not merely from the labour of climbing, for to climb is not always necessary, but because that which is not mountain is commonly bog, through which the way must be picked with caution." Here the mountains are simply a nuisance in the traveller's path: a nuisance which might be happily circumvented, were it not for the perverse ingenuity with which Nature insists on making the road uncomfortable, even where mountains fail to do so, by other annoying methods. So far, we have only a specimen of the "Salvation Army" mountaineer; but in the following general description of the Highland hills, we have the aesthetical side of the learned doctor's soul laid bare :—

"They exhibit very little variety, being almost wholly covered with dark heath, and even that seems to be checked in its growth. What is not heath is nakedness, a little diversified by now and then a stream rushing down the steep. An eye accustomed to flowery pastures and waving harvests is astonished and repelled by this wide extent of hopeless sterility. The appearance is that of matter incapable of form or usefulness, dismissed by Nature from her care, and disinherited of her favours, left in its original elemental state, or quickened only with one sullen power of useless vegetation."

The idea of Suilven and other mountains of the west being "incapable of form " is exquisite; and the holding up of "flowery pastures and waving harvests" as the only kind of scenery to be admired, presents an exact parallel to the sentiment of my friend, the West Highland sea captain, quoted in my first address as President, who could understand people admiring the beauty of Greenock or Gourock, with their trim villas and straight paths, but could see nothing to admire on Loch Fyne-where there was nothing but "rocks and woods, and the like o' that."

In the marvellous "Pedestrian Tour through Part of the Highlands of Scotland in 1801," by John Bristed, of the Inner Temple, and his friend, we find some genuine appreciation of scenery interlarded between frantic tirades against the filthiness or rudeness of the inhabitants, and interminable prosy disquisitions on political and social subjects. What moved him most to rapture was the Carse

of Gowrie, "a valley teeming with fertility, the hills for the most part clothed in wood to their very summits;" "the whole constituting a garden of Eden, a terrestrial paradise, on which Nature had showered her choicest blessings." The Pass of Killiecrankie, however, proved rather too much for him; for though his first sensation at the foot of the pass was to "suffer his soul to be wrapped in ecstasy by a survey of the most admirable and stupendous scenery with which his eyes had ever been blessed," yet when he looks at the bare hills above, "in bleak and sullen majesty," he thinks better of it, and remarks that “in ancient days a poet might surely have been forgiven if he had placed the infernal regions directly in this spot, which might then have appeared to be the bones and skeletons of the world." This worthy gentleman, and his friend Cowan, dressed as sailors, walked up the Tunnel (sic) along Loch Tay to Killin, and so by Glenfarloch (sic) down Loch Lomond to Tarbut (sic), asking questions of everybody, engaging everybody in conversation; yet never once, along the whole route, though speaking sometimes in a tone of misty grandeur about the mountains, does the idea of going up a hill suggest itself to him: : never once does he ask or record the name of a hillnot even that of Ben Lomond, the most be-touristed of Scottish mountains.

In the "Observations on the Highlands, &c.," by William Gilpin, Prebendary of Salisbury (2 vols., London, 1789), we have a work mainly intended as a guide to what is called "Picturesque Beauty." It does not therefore deal with mountains, except as an element in artistic scenery; but the style in which he treats them in this respect not only brings home to us the difference between our idea of natural beauty, and our ways of enjoying scenery, as compared with those of our grandfathers, but also illustrates and confirms in the most striking way some of the fundamental principles of our Club. This reverend and artistic gentleman brought down to Scotland with him much learning, and, amongst other things, a complete set of preconceived, a priori principles about the Romantic, the Picturesque, and so forth. Thus armed, he passed a judgment on all the scenery he saw, condemning this, or com

mending that, according as it conformed to, or improperly and unjustifiably departed from, the canons of beauty which constituted his æsthetic code. He travels about

with the air of an H.M. Inspector of Mountains, or as a University Examiner for Degrees, whose business it is to conduct an Examination in the Department of Hill Scenery; to take careful note of the merits or shortcomings of a mountain, and after careful consideration of both, to pluck it or to pass it, according as it comes up, or fails to come up, to the required standard; and to issue certificates of merit, general or partial, to lakes, valleys, or views, according as they may happen to deserve them. Appended to the decisive verdicts are sometimes to be found instructive notes, kindly added for the information of candidates, indicating the causes of failure, or pointing out how the construction of a mountain or of a scene should have been gone about to produce a more satisfactory result.

In the general Syllabus of Examination it is announced that equal attention will be paid by the Examiner to the scenes of Nature, and to the rules of Art"; and mountain-candidates are given some hints as to the principles on which marks will be assigned.

"A mountain is of use sometimes to close a distance by an elegant, varied line; and sometimes to come in as a second ground hanging over a lake, or forming a screen to the nearer objects. To each purpose the Scotch mountains are well adapted." The last sentence is obviously added to make Scottish candidates feel that if they fail, it is not for want of natural ability.

Mountains in general are to be judged by a severe standard. Their want of modesty in asserting themselves challenges severe criticism. "It is not often that these elevated bodies (ie., mountains) coincide with the rules of beauty... less often than any other mode of landscape. In a level country the awkwardness of a line is hid, but the mountain rearing its opaqueness against the sky shows every fault . . . with great exactness."

Among the first hills to be commended, though with moderation, are those on the Tweed, near Yair and Ferney. "These mountains had few faults to show. They were

both well-formed and well-connected." (One would think he was speaking of some pretty girl of good family; or of a well-shaped pedigree ox at a cattle show.) Approaching Edinburgh, he is a little annoyed at the deception practised on him by the Pentlands, which "in themselves are not magnificent," but impose upon the stranger by taking advantage of "a medium of light mist." Arthur Seat is "a rock of peculiar appearance which hangs over Edinburgh: romantic, but not picturesque"; and the term "picturesque," it seems, has been bestowed on Edinburgh generally in ignorance of the facts. As you approach nearer Edinburgh, "Arthur Seat, which is still the principal object, appears still as odd, misshapen, and uncouth, as when we first saw it. It gave us the idea of a cap of maintenance in heraldry, and . . . can no more be picturesque than a face with a bulbous nose can be beautiful." It is some comfort to discover later on that "the town and castle, on the left, make some amends, and are happily introduced."

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Travelling towards Stirling, he commends one fine landscape on the road, though gently chiding the distant mountains for "not being in the shade"; but unhappily the views from Stirling Castle, with its magnificent outlook on to the Perthshire Highlands, he condemns as "being in general over a barren and uninteresting country, but amends is made by the superior excellence (possibly up to an Honour standard?) of one of them over the Forth, which has always been esteemed the most celebrated view in Scotland. It is not indeed picturesque, but it is exceedingly grand and amusing (sic). You overlook a flat valley of vast extent stretching almost as far as Edinburgh, &c."

The Grampian Hills, which run through the middle of Scotland, "rarely swell into mountains of considerable note, but-on the whole-may be esteemed among the grand features of the country. The view of Perth, as seen from the top of Moncrieff Hill, would be extremely picturesque were it not for one awkwardness. The Tay runs in a direct line between parallel banks. The painter, in copying nature, need pay little attention to such untowardnesses, but may venture to correct them. The translation must needs be bad if the idiom of the language into which

you translate be not observed." In other words, the faults of Nature must be treated like the mistakes in a schoolboy's exercise they must be scored through, and the schoolmaster's corrections, in accordance with the strictest rules of grammar, put in their place.

The valley around Dunkeld is "a favoured spot," but would have been a still more beautiful scene if Art had done as much as Nature. Much indeed it has done, but nothing well. It is interesting, however, to see noticed the many thousands of young pines now struggling for existence among the crannies of rocks, and many thousands more which have gotten hold of the soil, and are flourishing greatly"; and to have seen in our own day the prophecy amply fulfilled that "it will be a century before these pines, thriving as they are, will have consequence to break the lines of the mountains and give a proper degree of sylvan richness to the scene."

The position of Taymouth Castle, and the laying out of the grounds, is scathingly denounced: "Nothing could show a more thorough inattention to every idea of beauty and taste than the whole contrivance of the place. A situation so unhappily chosen, in the neighbourhood of such a scene as Loch Tay, it required some ingenuity to fix." Yet Loch Tay evokes no enthusiasm: its banks are too straight, its hills are dull and tame (no mention of Ben Lawers or any other single hill by name), and though Killin itself has pleasing environs, yet on leaving Killin "we launched into a wild country which Nature had barely produced, but had done nothing to adorn. All was wide, waste and rude; totally naked, and yet in its simplicity often sublime; the ground heaving like the ocean into ample swells, and subsiding into valleys equally magnificent. The ideas were grand rather than pleasing." We soon come to Loch Dochart, which leads to the discovery that "the main use of islands, from a picturesque point of view, is to break the tedious lines of such promontories and mountains as fall into the water." Inveraray Castle, its situation, grounds, and scenery, evoke the author's enthusiastic approbation : in Loch Lomond he admires greatly the islands and sky effects upon the hills, naming "Ben Lomond the second