he whispered us to push on. We did so, and stood first on the summit. From hence the view is full of the power of mountains-dark, savage, abrupt. The Lakes gleamed silvery out from the blackness of the deep vallies, which seemed to narrow into chasms beneath us, and almost to shut up their waters from our sight. A small part of Loch Long shimmered, like a spirit's eye, through a vista of rocks. Loch Katrine and Loch Ard looked as if one could jump into them, by taking a good leap over an intervening ridge: the Clyde, with its firth, melted away into light, like the river of Immortality; while the gloomy Forth, resembling the stream of human life, winding wilfully over the plain in dim and mazy links, seemed both to issue from, and to be lost in, darkness. We had not gazed long, when a cloud, detaching itself from a neighbouring summit, made towards us, as if with malicious intent, and, burying all the view, dashed by us in wreaths like smoke. Our guide feared bad weather; so we snatched a hasty repast in a sheltered spot beneath the summit, and descended to our inn, which we reached after an absence of five hours. From Rowardennan to the top of Ben Lomond is said to be nearly six miles, and the mountain is about 100 feet higher than Skiddaw.

To-day we meant to have reached Aberfoyle, but, as I told you, were forced to put back by stress of weather. Some tourists, who made for the mountain, have also come dropping in again, as "the fog and filthy air." between whom and the

Hood has it, all soaked with One of them is a Frenchman, landlord, this morning, there

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was a little scene which amused me infinitely. They had brought him the little white pony which took me up Ben Lomond yesterday. He looked on it with wrath and disdain, called for the landlord and said—“ You have better horse than this. "-"No, Sir, we have no better horse for going up the mountain. "—" You no say true-I saw him in the stable-von horse more big. Tell me you have von female horse-black?" To this the landlord assented by a nod. Why, then, you no give it me?" said the Frenchman, in a tone half angry, half piteous. Imagine this dolorous complaint coming from a tall thin odd-looking figure in a long white coat, the capital to which was a lantern-jawed visage encased in a hair cap. When, at length, he condescended to stride across Donald, the white pony, he looked as if he had never been on horseback in his life before. legs nearly touching the ground, he let himself be slowly carried out of the inn-yard, and then gave the bridle a great tug precisely in the wrong direction. "This way, sir, this way!" screamed the landlord and the ostler; but still he kept tugging wrong and performing various gyrations till the latter put his horse's head the right way. I wonder how he ever managed to return; but return he did in about half an hour, even before the rain came on, looking doubly rueful, and whispering out, through chattering teeth, "It is too dangerous and too cold."

With

I must now close this letter. It is my intention to leave our heavy baggage here, and, only taking such few things as we can conveniently carry, to explore the

wilder districts for a few days.

The landlord has agreed to let me take Donald at the moderate price of six shillings a day,-a very convenient arrangement for me, who am, as you know, such a miserable walker. To-morrow, weather permitting, we make for the Trosachs and Loch Katrine. Our landlord has just been in, to propose that a gentleman, who is travelling our way, should accompany us. We could not say, "Nay;" but, pray Heaven, he prove agreeable! Farewell!

LETTER IV.

Ardchincrochan Inn, the Trosachs, 10th July,

Dearest E.,

THE travelling companion with whom we were threatened in my last, asked permission to join us the evening after I had despatched my letter. As we found him only moderately agreeable, we were not sorry to learn, on inquiring for him after breakfast the next morning, that he had taken his departure, solus, before we were up, leaving word, as an apology for cutting us, that he was forced to start at an earlier hour, as he intended to take the summit of Ben Lomond in his way to the Trosachs. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, long, lean, and sandy-haired, and reddish in the face. From what he let fall in his conversation with us, it appears that he has an independent property, is very fond of fishing, and has been stopping at the Trosachs some

weeks in the gratification of his favorite pursuit. One phrase of his will let you into his character,-"I am master of my own time, and all I want is to kill it.”

We started from Rowardennan about eleven. I and the knapsack on the white pony, H— and the guide walking. The weather was glorious calm, sunny, and fresh after the rain; and we were (as tourists always say) "in high spirits." The first part of the road, or rather track, is the same we took in going up Ben Lomond. It ascends steeply from the very door of the inn, and, after reaching a considerable height, turns over a shoulder of the mountain into a most entangled and wearisome region, a sort of huge morass, full of bogs and rocks, and ups and downs. The guide made me dismount frequently at unsafe places; yet one took us by surprise, and in an instant the pony was struggling in a bog. There are few things more disagreeable and at the same time more utterly ludicrous than to find "the solid earth growing coggly under one" (as Galt calls it) and one's legs unexpectedly coming in contact with a soft slush that affords them no support. A man loses all dignity on such occasions, becomes matter of mirth to his friends, and a jest unto himself. The hurt that I received in my side two years ago makes, however, such accidents no laughing matter to me, and I was glad to escape with a sprained shoulder caused by the kindly violence of the guide in supporting me with strong arm while the pony recovered itself.

We now encountered a brook, which wound about so strangely that we had to cross it twenty-four times.

Our