was beautifully softened by the slightest haze. We saw Loch Vach. The road was very good, and as we ascended we had to speak in a whisper, as indeed we did almost all day, for fear of coming upon deer unawares. The wind was, however, right, which is everything here for the deer. I wish we could have had Landseer with us to sketch our party, with the background, it was so pretty, as were also the various “halts,” &c. If I only had had time to sketch them!

[16] A very good man. His health obliged him to give up being a Jäger in 1848; he was then appointed a Page, in which position he continued till he died, in November, 1865.

We stopped at the top of the Ghrianan, whence you look down an immense height. It is here that the eagles sometimes sit. Albert got off and looked about in great admiration, and walked on a little, and then remounted his pony. We then went nearly to the top of Cairn Chlamain, and here we separated, Albert going off with Peter, Lawley, and two other keepers, to get a “quiet shot” as they call it; and Lady Canning, Lord Glenlyon, and I went up quite to the top, which is deep in moss.

Here we sat down and stayed some time sketching the ponies below; Lord Glenlyon and Sandy remaining near us. The view was quite beautiful, nothing but mountains all around us, and the solitude, the complete solitude, very impressive. We saw the range of Mar Forest, and the inner range to the left, receding from us, as we sat facing the hill, called Scarsach, where the counties of Perth, Aberdeen, and Inverness join. My pony was brought up for me, and we then descended this highest pinnacle, and proceeded on a level to meet Albert, whom I descried coming towards us. We met him shortly after; he had had bad luck, I am sorry to say. We then sat down on the grass and had some luncheon; then I walked a little with Albert and we got on our ponies. As we went on towards home some deer were seen in Glen Chroine, which is called the “Sanctum;” where it is supposed that there are a great many. Albert went off soon after this, and we remained on Sron a Chro, for an hour, I am sure, as Lord Glenlyon said by so doing we should turn the deer to Albert, whereas if we went on we should disturb and spoil the whole thing. So we submitted. Albert looked like a little speck creeping about on an opposite hill. We saw four herds of deer, two of them close to us. It was a beautiful sight.

Meanwhile I saw the sun sinking gradually, and I got quite alarmed lest we should be benighted, and we called anxiously for Sandy, who had gone away for a moment, to give a signal to come back. We then began our descent, “squinting” the hill, the ponies going as safely and securely as possible. As the sun went down the scenery became more and more beautiful, the sky crimson, golden-red and blue, and the hills looking purple and lilac, most exquisite, till at length it set, and the hues grew softer in the sky and the outlines of the hills sharper. I never saw anything so fine. It soon, however, grew very dark.

At length Albert met us, and he told me he had waited all the time for us, as he knew how anxious I should be. He had been very unlucky, and had lost his sport, for the rifle would not go off just when he could have shot some fine harts; yet he was as merry and cheerful as if nothing had happened to disappoint him. We got down quite safely to the bridge; our ponies going most surely, though it was quite dusk when we were at the bottom of the hill. We walked to the Marble Lodge, and then got into the pony carriage and drove home by very bright moonlight, which made everything look very lovely; but the road made one a little nervous.

We saw a flight of ptarmigan, with their white wings, on the top of Sron a Chro, also plovers, grouse, and pheasants. We were safely home by a quarter to eight.

Tuesday, October 1.

At a quarter-past eight o’clock we started, and were very very sorry to leave Blair and the dear Highlands! Every little trifle and every spot I had become attached to; our life of quiet and liberty, everything was so pleasant, and all the Highlanders and people who went with us I had got to like so much. Oh! the dear hills, it made me very sad to leave them behind!

Lord Glenlyon rode with us, and we went back exactly the same road we came; through Killiecrankie, Pitlochrie, saw Logierait, &c. The battle of Killiecrankie was fought in a field to your left, as you come from Blair and before you come to the pass; and Lord Dundee was shot in a garden immediately above the field at Urrard (formerly called Rinrory) which belongs to Mr. Stewart of Urrard; the Stewarts of Urrard used formerly to live on Craig Urrard. We reached Dunkeld at half-past eleven. Mr. Oswald and Mr. Patrick Small Keir, with a detachment of Highlanders, were there. We drove up to the door of the cottage at Dunkeld and got out there. It is beautifully situated and the cottage is very pretty, with a good view of the river from the windows. Craig-y-Barns is a fine rocky hill to the left as you drive from Blair.

We walked to look at the beginning of the new house which the late Duke of Athole commenced, but which has been left unfinished, and also at a beautiful larch-tree, the first that was brought to Scotland. I rode back on “Arghait Bhean”[17] for the last time, and took a sad leave of him and of faithful Sandy McAra. We walked into the ruins of the old cathedral and into that part which the late Duke fitted up for service, and where there is a fine monument of him. I should never have recognized the grounds of Dunkeld, so different did they look without the encampment.[18] Beautiful as Dunkeld is, it does not approach the beauty and wildness of Blair.

[17] This pony was given to me by the Duke of Athole in 1847, and is now alive at Osborne.

[18] Vide page 14.

After twelve o’clock we set off again, and to our astonishment Lord Glenlyon insisted upon riding on with us to Dundee, which is 50 miles from Blair! Captain J. Murray also rode with us from Dunkeld. It made me feel sad to see the country becoming flatter and flatter. There was a great crowd at Cupar Angus, and at Dundee a still larger one, and on the pier the crush was very great.

We took leave of Lord Glenlyon with real regret, and he seemed quite unhappy at our going. No one could be more zealous or kinder than he was.

There was a fearful swell when we went in the barge to the yacht.

Thursday, October 3.

The English coast appeared terribly flat. Lord Aberdeen was quite touched when I told him I was so attached to the dear, dear Highlands and missed the fine hills so much. There is a great peculiarity about the Highlands and Highlanders; and they are such a chivalrous, fine, active people. Our stay among them was so delightful. Independently of the beautiful scenery, there was a quiet, a retirement, a wildness, a liberty, and a solitude that had such a charm for us.

The day had cleared up and was bright, but the air very heavy and thick, quite different from the mountain air, which was so pure, light, and brisk. At two o’clock we reached Woolwich, and shortly after disembarked. We proceeded straight to the railroad, and arrived at Windsor Castle at a few minutes past four.

Tour round the West Coast of Scotland, and Visit to Ardverikie.

Wednesday, August 11, 1847.

We proceeded from the Osborne Pier on board the yacht. Our two eldest children, my brother Charles, the Duke and Duchess of Norfolk, Lord Grey (Secretary of State), Lady Jocelyn, General Wemyss, Sir James Clark, and Miss Hildyard, accompanied us.

We have with us the following steamers:—The “Black Eagle,” “Garland,” “Undine,” “Fairy,” and “Scourge” (war-steamers). The two equerries are on board the “Black Eagle.”

We were soon under weigh, and as Osborne vanished from our sight, I thought of our poor children left behind.

On Board the Victoria and Albert,

in Dartmouth Harbour,

Thursday, August 12.

I have not much to relate. Our voyage has not been what we intended, mais l’homme propose et Dieu dispose; for instead of being at Falmouth we are only at Dartmouth! We started at five o’clock, and soon after felt the vessel stop, and on inquiring, heard that the fog was so thick it was impossible to proceed. At last Captain Smithett was sent out in the “Garland” to report on the state of the weather; and he soon returned, saying that all was clear enough to proceed outside The Needles (we were in Alum Bay). So we started again, and, after breakfast, we came on deck, where I remained working and talking; feeling quite well; but towards one o’clock the ground swell had increased, and we decided to run into the harbour we now are in.

On Board the Victoria and Albert,

Milford Haven, South Wales,

Saturday, August 14.

Arrived here this afternoon at five. I will give an account of what has passed since leaving Dartmouth. Thursday evening, after dining with Charles, we went on deck, and found the whole town illuminated, and the effect of its curious high houses running down quite into the still sea, which reflected the illumination, was lovely,—the night being so fine and calm.

Friday, August 13.

We started at four and reached the Scilly Islands at three in the afternoon; it had been very rough. The numerous little rocky islands, in the midst of which we are lying, are very curious.

St. Mary’s, the principal island, has a little town, a church, and a small harbour. Exactly opposite, on the isle of Tresco, is Mr. Smith’s house; he has the lease of all the islands from the Duchy of Cornwall. Farther to the left is St. Agnes, with a lighthouse and innumerable rocks.

Albert (who, as well as Charles, has not been unwell, while I suffered very much) went with Charles and Bertie to see one of the islands. The children recover from their sea-sickness directly. When Albert and the others returned, soon after five, we went with our ladies and gentlemen in the barge across the harbour,—where, blue as the sea was, it was still rather rough,—and landed at a little pier at St. Mary’s. The harbour, surmounted by the old fort of the Star Castle, reminded me of the harbour of St. Heliers. We got into a pony carriage belonging to Mr. Smith, with Charles and Lady Jocelyn, and drove through the place, which looks like a small fishing town, and then round the fortifications of the castle, where there is a very pretty walk overhanging the sea; the rock being covered with fern, and heath, and furze. The extensive view of the islands and rocks around is very beautiful. The town is built upon a very narrow strip of land, with a small bay on either side. We got out at the old castle, which bears the date of one of the Edwards. The view from the battlements is very fine. We returned the same way we went, a little before seven.

Saturday, August 14.

We started at five o’clock, and the yacht then began to roll and pitch dreadfully, and I felt again very unwell; but I came on deck at three in the afternoon, the sea then was like glass, and we were close to the Welsh coast.

This harbour, Milford Haven, is magnificent; the largest we have; a fleet might lie here. We are anchored just off Milford. Pembroke in front, in the distance. The cliffs, which are reddish brown, are not very high. Albert and Charles went in the “Fairy” to Pembroke, and I sketched. Numbers of boats came out, with Welshwomen in their curious high-crowned men’s hats; and Bertie was much cheered, for the people seemed greatly pleased to see the “Prince of Wales.” Albert returned at a quarter to eight.

A very pretty dairymaid, in complete Welsh costume, was brought on board for me to see. We found Milford illuminated when we went on deck, and bonfires burning everywhere.

Sunday, August 15.

We started again at four o’clock, but this time had a beautiful day, with the sea smooth the whole way. About eleven we saw the mountainous coast of Caernarvonshire; the hills, which are in fact high mountains, are bold and finely shaped, and, Albert said, reminded him much of Ischia, with the beautiful deep blue sea and bright sky.

Having arrived at the entrance of the Menai Straits, we all left the “Victoria and Albert,” and went on board the “Fairy.” The “Victoria and Albert” with the “Black Eagle” (the two equerries having joined us), the “Undine” and “Scourge,” proceeded round the Isle of Anglesea by Holyhead, and, in the “Fairy,” accompanied by the “Garland,” we went into the Straits. As we entered, the view of the fine mountains with their rich verdure—Snowdon rising splendidly in the midst—and of the fields and woods below, was really glorious. To the left the country is extremely flat. Then Caernarvon came in sight, with its grand old Castle so finely situated. We stopped for a few moments off here, but did not land. The mountains disappeared for a while, and then re-appeared more beautiful than ever. We passed close to Plas Newydd, where we had spent six weeks fifteen years ago. I felt as if I remembered it all very well; but admired the scenery even more than I had expected from my previous recollection.

We passed the famous Swilly Rocks, and saw the works they are making for the tube for the railroad, and then went under the Menai Bridge and stopped immediately on the other side. There were crowds of loyal people in steamers and boats, playing “God save the Queen,” and cheering tremendously. Albert and Charles landed and walked over the bridge. When they returned we went on again, and stopped in a most beautiful spot, with almost Swiss scenery, opposite Penrhyn Castle, Colonel Douglas Pennant’s (which I saw in the late possessor’s time unfinished), and near Bangor, with its wooded banks, through which one can see the high-road to Beaumaris. The purple hills, with the verdure below, and the blue sea, were extremely picturesque.

Albert and Charles went to see Penrhyn. As soon as they returned we dined below in the “Fairy,” and at eight we returned, with the children and all our people, to the “Victoria and Albert.” The evening was beautiful and the day very successful.

Monday, August 16.

We woke soon after four o’clock, when getting under weigh, and were surprised to feel the yacht stop not an hour after. Something had gone wrong with the paddle-wheel—just as happened last year—and it took full two hours to set it right. Then at seven we started afresh. A beautiful morning with a very smooth sea. By half-past ten we were in sight of the Isle of Man, which is a fine island with bold hills and cliffs. A little before twelve we reached the point of the bay, on which is the town of Douglas, very prettily situated, with a picturesque castle near the lighthouse, on the extreme point of the bay. We stopped off here for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour,—the rocks were covered with people. From Douglas to Ramsay Bay the hills and cliffs are high and bold; though Ramsay itself is low.

For about two hours we were out of sight of land, and I was below writing. When I came on deck at three o’clock the Scotch coast was quite close; the Mull of Galloway, and then Wigtownshire. Albert declared he saw the Irish coast, but I could not descry it. At five we came in sight of Loch Ryan, and saw, to the left, Ailsa Craig rising more than 1,000 feet perpendicularly from the sea. Loch Ryan is very fine, and the hills and glens are lovely, particularly little Glen Finnart. The loch is very large, and the hills here are very high and wooded. The little town is called Stranraer.

Tuesday, August 17.

At six o’clock we began to move. A beautiful morning. At about eight we were close to the Ailsa Rock or Craig, the formation of which is very curious. There were thousands and thousands of birds,—gannets,—on the rock, and we fired a gun off three times in order to bring them in reach of a shot—Albert and Charles tried, but in vain. We next came in sight of the beautiful Isle of Arran. The finest point is when you are before the Holy Island, and in sight of the Goatfell range of mountains. The highest is about 2,800 feet; they are peculiarly fine from their bold pointed outlines. Before them is Lamlash. After passing Holy Island we came to Brodick Bay, which is beautiful, with high hills and a glen; in front of which, and surrounded by wood, is the castle which Lord Douglas is building. Not long after this we came in sight of the Isle of Bute, and entered the Clyde, the view of which from Mr. Stuart’s and Lord Bute’s property is beautiful: high wooded banks, the river opening out and widening, surrounded by the distant mountains. A small place to the right called Largs is very prettily situated.

At half-past twelve we reached Greenock, the port of Glasgow. The shore and the ships were crowded with people, there being no less (as I since learnt) than thirty-nine steamers, over-filled with people, which almost all followed us! Such a thing never was seen. Add to these steamers boats and ships of all descriptions, moving in all directions; but not getting out of the way! We, however, got safe on board the “Fairy,” and steamed up the Clyde; it was hazy, and we could not see the distance well. We passed the small town of Port Glasgow, and about one o’clock were at Dumbarton Castle. Its situation is very fine, the rock rising straight out of the river, the mountains all round, and the town of Dumbarton behind it, making it very picturesque. We landed just below the Castle, and went with Charles and the children in a carriage to the fort. There was a great crowd, but excellent order kept. We went to the battery, but had to mount many steps to get to it. Wallace was confined here; and it was one of the last castles which held out for Mary Queen of Scots. From the battery there is a very extensive view of the Clyde and Dumbarton, and we ought to have been able to see Ben Lomond; but it was in mist.

We got back to the “Fairy” by half-past two, and returned to Greenock, escorted by nineteen steamers. Steamed past Greenock, and went on towards Loch Long, passing Roseneath to the right, where the present Duke and Duchess of Argyll live. Loch Long is indeed splendid, 15 miles in length, surrounded by grand hills, with such beautiful outlines, and very green—all so different from the eastern part of Scotland—the loch winding along most beautifully, so as to seem closed at times. Charles said it reminded him of Switzerland and the Tyrol. The finest point of Loch Long is looking towards Loch Goil. We had a very good sight of the mountain called The Cobbler; the top of which resembles a man sitting and mending his shoe! At the end of the loch we got a glimpse of Ben Lomond, and were, in fact, very near Loch Lomond.

We returned as we came. There was no sun, and once or twice a little mist; but still it was beautiful. We went on to Rothsay, which we reached at eight o’clock, and immediately went on board the “Victoria and Albert,” greatly tired but much amused and interested.

The children enjoy everything extremely, and bear the novelty and excitement wonderfully. The people cheered the “Duke of Rothsay”[19] very much, and also called for a cheer for the “Princess of Great Britain.” Everywhere the good Highlanders are very enthusiastic. Rothsay is a pretty little town, built round a fine bay, with hills in the distance, and a fine harbour. When we went on deck after dinner, we found the whole town brilliantly illuminated, with every window lit up, which had a very pretty effect.

[19] A title belonging to the eldest son of the Sovereign of Scotland, and therefore held by the Prince of Wales as eldest son of the Queen, the representative of the ancient Kings of Scotland.