So long as these qualities
are turned in a good direction, all goes well, but when in a bad one
like the "facilis descensus" described in George Cruikshank's great
picture "The Worship of Bacchus," then all goes badly. An illustration
of these large ideas turned to a bad account appeared in a story we read
of a degenerate son of the North to whom the gods had granted the
fulfilment of three wishes: First, he would have a Loch Lomond of
whisky; secondly, a Ben Lomond of snuff; thirdly, (with some hesitation)
another Loch Lomond of whisky.
We did not attempt the ascent of Ben Lomond, as our experiences of
mountain climbing hitherto had not been very encouraging. Nor did we
require the aid of those doubtful articles so ardently desired by the
degenerate Scot as we walked along the good road, sheltered with trees,
that lay alongside Loch Lomond, with the slopes of the high hills to the
right and to the left, the great loch with its lovely islands backed by
the mountains beyond.
Tarbet, which we soon left behind us, was notorious as the port of
Magnus the Norseman, whose followers dragged their boats there from the
sea to harry the islands whither so many of the natives had fled for
safety.
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