the winter; for they are never fed nor sheltered.

The day was sunless, and very uncomfortably cold; and we were not sorry
to walk whenever the steepness of the road gave us cause. I do not
remember what o'clock it was, but not far into the afternoon, when we
reached the Baillie Nicol-Jarvie Inn at Aberfoyle; a scene which is much
more interesting in the pages of Rob Roy than we found it in reality.
Here we got into a sort of cart, and set out, over another hill-path, as
dreary as or drearier than the last, for the Trosachs. On our way, we
saw Ben Venue, and a good many other famous Bens, and two or three lochs;
and when we reached the Trosachs, we should probably have been very much
enraptured if our eyes had not already been weary with other mountain
shapes. But, in truth, I doubt if anybody ever does really see a
mountain, who goes for the set and sole purpose of seeing it. Nature
will not let herself be seen in such cases. You must patiently bide her
time; and by and by, at some unforeseen moment, she will quietly and
suddenly unveil herself, and for a brief space allow you to look right
into the heart of her mystery. But if you call out to her peremptorily,
"Nature! unveil yourself this very moment!" she only draws her veil the
closer; and you may look with all your eyes, and imagine that you see all
that she can show, and yet see nothing. Thus, I saw a wild and confused
assemblage of heights, crags, precipices, which they call the Trosachs,
but I saw them calmly and coldly, and was glad when the drosky was ready
to take us on to Callender. The hotel at the Trosachs, by the by, is a
very splendid one, in the form of an old feudal castle, with towers and
turrets. All among these wild hills there is set preparation for
enraptured visitants; and it seems strange that the savage features do
not subside of their own accord, and that there should still be cold
winds and snow on the top of Ben Lomond, and rocks and heather, and
ragged sheep, now that there are so many avenues by which the commonplace