16–22 September 1850

We reached the hut at three o’clock. At half-past four we walked down to the loch, and got into the boat with our people: Duncan, J. Brown, P. Coutts, and Leys rowing. They rowed mostly towards the opposite side, which is very fine indeed, and deeply furrowed by the torrents, which form glens and corries where birch and alder trees grow close to the water’s edge. We landed on a sandy spot below a fine glen, through which flows the Black Burn. It was very dry here; but still very picturesque, with alder-trees and mountain-ash in full fruit overhanging it. We afterwards landed at our usual place at the head of the loch, which is magnificent; and rode back. A new road has been made, and an excellent one it is, winding along above the lake. The moon rose, and was beautifully reflected on the lake, which, with its steep green hills, looked lovely. To add to the beauty, poetry, and wildness of the scene, Coutts played in the boat; the men, who row very quickly and well now, giving an occasional shout when he played a reel. It reminded me of Sir Walter Scott’s lines in The Lady of the Lake:— “Ever, as on they bore, more loud And louder rung the pibroch proud. At first the sound, by distance tame, Mellow’d along the waters came, And, lingering long by cape and bay, Wail’d every harsher note away.” We were home at a little past seven; and it was so still and pretty as we entered the wood, and saw the light flickering from our humble little abode.