When we reached the lake its surface was
almost unruffled, except by now and then the narrow pathway of a breeze,
as if the wing of an unseen spirit had just grazed it in flitting across.
The scene was very beautiful, and, on the whole, I do not know that
Walter Scott has overcharged his description, although he has symbolized
the reality by types and images which it might not precisely suggest to
other minds. We were reluctant to quit the spot, and cherish still a
hope of seeing it again, though the hope does not seem very likely to be
gratified.
This was a lowering and sullen morning, but soon after breakfast I took a
walk in the opposite direction to Loch Katrine, and reached the Brig of
Turk, a little beyond which is the new Trosachs' Hotel, and the little
rude village of Duncraggan, consisting of a few hovels of stone, at the
foot of a bleak and dreary hill. To the left, stretching up between this
and other hills, is the valley of Glenfinlas,--a very awful region in
Scott's poetry and in Highland tradition, as the haunt of spirits and
enchantments. It presented a very desolate prospect. The walk back to
the Trosachs showed me Ben Venue and Ben An under new aspects,--the bare
summit of the latter rising in a perfect pyramid, whereas from other
points of view it looks like quite a different mountain.
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