When at the lapidary’s I used to watch the process of cutting in half a stone, rolled for many ages mayhap and ground daily on the outside by glacial or stream action, it seemed for a few seconds as if the diamond saw, revolving with its irresistible edge, was to cut in vain and reveal nothing. From an outward view all beauty was hidden and the pebble seemed thoroughly ugly and uninteresting. Nor could I guess that treasures were hidden in the interior; but when the hemispheres were in our hands, emerging from their baptism in clean water, there was revealed, if the stone were hollow, a grotto of crystals, rich in Nature’s heraldry of color, telling the story of its fiery past. It seemed a more wonderful story, in fact, than that of Ali Baba and Open Sesame in fiction. Or, if solid, and, like Venus, born from water, and formed in slow deposit of liquid instead of from the cosmic flames, the curvilinear strata white, ruby red, black, yellow, and brown, seemed to excel in splendor. Even so, to-day Scotland revealed herself as a new wonderland. The Caledonian pebble seemed a sapphire. For when, toward noon, something like dry weather arrived and sunbursts were occasional, Scotland looked as fresh as her maidens and almost as beautiful. We passed cataracts in full activity. One, which we did not see, ninety feet high and probably the finest on the great island, was near Fort Augustus. Beyond this, called “Foyers,” was another fall thirty feet high. To one, however, who has seen Niagara a hundred times, and who dwells near Taughannock Falls, which are thirty feet higher, and near Lake Cayuga, with two hundred waterfalls within a radius of twenty miles, a cataract must be out of the ordinary to be visited at the expenditure of time and money, when both these assets are limited and things more novel are to be seen. In our home town of Ithaca, as we two Americans mused, in that conceit and love of business peculiar to our nationals, we have a “local Niagara” over eighty feet high. Why visit Foyers?