sweep the narrow glen. Some are bent double, with
their heads nearly touching the earth; and among other fantastic forms
it is not unusual to see the trunk of some aged warrior twisted round
and round, its outer surface resembling the strands of a rope. A due
proportion of the forest is still in its manly prime--tall, stout,
straight trees, lifting their huge branches on high, and bearing aloft
the solemn canopy of dark green that distinguishes "the scarcely waving
pine." We are tempted to have recourse to poetry again--we promise it
shall be the last time on this occasion: there are, however, some lines
by Campbell "on leaving a scene in Bavaria," which describe such a
region of grandeur, loneliness, and desolation, with a vigour and melody
that have been seldom equalled. They were first published not many
years before his death, and it seemed as if the ancient harp had been
re-strung to more than its old compass and power--but, alas! when we
spoke of these verses to himself, we found that, like all of his that
were fitted for immortality, they had been the fruit of his younger and
better days, and that a diffidence of their merit had retarded their
publication. Let the reader commit these two stanzas to memory, and
repeat them as he nears the base of Ben Muich Dhui.

"Yes! I have loved thy wild abode,
Unknown, unploughed, untrodden shore;
Where scarce the woodman finds a road,
And scarce the fisher plies an oar;
For man's neglect I love thee more;
That art nor avarice intrude,--
To tame thy torrents' thunder-shock,
Or prune thy vintage of the rock,
Magnificently rude.

Unheeded spreads thy blossomed bud
Its milky bosom to the bee;
Unheeded falls along the flood
Thy desolate and aged tree.
Forsaken scene! how like to thee
The fate of unbefriended worth!
Like thine, her fruit unhonoured falls--
Like thee, in solitude she calls
A thousand treasures forth."

It is after proceeding through Glen Lui Beg, perhaps about three or four
miles from the opening of the glen, that we begin to mount Ben Muich
Dhui. At first we clamber over the roots and fallen trunks of trees; but
by degrees we leave the forest girdle behind, and precipices and snow,
with a scant growth of heather, become our sole companions. Keeping the
track where the slope of the hill is gentlest, we pass on the right Loch
Etichan, lyin