world is sluiced in among the Highlands. I think that this fashion of
the picturesque will pass away.

We drove along the shore of Lake Vennachar, and onward to Callender,
which I believe is either the first point in the Lowlands or the last in
the Highlands. It is a large village on the river Teith. We stopped
here to dine, and were some time in getting any warmth into our benumbed
bodies; for, as I said before, it was a very cold day. Looking from the
window of the hotel, I saw a young man in Highland dress, with bare
thighs, marching through the village street towards the Lowlands, with a
martial and elastic step, as if he were going forth to conquer and occupy
the world. I suppose he was a soldier who had been absent on leave,
returning to the garrison at Stirling. I pitied his poor thighs, though
he certainly did not look uncomfortable.

After dinner, as dusk was coming on and we had still a long drive before
us (eighteen miles, I believe), we took a close carriage and two horses,
and set off for Stirling. The twilight was too obscure to show many
things along the road, and by the time we drove into Stirling we could
but dimly see the houses in the long street in which stood our hotel.
There was a good fire in the coffee-room, which looked like a
drawing-room in a large old-fashioned mansion, and was hung round with
engravings of the portraits of the county members, and a master of
fox-hounds, and other pictures. We made ourselves comfortable with some
tea, and retired early.

In the morning we were stirring betimes, and found Stirling to be a
pretty large town, of rather ancient aspect, with many gray stone houses,
the gables of which are notched on either side, like a flight of stairs.
The town stands on the slope of a hill, at the summit of which, crowning