Part 8

To Kirk at twelve o’clock. The Rev. J. Caird, one of the most celebrated preachers in _Scotland_, performed the service, and electrified all present by a most admirable and beautiful sermon, which lasted nearly an hour, but which kept one’s attention riveted. The text was from the twelfth chapter of Romans, and the eleventh verse: “_Not slothful in business; fervent in spirit; serving the Lord._” He explained, in the most beautiful and simple manner, what real religion is; how it ought to pervade every action of our lives; not a thing only for Sundays, or for our closet; not a thing to drive us from the world; not “a perpetual moping over ‘good’ books,” but “being and doing good;” “letting everything be done in a Christian spirit.” It was as fine as Mr. McLeod’s sermon last year, and sent us home much edified.

FINDING THE OLD CASTLE GONE.

_August 30, 1856._

On arriving at _Balmoral_ at seven o’clock in the evening, we found the tower finished as well as the offices, and the poor old house gone! The effect of the whole is very fine.

GARDENS, &c. ROUND THE NEW CASTLE.

_August 31, 1856._

We walked along the river and outside the house. The new offices and the yard are excellent; and the little garden on the west side, with the eagle fountain which the King of Prussia gave me, and which used to be in the greenhouse at _Windsor_, is extremely pretty; as are also the flower-beds under the walls of the side which faces the _Dee_. There are sculptured arms on the different shields, gilt, which has a very good effect; and a bas-relief under our windows--not gilt--representing St. Hubert, with St. Andrew on one side and St. George on the other side: all done by Mr. Thomas.[44]

[44] He died in March, 1862. The Prince had a high opinion of his taste.

LOVE FOR BALMORAL.

_October 13, 1856._

Every year my heart becomes more fixed in this dear Paradise, and so much more so now, that _all_ has become my dear Albert’s _own_ creation, own work, own building, own laying out, as at _Osborne_; and his great taste, and the impress of his dear hand, have been stamped everywhere. He was very busy to-day, settling and arranging many things for next year.

OPENING OF THE NEW BRIDGE OVER THE LINN OF DEE.

_September 8, 1857._

At half-past one o’clock we started in “Highland state,”--Albert in a royal Stuart plaid, and I and the girls in skirts of the same,--with the ladies (who had only returned at five in the morning from the ball at _Mar Lodge_) and gentlemen, for the _Linn of Dee_, to open the new bridge there. The valley looked beautiful. A triumphal arch was erected, at which Lord Fife and Mr. Brooke received us, and walked near the carriage, pipers playing--the road lined with Duff men. On the bridge Lady Fife received us, and we all drank in whisky “prosperity to the bridge.” The view of the Linn is very fine from it.

All the company and a band were outside a tent on the bank overlooking the bridge. Here we took some tea, talked with the company, and then drove back by _Mar Lodge_,--the Fifes preceding us to the end of the grounds. The same people were there as at the Gatherings,--the Campdens, Errolls, Airlies, old Lady Duff, and Mr. and Lady L. Brooke, and others. We were home at half-past five, not without having some rain by the way.

VISITS TO THE OLD WOMEN.

_Saturday, September 26, 1857._

Albert went out with Alfred for the day, and I walked out with the two girls and Lady Churchill, stopped at the shop and made some purchases for poor people and others; drove a little way, got out and walked up the hill to _Balnacroft_, Mrs. P. Farquharson’s, and she walked round with us to some of the cottages to show me where the poor people lived, and to tell them who I was. Before we went into any we met an old woman, who, Mrs. Farquharson said, was very poor, eighty-eight years old, and mother to the former distiller. I gave her a warm petticoat, and the tears rolled down her old cheeks, and she shook my hands, and prayed God to bless me: it was very touching.

I went into a small cabin of old Kitty Kear’s, who is eighty-six years old--quite erect, and who welcomed us with a great air of dignity. She sat down and spun. I gave her, also, a warm petticoat; she said, “May the Lord ever attend ye and yours, here and hereafter; and may the Lord be a guide to ye, and keep ye from all harm.” She was quite surprised at Vicky’s height; great interest is taken in her. We went on to a cottage (formerly Jean Gordon’s), to visit old widow Symons, who is “past fourscore,” with a nice rosy face, but was bent quite double; she was most friendly, shaking hands with us all, asking which was I, and repeating many kind blessings: “May the Lord attend ye with mirth and with joy; may He ever be with ye in this world, and when ye leave it.” To Vicky, when told she was going to be married, she said, “May the Lord be a guide to ye in your future, and may every happiness attend ye.” She was very talkative; and when I said I hoped to see her again, she expressed an expectation that “she should be called any day,” and so did Kitty Kear.[45]

[45] She died in Jan. 1865.

We went into three other cottages: to Mrs. Symons’s (daughter-in-law to the old widow living next door), who had an “unwell boy;” then across a little burn to another old woman’s; and afterwards peeped into Blair the fiddler’s. We drove back, and got out again to visit old Mrs. Grant (Grant’s mother), who is so tidy and clean, and to whom I gave a dress and handkerchief, and she said, “You’re too kind to me, you’re over kind to me, ye give me more every year, and I get older every year.” After talking some time with her, she said, “I am happy to see ye looking so nice.” She had tears in her eyes, and speaking of Vicky’s going, said, “I’m very sorry, and I think she is sorry hersel’;” and, having said she feared she would not see her (the Princess) again, said: “I am very sorry I said that, but I meant no harm; I always say just what I think, not what is fut” (fit). Dear old lady; she is such a pleasant person.

Really the affection of these good people, who are so hearty and so happy to see you, taking interest in everything, is very touching and gratifying.

VISIT TO THE PRINCE’S ENCAMPMENT AT FEITHORT.

_Tuesday, October 6, 1857._

At twelve o’clock I drove off with the two girls to the “Irons,” where we mounted our ponies, and rode up (Brown and Robertson attending on foot) through the _Corrie Buie_, along the pretty new path through _Feithluie_ to the foot of the very steep ascent to _Feithort_, where we got off and walked up--and suddenly, when nearly at the top of the path, came upon Albert’s little encampment, which was just at the edge of the winding path.

Albert was still absent, having gone out at six o’clock, but Löhlein and some of the gillies were there. The little house, with shelves for keeping a few boxes (no seat), and a little stove, was not at all uncomfortable; but the wind was dreadfully high, and blew in. We waited for about a quarter of an hour, and then Albert arrived; he had been out since six o’clock, shot three stags, but only got one bad one. The fine one, yesterday evening, had cost him much trouble. The night had been bitterly cold and windy; but he had slept. We lunched in the little “housie” at the open door. There was a second hut for the people. Luncheon over, we walked down and across the greater part of the _Balloch Buie_, mounting our ponies wherever it was wet. We saw deer as we came lower down, and all of a sudden a stag was seen quite close by the path; Albert shot him, and he fell at once. He had very fine horns, a royal on one side.

Then they beat up to the _Craig Daign_. Poor Albert was much tired, and had to walk all the time, as he had no pony; we rode part of the way. Then the lower part of the road was driven. As we were sitting by a tree close to Albert a stag came out, and Albert killed him at one shot. A fine day, though at times it has been very cold. We got home at half-past six.

A FALL OF SNOW.

_September 18, 1858._

Alas! the last day! When we got up the weather seemed very hopeless. Everything was white with snow, which lay, at least, an inch on the ground, and it continued snowing heavily, as it had done since five this morning. I wished we might be snowed up, and unable to move. How happy I should have been could it have been so! It continued snowing till half-past ten or eleven, and then it began to clear up. The hills appeared quite white; the sun came out, and it became splendidly bright. Albert was going to have the woods driven--which are not properly called _Carrop Woods_, but _Garmaddie Woods_--but had first to ride round _Craig Gowan_ with Dr. Robertson to see _Robrech_, the place where Duncan’s new house is to be built, which is above the village, opposite _Craig Luraghain_, with a most splendid view; and at Grant’s house I was to meet him.

At one o’clock I left with Alice and Lenchen[46] for Grant’s, where we met Albert, who joined us in the carriage: the day was truly splendid. We got out at the river, and were going down to _Nelly’s Bush_, when a stag was heard roaring very near; so we had to stop, and, with our plaids and cloaks to sit upon, really avoided getting very wet. We waited till Albert was near to the stag, saw it move, heard Albert fire twice, and the stag turn, stop, and then disappear. Albert fired again, but the stag had crossed the _Dee_; so we turned up on to the road, and went into the dear old _Corrie Buie_; Albert turning off to see if there were any deer near, while we waited for him. We then came to a place which is always wet, but which was particularly bad after the late rain and snow. There was no pony for me to get on; and as I wished not to get my feet wet by walking through the long grass, Albert proposed I should be carried over in a plaid; and Lenchen was first carried over; but it was held too low, and her feet dangled; so Albert suggested the plaid should be put round the men’s shoulders, and that I should sit upon it; Brown and Duncan, the two strongest and handiest, were the two who undertook it, and I sat safely enough with an arm on each man’s shoulder, and was carried successfully over. All the Highlanders are so amusing, and really pleasant and instructive to talk to--women as well as men--and the latter so gentlemanlike.[47] Albert’s shots were heard close by whilst we were at luncheon; and there was a general rush of all the people. Albert joined us soon after; he had had a great deal of trouble in stalking his stag, which he had been after several days, but had killed him at one shot. He was brought for us to see: a very light-coloured one, with fine straight horns, of extraordinary thickness. After this we walked on for a beat quite round _Carrop_; and the view was glorious! A little shower of snow had fallen, but was succeeded by brilliant sunshine. The hills covered with snow, the golden birch-trees on the lower brown hills, and the bright afternoon sky, were indescribably beautiful.

[46] Princess Helena.

[47] A similar view to that given in the text is admirably expressed by the Reverend Frederick W. Robertson in his _Lectures on Literary and Social Topics_, and his description of a Tyrolese is even more applicable to a Highlander.

“My companion was a Tyrolese chamois-hunter, a man who, in point of social position, might rank with an English labourer. I fear there would be a difficulty in England in making such a companionship pleasurable and easy to both parties; there would be a painful obsequiousness, or else an insolent familiarity on the one side, constraint on the other. In this case there was nothing of that sort. We walked together, and ate together. He had all the independence of a man, but he knew the courtesy which was due to a stranger; and when we parted for the night, he took his leave with a politeness and dignity which would have done no discredit to the most finished gentleman. The reason, as it seemed to me, was that his character had been moulded by the sublimities of the forms of the outward nature amidst which he lived. It was impossible to see the clouds wreathing themselves in that strange wild way of theirs round the mountain crests, till the hills seemed to become awful things, instinct with life--it was impossible to walk, as we did sometimes, an hour or two before sunrise, and see the morning’s beams gilding with their pure light the grand old peaks on the opposite side of the valley, while we ourselves were still in deepest shade, and look on that man, his very exterior in harmony with all around him, and his calm eye resting on all that wondrous spectacle, without a feeling that these things had had their part in making him what he was, and that you were in a country in which men were bound to be polished, bound to be more refined, almost bound to be better men than elsewhere.”

The following lines[48] admirably pourtray what I then saw:—

“The gorgeous bright October, Then when brackens are changed, and heather blooms are faded, And amid russet of heather and fern, green trees are bonnie; Alders are green, and oaks; the rowan scarlet and yellow; One great glory of broad gold pieces appears the aspen, And the jewels of gold that were hung in the hair of the birch-tree, Pendulous, here and there, her coronet, necklace, and earrings, Cover her now, o’er and o’er; she is weary and scatters them from her.”

Oh! how I gazed and gazed on God’s glorious works with a sad heart, from its being for the last time, and tried to carry the scene away, well implanted and fixed in my mind, for this effect with the snow we shall not often see again. We saw it like this in 1852; but we have not seen it so since, though we have often had snow-storms and showers with a little snow lying on the highest hills.

[48] _The Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich._ By Arthur Hugh Clough.

ASCENT OF MORVEN.

_September 14, 1859._

I felt very low-spirited at my dearest Albert having to leave at one o’clock for _Aberdeen_, to preside at the meeting of the British Association.

I with Alice, the two ladies, Lord Charles Fitzroy, and Brown, left shortly before for _Morven_. We took post-horses at the foot of _Gairn_, and drove by the right side of the glen, along a new good road, avoiding the ford, and by half-past two we were at the foot of _Morven_, not far from the shooting-lodge there. Here we mounted our ponies, and our caravan started with the gillies--Jemmie Coutts, an old acquaintance, now keeper of the lodge, leading the way. About half-way, at a burn-side, we stopped, seated ourselves on plaids on the fine springy turf, and took luncheon; then walked about, sketched, mounted our ponies, and rode up to the top, which was rather steep and soft,—“foggy,” as Brown called it, which is the Highland expression for mossy,--my little pony, being so fat, panted dreadfully. _Morven_ is 2,700 feet high, and the view from it more magnificent than can be described, so large and yet so near everything seemed, and such seas of mountains with blue lights, and the colour so wonderfully beautiful. We looked down upon the Duke of Richmond’s property, and saw the mountain called the _Buck of Cabrach_, and still further on the _Slate Hills_; to the east, _Aberdeen_ and the blue sea, and we could even see the ships with the naked eye: the table-land between _Tarland_ and _Ballater_; and stretching out below, due south, _Mount Keen_. To the south-west, _Loch-na-Gar_; to the west, _Ben A’an_ and _Ben-na-Bhourd_,—“the land of _Gairn_,” as they call it, and _Muich_; and _Deeside_ in the foreground. It was enchanting! We walked down to where we had lunched, and rode to the bottom. Here we found a fire, also tea with cakes, &c., which had been very kindly prepared for us by a lady and gentleman, the daughter and son of Sir J. G. Ratcliff, living in the shooting-lodge. We drank the tea, and left in the carriage at half-past six o’clock, reaching _Balmoral_ at half-past seven. So sad not to find my darling Husband at home.

THE PRINCE’S RETURN FROM ABERDEEN.

_September 15, 1859._

I heard by telegram last night that Albert’s reception was admirable, and that all was going off as well as possible. Thank God. I ascended _Loch-na-Gar_ with Alice, Helena, Bertie, Lady Churchill, Colonel Bruce, and our usual attendants, and returned after six o’clock. At ten minutes past seven arrived my beloved Albert. All had gone off most admirably; he had seen many learned people; all were delighted with his speech; the reception most gratifying. _Banchory House_ (Mr. Thomson’s) where he lodged (four miles from _Aberdeen_) was, he said, very comfortable.

FÊTE TO THE MEMBERS OF THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION.

_September 22, 1859._

The morning dawned brightly. Suddenly a very high wind arose which alarmed us, but yet it looked bright, and we hoped the wind would keep off the rain; but after breakfast, while watching the preparations, showers began, and from half-past eleven a fearful down-pour, with that white curtain-like appearance which is so alarming; and this lasted till half-past twelve. I was in despair; but at length it began to clear, just as the neighbours with their families, and some of the farmers opposite (the Herrons, Duncans, Brown’s father and brothers) arrived, and then came the huge omnibuses and carriages laden with “philosophers.” At two o’clock we were all ready. Albert and the boys were in their kilts, and I and the girls in royal Stuart skirts and shawls over black velvet bodies.

It was a beautiful sight in spite of the frequent slight showers which at first tormented us, and the very high cold wind. There were gleams of sunshine, which, with the Highlanders in their brilliant and picturesque dresses, the wild notes of the pipes, the band, and the beautiful background of mountains rendered the scene wild and striking in the extreme. The Farquharson’s men headed by Colonel Farquharson, the Duff’s by Lord Fife, and the Forbes’s men by Sir Charles Forbes, had all marched on the ground before we came out, and were drawn up just opposite to us, and the spectators (the people of the country) behind them. We stood on the terrace, the company near us, and the “savants,” also, on either side of us, and along the slopes, on the grounds. The games began about three o’clock:

1. “Throwing the Hammer.” 2. “Tossing the Caber.” 3. “Putting the Stone.”

We gave prizes to the three best in each of the games. We walked along the terrace to the large marquee, talking to the people, to where the men were “putting the stone.” After this returned to the upper terrace, to see the race, a pretty wild sight; but the men looked very cold, with nothing but their shirts and kilts on; they ran beautifully. They wrapped plaids round themselves, and then came to receive the prizes from me. Last of all came the dancing--reels and “Ghillie Callum.” The latter the judges could not make up their minds about; it was danced over and over again; and at last they left out the best dancer of all! They said he danced “too well!” The dancing over, we left amid the loud cheers of the people. It was then about half-past five. We watched from the window the Highlanders marching away, the different people walking off, and four weighty omnibuses filling with the scientific men. We saw, and talked to, Professor Owen, Sir David Brewster, Sir John Bowring, Mr. J. Roscoe, and Sir John Ross.[49]

[49] During the Fête, we heard from Sir R. Murchison and others that news had been received this morning of the finding of poor Sir John Franklin’s remains--or, rather, of the things belonging to him and his party.

When almost all were gone, we took a short walk to warm ourselves. Much pleased at everything having gone off well. The Duke of Richmond, Sir R. Murchison, General Sabine, Mr. Thomson of _Banchory House_, and Professor Phillipps, Secretary of the Association, all of whom slept here, were additions to the dinner-party. I sat between our cousin Philip (Count of Flanders) and the Duke of Richmond. All the gentlemen spoke in very high terms of my beloved Albert’s admirable speech, the good it had done, and the general satisfaction it had caused.

We could see the fire of the Forbes’s encampment on the opposite side.

EXPEDITION TO INCHRORY.

_September 30, 1859._

At twenty minutes past eleven we started with Helena and Louise in the sociable, Grant on the box, for _Loch Bulig_, passing the farms of _Blairglass_ and of _Dall Dounie_, and the shooting-lodge of _Corndavon_, ten miles distant. Here we found our ponies (mine being “Victoria”), and rode along the edge of the lake, up a beautiful glen by a path winding through the valley, which appeared frequently closed. We then rode along a small river or burn, of which no one knew the name; none of our party having ever been there before. The hills were sprinkled with birch-trees, and there was grass below in the valley; we saw deer. As we approached _Inchrory_ (a shooting-lodge of Lord H. Bentinck’s) the scenery became finer and finer, reminding us of _Glen Tilt_, and was most beautiful at _Inchrory_, with the fine broad water of the _Avon_ flowing down from the mountains.

We inquired of the people at _Inchrory_ whether there was any way of getting round over the hills by _Gairn Shiel_, and they said there was; but that the distance was about 11 miles. Neither Grant nor Brown had been that way. However we accepted it at once, and I was delighted to go on _à l’improviste_, travelling about in these enchanting hills in this solitude, with only our good Highlanders with us, who never make difficulties, but are cheerful, and happy, and merry, and ready to walk, and run, and do anything. So on we went, turning up above _Inchrory_ by a winding road between hillocks and commanding a glorious view towards _Laganaul_. Here, on a little grassy knoll, we lunched in a splendid position.

After our luncheon, and walking a little way, we remounted, and proceeded by the so-called “Brown Cow” (on the other side of which we had driven), over a moor, meeting a shepherd, out of whom Grant could get little information. Soon we came to corn-fields in the valley; passed _Favanché_ and _Inchmore_, and got on to a good road, on which Brown and Grant “travelled” at a _wonderful_ pace, upwards of five miles an hour without stopping; and the former with that vigorous, light, elastic tread which is quite astonishing. We passed _Dal-na-Damph Shiel_ (a shooting-lodge of Sir Charles Forbes); and went along the old “Military Road,” leaving _Cockbridge_, a small straggling “toun,” which is on the road to _Inverness_, to our left, and the old _Castle of Corgarf_ to our right. We looked over into _Donside_. The road was soon left for a mountain one in the hills, above one of the tributary streams of the _Don_, and was wild and desolate; we passed _Dal Choupar_ and _Dal Vown_, and, as we ascended, we saw _Tornahoish_, at a distance to the left. After going along this hill-track, over some poor and tottering bridges, we joined the road by which we had driven to _Tornahoish_. It was fast getting dark, but was very fine. I and the girls got off and walked sharply some little distance. Albert had walked further on, Grant riding his pony meantime. P. Robertson and Kennedy, besides those I have named, carried the basket alternately.

We remounted our ponies, and Brown led mine on at an amazing pace up the _Glaschoil Hill_, and we finally reached _Gairn Shiel_ after seven, quite in the dark. There, at the small public-house, we found the carriage, and drove off as soon as we could; the ponies were to be given half a feed, and then to come on. We had to drive home very slowly, as the road is not good, and very steep in parts.