As we have heard the Trossachs signifies “bristled territory,” a suitable name enough, and as they have been described by the master himself, there would be little use in trying to improve upon his words, which are as follows:

It must be remembered that the beautiful even road which now runs through the heart of this fairyland was a work of great difficulty and cost. It has been hewn out of the side of the rock, and built up by the side of the loch in order to facilitate the constant stream of tourists. At first there were several wild pathways leading down to Loch Katrine through a perfect wilderness of boughs and undergrowth, and at the end a precipitous drop over the edge of a steep crag, only scaled by the aid of a sort of natural ladder of saplings and tendrils, and it is thus that Scott makes Fitz-James approach the loch. In the beginning of the nineteenth century, however, when Dorothy Wordsworth and her brother reached the Trossachs from Loch Katrine, a great improvement had taken place. When nearing the end of the lake, she says, they came in sight of two huts, which had been built by Lady Perth as a shelter for visitors. “The huts stand at a small distance from each other, on a high and perpendicular rock, that rises from the bed of the lake. A road, which has a very wild appearance, has been cut through the rock; yet even here, among these bold precipices, the feeling of excessive beautifulness overcomes every other.”

In her there was already that new appreciation of the natural beauty which her brother was to do so much to encourage in all. Her description of the Trossachs, after they had landed, clearly shows this: “Above and below us, to the right and to the left, were rocks, knolls, and hills, which, whenever anything could grow—and that was everywhere between the rocks—were covered with trees and heather. The trees did not in any place grow so thick as an ordinary wood, yet I think there was never a bare space of twenty yards; it was more like a natural forest, where the trees grow in groups or singly, not hiding the surface of the ground, which, instead of being green and mossy, was of the richest purple. The heather was indeed the most luxuriant I ever saw; it was so tall that a child of ten years old struggling through it would often have been buried head and shoulders, and the exquisite beauty of the colour, near or at a distance, seen under the trees is not to be conceived.”

And as it was then so it is now: a better description of the peculiar scenery of the Trossachs could hardly be given, especially if we add the detail that bog-myrtle and birches grow abundantly, adding to the fragrance and poetry of the place. Winding round to the right runs the road to the Silver Strand, now much covered by the rising of the water owing to the precautions taken by the Glasgow Waterworks, which gets its supply from Loch Katrine. Here Fitz-James is supposed to have stood. Right in front is Ellen’s Isle, thickly wooded; behind it rises the vast shoulder of Ben Venue, and away to the right stretches westward the full length of the lake, broken by promontories,

In the whole of a justly celebrated poem there is no passage finer than this, and, oft quoted as it has been, it would be impossible to omit it.

Ellen’s Isle is, of course, so named after Scott’s heroine; the Highland name is Eilean Molach, meaning the “Shaggy Island,” and it is quite likely that with this in his mind Scott chose the name Ellen as the nearest English-sounding equivalent.

The Goblin’s Cave, to which Ellen and her family retreated, is on the side of Ben Venue, and above is the Bealach Nambo, or the Pass of the Cattle, which Scott alluded to as:

This can be reached on foot by a not too difficult walk, but most people prefer to view it from below. The Goblin’s Cave is impossible of exact identification, if, indeed, it had any actual prototype.

It has been suggested that the name of Loch Katrine arose from the hordes of robbers, or caterans, who infested its shores. If this be so, the name has been softened into something much more appropriate to the loveliness of the scenery, which is at its best at the east end. The Wordsworth party, indeed, coming from the other end, were at first disappointed. As the only means of transit was by a small row-boat, Coleridge was afraid of the cold and walked along the northern shore from Glengyle, though not, of course, on the well-made-up road which runs part of the way at present. Wordsworth himself slept in the bottom of the boat, which they had procured with much difficulty, and told his sister to awake him if anything worth seeing occurred. It was not until they nearly reached the eastern end that she did this, though then she confessed that what they saw was “the perfection of loveliness and beauty.”

The lake is about eight miles long by three-quarters broad, but the actual width varies very much, owing to the numerous indentations. The road on the northern shore runs to Glengyle, but there stops, so that the only means of getting right on to Loch Lomond is to take the steamer, which awaits tourists several times daily. No doubt a road by which cyclists could travel on their own account would be strenuously resisted in the neighbourhood, where the chief aim and object of the tourist’s being is supposed to be to pay for everything. On the southern side the steepness of the precipices of Ben Venue prevents any possibility of a road.

Opposite to Ben Venue, and best seen from the lake itself, is Ben A’an, only 1,750 feet in height. At the north-west end of Loch Katrine is Glengyle, the hereditary burial-place of the Macgregors.

The steamer stops at Stronachlachar, about three-quarters of the way down the lake on the south side, and here a coach meets it to convey passengers across to Inversnaid, on Loch Lomond.

With Loch Katrine the scenes identified with The Lady of the Lake come to an end. The road to Loch Lomond passes over a wild, rough heath, in strong contrast to the wooded loveliness of the eastern end of Loch Katrine, but quite as attractive to some natures, especially when the soft grey clouds lie low and the russets and browns of the bracken and heather replace the rich glory of its purple robe. It was hereabouts that the Wordsworths, when returning to Lomond, were greeted by two Highland women, who said in a friendly way: “What! you are stepping westward”—a simple sentence which gave Wordsworth the inspiration for the poem which he wrote long afterwards beginning with the same words.

Loch Arklet lies very flat between its shores, and has no beauty except its wildness. At one end lived for some time Rob Roy and his wife; indeed, all this district, right up to Glen Falloch on the one side, and down to the shoulders of Ben Lomond on the other, is associated with the outlaw, of whom Scott made a hero. The district has also associations with a much greater than he, for it is redolent of the wanderings of Robert the Bruce, when he was hunted by his bitter enemies, the men of Lorn.

It is supposed that Roderick Dhu in Scott’s poem was a shadowy form of Rob Roy, who is more developed in the book which was published seven years later. Both were of uncommon personal strength, both were cattle-lifters and outlaws, both were of the great clan of Macgregor, and there are minor resemblances.

Rob’s designation was “of Inversnaid,” and he owned Craig Royston, a district lying east of Lomond, near the north end. He began as a man of property and a land-holder, rough and poor as his territory was. He went on to be a cattle-dealer on a large scale, and this turned to something more nefarious. A distraint was levied on his property, and he had to leave the shores of Lomond. To this fact is attributed the wild piper’s tune of “The Lament of Rob Roy,” composed by his wife, which has something of the mournful beauty of the country incorporated in its weird strains:

Rob seems to have been in some way a Robin Hood, exercising generosity toward those poorer and weaker than himself, and he was greatly beloved by the people in consequence. Many a ballad is connected with his name, and he became a popular hero even before his death. He took part in 1715 Rebellion on the Jacobite side, and at the Battle of Sheriffmuir seems to have been afflicted with the peculiar indecision that paralyzed both sides on that memorable day. He was leading, beside his own clan, a party of Macphersons, whose chief was too infirm to take the field, and he retained his station on a hill, though positively ordered by the Earl of Mar to charge. It is said that this charge might have decided the day. This incident is embodied in the ballad on the occasion:

It is impossible to give even an account of all Rob’s pranks, some of which are doubtless mythical, and others which do not greatly redound to his credit. He had certainly that picturesque personality which has attracted romancers in all ages, and he formed a very fitting subject for Scott’s pen.

In the end he turned Roman Catholic, and died, as already stated, at Balquhidder.

The road drops very steeply down to Lomond, and passes the earthworks which mark the site of a fort built by William III. to overawe the rebels. The fort, being on the great outlaw’s property, was an object of peculiar hatred. Twice it was surprised and taken—once by Roy himself and once by his nephew. It is said that at one time General, then Captain, Wolfe was in command of it.

The little stream Arklet dances and brawls over its bed, in its descent accompanying the road, and at length leaps into the lake by a splendid waterfall thirty feet in height. Close by this is the palatial hotel at Inversnaid, a brother to the one at the Trossachs. When the Wordsworths arrived here the first time, after having with great difficulty got across Loch Lomond in a row-boat, they found only a miserable ferry-house, with a mud floor, and rain coming in at the roof. It was here that Wordsworth saw the prototype of his “sweet Highland girl.”