ANECDOTE.-KILCHURN CASTLE.

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without question, and assured of protection. Those in pursuit coming quickly up, communicated the startling intelligence that the fugitive had blood upon his hands, and was the murderer of the eldest son of their chief, the owner of the very mansion in which he had craved protection. Macgregor, however, having promised him shelter, remained faithful to his word; and, conducting the young man to Loch-fine, saw him safely across. This clemency and magnanimity were not without their reward; for, not long after, the Clan Gregor being proscribed, Lamont, who owed his life to his forbearance, received the chieftain to his house, and, by every act of kindness to him and his relatives, endeavoured to supply the place of that son, of whose support in the hour of trial he had so unhappily bereaved them.

Kilchurn Castle, which gives so much life and interest to this beautiful lake, is a capacious structure of great antiquity and strength, remarkable as the berceau of the Braidalbane family, and, in itself, one of the most picturesque ruins in Great Britain. It is built on a projecting rock, and, when the water is high, completely insulated. The shore immediately adjacent is low; but, on the opposite side of the lake, the rocky promontories of Ben-cruachan rise abruptly from the water, till the gradually expanding mass loses its desolate summits in the clouds. Of the building itself, the exterior walls are nearly entire; the circular towers, which project on the south and east, prevent the monotonous effect of a too regular line, whilst the magnitude of the pile is such as to give the whole a characteristic baronial grandeur. This effect is particularly conspicuous in the view looking towards Dalmally. The entrance is by a small door-way, with the date 1693; but the principal building was erected early in the fifteenth century by the lady of Sir Colin Campbell, the black knight of Rhodes, during the absence of her husband in foreign wars. From a court in the centre, the mass is seen to great advantage, and forms an excellent subject for the pencil. The walls are mantled with ivy, the apartments high, and surmounted by lofty towers, in the solid mansonry of which the wasting hand of time has opened many a yawning fissure. Here, in the times of trouble and predatory warfare, the proprietor found a safe retreat from external violence; here, when an attack was meditated, and the revenge of injuries summoned every vassal to his post, the chieftain sallied forth at the head of his retainers, and carried the terror of his name into the surrounding districts. Then followed the triumphant return-the shrill note of the pibroch-the division of the spoilthe festive bowl-and the boisterous mirth of a long wassail night. How changed is the scene! The plash of the water, as a crumbling stone drops from

its perch-the moan of the wind, as it ruffles the wild ivy, floating from its crest like a green banner-and the scream of the water-fowl, are almost the only sounds that now interrupt its profound solitude. Its apartments no longer echo to the tread of armed heel, or to the tramp of sentinels; it stands like a vast sepulchre mouldering over the grave of its princely founders. But, in the still moonlight, in the broad glare of summer, and in the roar of the winter storm, how different is its aspect-how different the associations which it calls forth! In the first, with the waves of the lake stretched around it like molten silver, reflecting on their bosom, as in a mirror, the shattered outline of its walls and the flash of some stealthy oar, glimmering in the distance, it offers a scene fit to lull the contemplative mind in a delicious reverie-a reverie sweetened by the very melancholy which it inspires. Again, the warder's bugle seems to salute us from the wall; troops of phantom retainers sweep past us in waving tartan and shining steel; lights glance forth at every lattice; the clang of the portcullis, lowered to admit the warrior in his plumed helm; the sound of music, the shouts of rivalry, all pass in review before us, and we can scarcely bring ourselves to avow that it is "but a dream." See it again in the morning; like a haggard veteran with his mail hacked, his once brawny arms covered with scars, the sunshine, in whose warmth he feels a glow of returning strength, serving only to expose his miserable plight-so these lofty ruins appear in all the desolation of age, and neglect, and poverty. But, in the winter storm, they assume a stately, and even sublime appearance: the thunder breaks on Ben-cruachan ; the blast sweeps through the defile, shattering the forest and chafing the lake into foam; the boats are drawn hastily upon the beach, the rowers crouch for shelter among the rocks, and over the wide and desolate landscape, the spirits of the storm execute their terrible commission. Against these abutting ramparts, the wave, ploughed into deep furrows, now bursts and recoils, and bursts again with redoubled fury. Through the wide unlatticed casements the ruffian tempest howls with deafening roar. But, in the midst of this terrible concert, a mysterious voice, far above the storm, and from the highest turret is heard exclaiming

"Wave may burst, and wind may howl

Lightnings flash, and thunders growl

I shall never fall, but when

The sea has covered Cruachan-Ben!"

The gigantic Ben-cruachan, here named, rises in solitary grandeur over the scene, and from the summit of the mountain issue those waters that supply the

LOCH-AWE.-THE FATAL SPRING.

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lake at its base-the beautiful Loch-awe. Their source is called the fatal spring-a name originating in the following tradition :*-Bera was the daughter of Grianan the sage, and dwelt in the cave of the rock. Long was the line of her fathers-large and fertile were their possessions: hers were the beautiful vales below, and hers the flocks that roamed on the hills around. To her was committed the charge of that awful spring which was one day to prove so fatal to the inheritance of her fathers, and to her fathers' race. . . .Before the sun withdrew his beams, she was commanded each night to cover the spring with a stone, on which sacred and mysterious characters were impressed. One night, however, this duty was forgotten by the unhappy Bera. Overcome with the chase and the heat of the day, she was seized with heavy sleep before the usual hour of rest. The stone, therefore, remained unclosed, and the longconfined waters, rushing down upon the plain, expanded themselves into the lake of Awe. The third morning Bera awoke from her fatal sleep; she flew to remove the stone from the spring, but, behold, no stone was there! She looked mournfully towards the inheritance of her fathers; she saw only the devastation of her plains. She shrieked!-the mountain shook to its base; she fell prostrate on the heath; her spirit retired to the ghosts of her fathers, in their airy halls!-Such was the poetical origin of Loch-awe.

romance.

To the admirers of Ossian, this country, as before noticed, is all classic ground, the birth-place of heroes, and the native land of the most sublime species of Here resided the heroes of Fion, or Fingal; and the traditions of the country are still full of their exploits.-Ben-cruachan, the mountain already named, is nearly four thousand feet in height, with a circumference at the base of about twenty miles. From the north-east the ascent is very steep, sloping gently down on the south, but rising with an abrupt ascent near the summit, which is bicipital. The flanks are covered with natural woods in great variety, and abounding with red deer. The scenery of this mountain has had the singularly good fortune to be celebrated by two of the earliest and most distinguished of the Scottish bards-Barbour and Blind Harry--the one in describing the arduous struggles of Bruce, and the other in recording the glorious achievements of Wallace. It is a curious circumstance, also, that the two greatest heroes that Scotland ever produced, should both have been victorious in decisive battles fought at the base of Ben-cruachan; and it is gratifying to find traditions still existing among the older inhabitants, establishing the historical fidelity of

Communicated to Mr. Lettice, by the late Dr. Mac Intyre of Glenorchy, from the original Gaëlic.— P. 256. Continued, also, in a collection of traditionary Celtic poems, translated by Dr. Smith of Cambelltown. Also, Statist. Acc. Arg. p. 403,-Tourist's Guide.