the reality went far beyond the description, or my imagination. The
hills are all bare of trees, but their outline is very beautiful and
infinitely varied. Picture to yourself a ridge of hills or mountains
all purple with the heather, relieved with the silver-gray of the
rocks and with patches of the bright yellow gorse, and all this
harmony of color reflected in the green sea water which runs winding
far in among the hills. As the light changes, these colors are
either brought out more strongly, or mingle into one soft lilac
color, or sometimes a sort of purple-gray. Your eye is enchanted,
and never weary of looking and admiring. I would not have any trees
on the Scotch hills; I would not have them other than they are. If I
were dying I could look at them with joy; they are lovely beyond
words to tell.

I was on all the most celebrated and beautiful lakes. I was rowed in
an open boat, by two Highland youths, from one end of Loch Katrine
to the other, and through those beautiful, high, heathery, rocky
banks at one end of the lake, called the Trosachs. These exquisite
rocks are adorned, and every crevice fringed and festooned with
harebells, heather, gorse, and here and there beautiful evergreen
trees. We passed by "Ellen's Isle," as it is called, the most
exquisite little island ever formed, a perfect oval, and all covered
with the purple heather, the golden gorse, and all sorts of flowers
and exquisitely beautiful trees. O, what a little paradise it is! A
number of little row-boats, with fine-looking Highland rowers and
gay companies of ladies and gentlemen, were visiting the island as
we passed. They show the oak tree to which they say Ellen fastened
her boat. It was beautiful to see the glancing of the sunlight on
the oars of these boats, and the bright colors of the shawls and
bonnets of the ladies in them, and to witness this homage to nature