Year: 1870

This Is one OF the most picturesque o
the Highland lakes. Here Sir Walter
Scott wrought out his beautiful poem, The
Lady Of tie Lake, the fame of which ha.
spread the wide world over.


In size, Loeb Katrine is ten miles in
length, with a breadth in some places oil
about two miles, while in others it is on
ly wide enough for the wheels of the lit
tie steamer to play. For beauty and va
riety of scenery, Katrine is unsurpassed.
Here every prospect is pleasing and life
giving. Massive headlands, with gray
rocks dipping down to kiss the crystal wa
ters; deep, retiring bays, with beaches
covered with snow-white sand, the result
of bleaching process of the ages; rugged
cliffs running up on every side, covered
with verdure, which seems to grow on the
rock. Every grove is filled with song,
every crevice has its echo and from far
and near is heard the blcating of sheep,
and the cry of the mountain shepherd or
the bark of his faithful dog.


Our way of access to the lake was on the
eastern side, through a narrow, circuitous
path, about half mile in length. Over
hanging this winding defle are weeping
birches, whose stringy tresses reach so
low as to be within touching distance.
They bear the appearance of mourners in
widowed sorrow for the dear departed of
other days 1t was in this lonely noun
tain path, according to Sir Walter, that
the Scotch troops, under Earl Moray, were
led to pause, as if some danger was nigh
And while thus waiting, not knowing
we'll what to do for the best,


There rose so long and wide yell


Within the dark and narrow dell,


As all the fiends from heaven that fell


Had peeled the banner-cry of hell


Forth from the pass in tumult driven,
Like chaff before the wind of heaven,


The archery appear;


For life for life ! the flight they ply
And shrek, and shout, and battlc-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,


And broadswords flashing in the sky,


Are maddening in the rear.


Onward they drive in dreadful race,


Pursuers and pursued"


As we glided over Katrine's silver wa
ter, our interest heightened, and each OBJ
ject became life-like with romantic inter-
est and story. Indeed, it is almost i'm
possible for one who is at all conversant
with Sir Walters earliest and freshest po-
ems to keep himself from falling into the
idea that the accounts therein given are
real transactions. All along we found
ourselves looking anxiously and inquir-
ingly for a local habitation for each vary
ing image of the poets brain. Here the
"dying moan and the dirges wall" may
still be heard, or the rocks resounding to
the praise of its chief, chanted by the vol
ces of hundred clansmen. On our right
lay Helen's Isle, from which the blast of
the Knight of Snowdoun's bugle called
out the little skiff which carried Helen
Douglas to :" the beach of pebbles bright
as snow" This also is said to be the is
land where the Clan-Alpino women and
children came for refuge. To this


Moray pointed with his lance,


And cried, Behold yon isle


See none are left to guard its strand


But women weak that wiring the hand.
IT'S there of yore the robber-band


Their booty wont to pile.
Wy PURSE, Will ponnet pieces store,


To him will swim bow-shoot Ger,


And loose a shallop from the shore.


Lightly we'll the war-wolf then,


Lords of his mate, and brood and den =
Forth from the ranks spearman sprung
On earth his casque and corslet rung,


He plunged into the wave.


d" He nears the isle, and lo


His hand is on the shallop's bow.


| marked Duncraggan's widowed dame;
Behind an oak l saw her stand,


A naked dirk cleaned in her hand


1t darkened, but amid the moan


Of waves I heard dying groan."


Indeed, every sight in and about this
lake is made memorable by the poets fan
cy, and is carefully pointed out by the
guides, who know the. whole poem by
heart


While journeying up the Loch, our at
tention was directed to the spot where the
king climbed down the rock in pursuit of
the stag, and where he passed the night
vrapped in his HIGHLAND nlaid and WHARF