vating condition, in which, though your mind is mentally disgusted with the unseasonable melody, your foot unconsciously keeps time; and the pleasant family-attentions bestowed by amiable mothers upon their children, and the naïve remarks of Glasgow tourists bound for Lochgoilhead, were sadly distracting to behold and listen to. I have seen a good deal of fine scenery in my day, and am an enthusiast in mountainous landscapes; but I cannot think I ever saw anything finer than Loch Long-threading its way in stretches, sometimes silvery, sometimes purple and golden, sometimes leaden-blue under a sudden shadow, deep into the silent heart of the hills. The sentiment belonging to a river is entirely different. A volume of joyous water rushing out from its mountainous cradle, carries the mind with it into the sea and the world; but that narrow enterprising current penetrating inward-making its way through passes of momentary gloom, widening wherever it can into bursts of sunshine, curving out sweet bays and indentations into the very substance of the hills, and subsiding twenty miles inland on a quiet shore amid an amphitheatre of mountains, with tidal sighs, half of satisfaction, half of longing, conveys an impression more profound and striking than any stream. Every step you advance up that narrow, wonderful channel changes the aspect of the scene. The very steamboat takes a certain colour of poetry. Look how the dark sprite pauses, or seems to pause, with a dismayed stagger of dread, the dark smoke floating confusedly over her head in that dark pass through which there seems no outlet! It is not a Glasgow steamboat, with a flute and a fiddle, and a mob of excursionists; it is a conscious creature going blindly forward, with a certain awful ignorance, into the gloom of fate.

And now the hills open up to the left hand, and Loch Goil gleams into another hollow, amid another line of mountains. At the point

where the one loch darts out of the other begins that range of heights given by the magnificent popular imagination to the house of Argyll with a subtle flattery not to be surpassed. Imagine what a grandeur must have surrounded the MacCallan More to that Celtic fancy which named Argyll's BowlingGreen! Are these the ancient giants up among the mists echoing their throws in sportive thunder, who gave its earliest origin to the race of Diarmid? But there is neither thunder nor mist to-day upon Argyll's Bowling-Green. The heights rise and cluster inward to the fantastic Cobbler, who sits silent over Glen Croe in his never-ending toil. But the moment you turn up Loch Goil, you naturally revert to another Campbell, not less illustrious than the chief of the name. Is not Lord Ullin raving on the cliffs in perennial rage and remorse? But it is calm on Loch Goil this morning: the tide sweeps peacefully upward to the perfect curve of its hilly basin. A lonely castle in leafy ruin -a farm-steading almost too sunny and comfortable, the Elysian solitude of here and there a cottage, alone breaking upon the summer calm. If I am thought too lofty in my description, let me recommend all unbelievers to follow our track over those dark yet sunny waters. If they travel in the society of two congenial souls and a good glass, so much the better.

All this time my two friends have been heightening my enjoyment of the scenery by their vivid observations and reflections. My friend Kate is short, stout, and merry, though she is a woman who has had her losses. We were not acquainted in very early youth, so I will not venture to say what her attractions may have been in that remote period. But at present I am bound to confess that she looks her full age, and having the good sense to wear a bonnet (which I think only becoming for a person come to her time of life), no delusion is possible on the subject.

veller's dinner, offended his highest sympathies. Thenceforward he deserted Kate, and addressed himself to another passenger, who did not abuse his confidence.

But while the sound of their conversation went on at my ear, I devoted myself to the lovely landscape through which we were passing. Leaving the salt-water lochs, those wistful investigations of the "homeless sea" into the lone recesses of the hills, we plunged into the world of opening slopes which make a mountainous country so full of interest. Here a gleam of lovely valley, with lonely houses hidden in light clouds of tender birch, or pillared solitudes of fir-there a brown cottage on a height, all brown, thatch and wall, growing out of the soil like a natural production; and on every side great living walls of hills, silent, with silver threads of water descending their steeps, or plaintive with pathetic bleatings, mournful incessant voice of the wilderness. But now our attention was distracted by a discussion on the poor-laws, which, the gentlemen having been requested to descend while we mounted the hill, was addressed almost exclusively to Kate and myself, and listened to by her with provoking indifference to the landscape. Fancy discussing poor-laws with a Campbell coachman while winding up the picturesque ascents of Hell's Glen! I cannot deny that I was considerably disgusted. For myself, I confess that the absence of human habitations does by no means injure the landscape in my opinion. I like the unbroken splendour of the primitive mountains. But dear Kate, who loves to talk, and who had at the moment no better interlocutor, entered into a discussion of rates and local necessities with the warmest interest, and lamented over the charming solitude, as if a dirty hamlet and crowds of Gaelic children could have added quite an additional attraction to that solitary glen. Human interest-that is the expression. Dear Kate, I am sorry to say, is often carried away by the fashionable talk of the time.

When we reached the top of the ascent, Inverary burst upon uslying lovely, with a sweet peacefulness, reflecting all her boats and houses in the tender-tinted water. You do not see the long stretch of Loch Fyne from that height-only a lovely bay folded in with hills, one of minor size, but wooded to a thought, rising just over the sombre pepper-boxes of the Castle. One could fancy a great Argyll coming here out of the fighting world, as to a haven of absolute rest and tranquillity. Can troubles come over those hills? Do any whispers of the angry surf ever steal upward through the reaches of the loch upon those gentle palpitating tides? I suppose it is possible; but to glide over the crisped and tinted waters towards that halcyon shore, with its boats lying round the little pier, and its houses slumbering on the beach, it is difficult to imagine such a retreat as open to the invasions of the common world.

Notwithstanding what I say, we had a proof of those invasions in the various groups accompanying our own steps. Our stout Englishman, all unromantic as he looked, was bound to some picturesque solitude in the neighbourhood which he had rented for the summerthough what could have brought such a person to the Highlands it is hard to imagine. Perhaps his wife was a Campbell-though, indeed, I should rather imagine, from the perseverance with which he held his shoulder under the drip of my umbrella, that the good man was a widower, probably with an interesting family of children. Be that as it may, he disappeared placidly in a dog-cart from Inverary, and we saw him no more. Being accustomed to travelling on the Continent, neither Kate nor I had the smallest objection to dining at the table d'hôte, which we were told existed in the Inverary hotel; but you may imagine our consternation when we found ourselves in a small family-party, with two strangers, apparently newly-married people. Our young friend was placed at the

head of the table, and discharged the agreeable functions of host, with a great sirloin to carve, and all the other duties of hospitality to attend to. The excellent nature of this amiable young man, who is full of kindness, carried him triumphantly through the difficulties of the position; but the idea of having to carve and dispense, and make polite inquiries" May I send you a little beef?"-to the chance guests of a table d'hôte! I myself watched over the plate of the Glasgow lady, and helped her to potatoes, and she and her spouse listened in edified silence to the lively conversation of our little party. Dear Kate, as I have before mentioned, loves to talk, and our young friend's conversation is most improving and instructive. But it would be unkind to let this opportunity pass without warning the unwary against the table d'hôte of the Inverary inn.

At Inverary we held a council, touching our further progress, and receiving assurances, both printed and verbal, that coaches to Dunkeld were to be met with at Dalmally, we started, blithe and confident, in a pretty waggonette, with two famous horses, for the banks of Loch Awe. The sun had gone hopelessly into the clouds, and Ben Cruachan was invisible when we reached the wistful shore at Cladich, but the loch itself opened fair before us in all the shadowless twilight glory of the holy hour. Silent as a nun was the lovely breadth of water, with all its fairy bays and promontories; and as we came opposite the distant

pass, where "the Awe's fierce river" rushes out of the loch, nothing grander could be conceived. The western sky, with some reflections of the invisible sun, filled up the wild and solemn opening cleft among the hills, and threw a gleam upon the dark distant water which fretted forth in that narrow channel towards the sea. Looking over the gleaming calm of the loch to that distant dark defile, with the piles of mountain breaking across, and the ruddy western glory interposing at every inlet, was such a scene as I can never forget. But I am urged to hasten my course, and reminded that I have already occupied my full share of the permitted space. I might say a great deal more, but I refrain. My friend naturally wishes to give her own account of what followed. In conclusion, we reached Dalmally in time to stray out in the sweet though somewhat damp gloaming, past the peaceful manse of Glenurchy-where the minister, venerable man, was wandering in his fields, like Isaac at eventide, no doubt meditating his next Sunday's sermon— to the bridge over the river, where we mused in silence upon the broad brown noiseless stream, and finally returned to the inn, to spend the evening in friendly conversation-a conversation in which my own natural enthusiasm and the varied experience of my friend blended in a manner, I trust as delightful to them as to me, with the youthful fervour and eloquence of our accomplished companion. How sweet is such friendly communion!

Yes! perfectly true; but there may be too much of it, in my opinion; especially when it is all between two of the party, and the third is put out of the way upon the box.

Next day was a wet day, as I always expected. When people do not start on the day they fix for starting, in spite of everything that can be said to them, though it turns out a charming day, they have no

At

right to expect good weather, in my opinion. I made up my mind from the first that we should have rain, and consequently was not taken by surprise when it came. Dalmally, of course, we learned that the coaches had not yet begun to run, or at least, if they had begun, they were to be heard of at Tyndrum or Crianlarich, or some hideous village or other, where nobody could

speak English; and the only expedient was to drive in a dog-cart to that scene of certainty. But before going there we must needs start in the same conveyance on a voyage to Loch Awe, to see, in mist and rain, what we had seen the night before in clear but not brilliant twilight. Arabella, with that assumption of sprightliness which is so disgusting in a person come to her time of life (she affects to be two years younger than I am, but I am not sure, if the parish registers could be got at, whether the tables might not be turned in that respect)-Arabella jumped into the back seat of the vehicle, that I might have, as she said, the best seat. Because she is unmarried, she thinks herself entitled to take all the airs of youth. Preposterous notion! but it makes her very absurd, poor thing, though she cannot see it. Young Mr A- - helped me into the front with the greatest attention, quite unconscious of her trick, and joined her himself, as of course she had intended all the time, in the back seat of the gig. Off we went, facing the blast; and if any one should be disposed to envy the front seat, let them imagine me seated beside a damp driver, with the rain full in my face, and Arabella and young A- chatting behind me with the most intolerable levity, never so much as looking at the landscape, as far as I could see. I said nothing; in spite of all Arabella's remarks about my conversation with the coachman the day before, and her sentimental assumptions, I am not the woman to turn upon my friend. So I calmly put up my umbrella, and looked at the view. When we reached Kilchurn, I could hear the ridiculous old thing repeating the ballad about it, as if she had been a young girl. I confess it was aggravating; as for me, I had the driver to talk to; and when I found out from him that Monday had been a beautiful day, and that it was all her fault in not starting at the proper time, I really could not restrain my indignation.

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Mr A Strange darkness, too. Look at that hollow there; how the gloom creeps and gathers! Will you have the glass, Mrs S―― ? Famous atmosphere for the hills, you know-quite Highland weather. Look here, exactly what Christopher describes-‘a vast mysterious hollow.' The mist is lifting-look! We shan't see Ben Cruachan, but only wait till the sun breaks out."

Mrs S--"Yes. Only wait. Next week, perhaps; and we can stay at Dalmally, and have a few lessons in the language. Whereas if we had started on Monday, as I always intended

Miss Arabella.-"Dear Mr Aonly look here. How fine those mists are, floating and dipping like veils-and that hollow, how grand! Hark! it creeps. To say that is only negative, you know-want of light-is absurd. It is positive darkness raying out of the hill-and that eldritch gleam yonder. Don't tell me it is not out of the heart of the mountain. There is some silvery pool, or something invisible, that sheds that reflection. It is fairy light."

Mrs S- -"Stuff! I am getting very wet about the feet, and this man tells me there is no such thing as a coach, whatever we do. The landscape is very fine, but I don't believe you are looking at it in the least."

This produced another foolish burst of laughter. I own I was entirely disgusted with Arabella—