All the hills are sheep-pastures, and I never saw
such wild, rough, ragged-looking creatures as the sheep, with their black
faces and tattered wool. The little lambs were very numerous, poor
things, coming so early in the season into this inclement region; and it
was laughable to see how invariably, when startled by our approach, they
scampered to their mothers, and immediately began to suck. It would seem
as if they sought a draught from the maternal udder, wherewith to fortify
and encourage their poor little hearts; but I suppose their instinct
merely drove them close to their dams, and, being there, they took
advantage of their opportunity. These sheep must lead a hard life during
the winter; for they are never fed nor sheltered.
The day was sunless, and very uncomfortably cold; and we were not sorry
to walk whenever the steepness of the road gave us cause. I do not
remember what o'clock it was, but not far into the afternoon, when we
reached the Baillie Nicol-Jarvie Inn at Aberfoyle; a scene which is much
more interesting in the pages of Rob Roy than we found it in reality.
Here we got into a sort of cart, and set out, over another hill-path, as
dreary as or drearier than the last, for the Trosachs. On our way, we
saw Ben Venue, and a good many other famous Bens, and two or three lochs;
and when we reached the Trosachs, we should probably have been very much
enraptured if our eyes had not already been weary with other mountain
shapes.
Pages:
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485