By eight o’clock we reached a wayside inn, where a few shillings secured us comfortable accommodations. Next morning was dark and cloudy. A few hours’ walk found us at the head of Loch Lomond, where we took shipping on the neat little steamer, “Prince Consort.” We had several tourists, artists, poets, musicians, and other persons of taste and culture, on board, all of whom, like ourselves, had come to see and enjoy “Bonnie Scotland.” But the clouds were so dark and low, the mist so dense and heavy, that we could see little or nothing of the beauty and grandeur by which we were surrounded. Before nightfall, though the whole day seemed almost like night, “The Prince” touched at a landing called Tarbet, where we disembarked and secured lodging. The day was damp, cold and dark; everything around us wore a gloomy aspect. We were tired. We could see nothing to interest the mind or delight the eye. So Morpheus soon claimed us as his captives for the night. But, ere those nocturnal hours passed away, God’s own hand removed the clouds and curtains which, the day before, hid the works of Nature from our view. Next morning, the sound of the clock striking eight disturbed the “spirit of my dreams.” The reader can better imagine, than I can describe, my feelings when I arose and looked around me. I found that it was a warm, bright, beautiful spring morning, and that I was in the loveliest spot on earth. I was in the midst of a large flower-garden, laid out with great care and excellent taste, containing a fine variety of shrubbery and a rich profusion of delicate and fragrant flowers. Behind me was a range of mountains, high and lifted up, extending also to the right hand and to the left, leaving the flower-garden just in a graceful curve of the mountain chain. Before me, and toward the east, was Loch Lomond, the Queen of the Highland Lakes. Her waters were clear as crystal, and her bosom was unruffled by a single wave, there being just motion enough upon the mirror-like surface to cause the sunbeams falling upon the water to glisten like a sea of sparkling diamonds. Across the Loch, and just one mile away, was Ben Lomond, the lordliest mountain in all Scotland—the same that returned my salute from Dunbarton Castle. While the foot of this majestic mountain was washed by the waters of the lake, its brow was wrapped in the snow of winter and bathed in the clouds of heaven. Thus the beautiful lake is surrounded by “Mountains that like giants stand To sentinel the enchanted land.” And each towering crag and cliff and mountain peak was seen reflected in the silver mirror lying at their feet.