How utterly insignificant one feels on the summit of a hill like this, and in the overpowering presence of those still higher hills. The mountains all around seem to open up steep passes that lead away to still higher hills in the distance. There is Glencroe going down between Donich and Ben Arthur, and the road which was made by the 98th Regiment about a hundred years ago. Then there is the dark glen between Ben Bheula and Ben Lochain, down which pour the waters of the Lettermay Burn, which come out of the little tarn, Curra Lochain. Beyond Loch Lomond there proudly stands Ben Lomond, lifting its head 3192 feet high, and dominating all the loch of that name. The peaks that overlook Loch Long prevent us seeing the best parts of Loch Lomond, but we see themselves, and in doing so feel the force of the sarcasm which has named them “The Duke of Argyll’s Bowling Green.” Time would fail to speak of the immense number of high hills that are to be seen away to the north, the first of which may be said to be Ben Lui, near which is the source of the Tay, and a good remnant of the old Caledonian Forest. But between Glen Orchy and Loch Tay one can see Ben Chaluim, Ben More, Stobinain, Ben Heskernich, Meal Girdy, Ben Lawers, Sheechaillin; and when it is remembered that the very lowest of those Grampian monarchs is several hundred feet higher than Ben Lomond, it will not require a very lively imagination to conceive what a panorama this comparatively little hill of Donich affords us. It is even said that in certain favourable conditions of the atmosphere the mountains of Mull can be seen away to the north-west. Enough has been said to tempt anyone that has the time, the lung power, and a mind capable of being attracted and pleased with the grand in Nature. But it is not merely the grand that is to be met with. There is no more delightful spot in summer than a bare hillside. On the broad slopes of purple heather, with dark hills in the distance, one suddenly comes upon all kinds of life and beauty. Here is some wild game, which darts or flies away at your approach. Poor as the pasture is, no Eastern carpet ever glowed with half the colour of those flowing slopes. As we come farther down we light upon a little troop of stonechats—five young birds and their parents—on the branches of a hawthorn. They are a lively lot, and the clear “chat, chat” of the old birds is one of the few sounds of life upon the hill. It was perhaps this note that disturbed a pair of partridges from their resting-place. They leap a little way into the air, but instead of flying off they settle down again and crane their necks above the grass. We are told that some animals, now rare, are not quite unknown on the hillside, such as the otter, the wild cat, and the fox. Still, any of these are not likely to disturb the casual visitor. The only thing that can be regarded as the least uncanny that came under our notice was the presence in the burn, not a great way up, of an eel.