Getting to the bottom of Fin Glen, and keeping to the left, we soon find ourselves in the far-famed Campsie Glen, with its Craigie Linn, about 50 feet high, and its Jacob’s Ladder. The little churchyard across the burn is worth a visit with its ruined belfry, its graves of Bell, the traveller; Muir, the Campsie poet; and Collins, the parish minister, who was murdered coming home from a meeting of the Glasgow Presbytery in 1648 by a neighbouring laird who wanted to marry his wife. The tombstones are chiefly flat, reminding one of the times, not so long ago, when the graves of the dead were watched during the night by the parishioners in turn to prevent the eager student of anatomy stealing the bodies away. In former times funerals were conducted on different principles from those in fashion to-day. In the neighbourhood of Campsie when the head of a family died the custom at one time prevailed of issuing a general invitation to the parishioners to attend the funeral. The guests were usually accommodated in a barn, where refreshments, consisting of cake, bread and cheese, ale and whisky, were served in no stinted way. The proceedings began early in the forenoon, but the “lifting,” as the removal of the coffin from the house was popularly styled, did not take place till well on in the afternoon. As a rule the coffin was carried to the place of interment on hand-spokes. After a modest refreshment in the adjoining inn, we make for the station, and reach Glasgow after a most enjoyable outing of six hours. DUNMYAT.