In a word, the Trossachs remind one of that wonderful geological fault in the Helderbergs, in New York State, named “Indian Ladder,” this term recalling the old method of entrance. One of the finest passes and glens in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, as well as the canyons of the West, now so well known and enjoyed, was shut up at one time by Nature in like manner. Some of the romance of the Trossachs neighborhood has been spoiled, as has the scenery of the Catskill region, by the necessity of a neighboring great city’s practice of the virtue which is next to godliness. The vicinity of that ever-thirsty conglomeration of humanity, that needs refreshment, cleansing, and mill-power, has modified the scenery. The Glasgow Water Company had to raise the banks of the lake several feet, to form a reservoir for the supply of the mills on the Teith River. Among the sites thus desecrated were the silver shore, where stood Ellen, “guardian naiad of the strand,” before the royal Knight of Snowdon, and the spot where Roderick Dhu challenged Fitz-James to single combat. Coilantogle Ford long invited the fisherman to try his luck and the tourist to survey the ruins near by. Then there is the Loch Vennachar, with its lovely island of Inch Vroin, which breaks its mirror-like surface. On the hillside overlooking the loch is a hollow on the left of the road called “Lanrick Mead,” a flat meadow which was the gathering-ground of the Clan Alpine. A mile beyond Loch Menoca, as the road slopes toward the Brig of Turk, we have a varied and extensive prospect, including Ben Venue. [Illustration: THE TROSSACHS AND LOCH ACHRAY] A sudden bend in the road winding around the margin of Loch Achrae discloses the spur of the mountain forming the entrance to the Trossachs. Slight wonder that this, one of the finest views to be met with on the way, was selected by the artist Turner for his illustration of “The Lady of the Lake.” He visited Scotland for his book on “Provincial Antiquities,” for which Scott furnished the letter-press. Entering this wonderful defile of the Trossachs there is revealed a scene of “Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled, The fragments of an earlier world.” Somewhere near the entrance of the gorge, Fitz James lost his “gallant gray” horse. Perhaps, even without a silver suggestion, our guide might show the exact spot where the poor creature’s bleaching bones once lay! The rocks are verdure-clad and we catch a glimpse of Ben A’an rising above the wooded precipices on the north. Suddenly emerging from the wild mountain rocks and woods, we behold, as Fitz James did,-- “One burnish’d sheet of living gold, Loch-Katrine lay beneath him rolled; In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light; And mountains, that like giants stand, To sentinel enchanted land.”