rounds than a public highway. Probably the country is indebted for this
excellent road to Lord Tweeddale, {161} now a prisoner in France. His
house stands upon an eminence within a mile of Portnacroish, commanding
the same prospect which I have spoken of, except that it must lose
something in not having the old fortress at the foot of it--indeed, it is
not to be seen at all from the house or grounds.

We travelled under steep hills, stony or smooth, with coppice-woods and
patches of cultivated land, and houses here and there; and at every
hundred yards, I may almost venture to say, a streamlet, narrow as a
ribbon, came tumbling down, and, crossing our road, fell into the lake
below. On the opposite shore, the hills--namely, the continuation of the
hills of Morven--were stern and severe, rising like upright walls from
the water's edge, and in colour more resembling rocks than hills, as they
appeared to us. We did not see any house, or any place where it was
likely a house could stand, for many miles; but as the loch was broad we
could not perhaps distinguish the objects thoroughly. A little after
sunset our road led us from the vale of the loch. We came to a small
river, a bridge, a mill, and some cottages at the foot of a hill, and
close to the loch.

Did not cross the bridge, but went up the brook, having it on our left,
and soon found ourselves in a retired valley, scattered over with many
grey huts, and surrounded on every side by green hills. The hay grounds
in the middle of the vale were unenclosed, which was enough to keep alive
the Scottish wildness, here blended with exceeding beauty; for there were
trees growing irregularly or in clumps all through the valley, rocks or
stones here and there, which, with the people at work, hay-cocks
sprinkled over the fields, made the vale look full and populous. It was
a sweet time of the evening: the moon was up; but there was yet so much
of day that her light was not perceived. Our road was through open
fields; the people suspended their work as we passed along, and leaning
on their pitchforks or rakes, with their arms at their sides, or hanging
down, some in one way, some in another, and no two alike, they formed
most beautiful groups, the outlines of their figures being much more
distinct than by day, and all that might have been harsh or unlovely
softened down. The dogs were, as usual, attendant on their masters, and,
watching after us, they barked aloud; yet ev