The natives, we are told, but will not vouch for the truth of it, have a horror of eels almost as great as of the adders that are to be met with on the sunny side of the burn, but which will not hurt you if you do not hurt them. The natives, however, show them scant mercy. But the perfume of flowers and leaves and heather, the singing of birds, and the sweeps of wooded braes throw one into a poetical turn of mind that begets a dreamy content in which nothing either great or small is overlooked. If you have a turn for botany you may find here, in the course of your ascent or descent, specimens of the tufted vetch and the lady’s mantle and one of the saxifrages, loosestrife, a specific which used to be laid in the cradles of children to make them of a peaceable temperament. The dog mercury is also here, which dogs resort to and eat as a medicine, and many another specimen too numerous to detail. And if your experience be the same as ours, you will also have the advantage of a singing competition between a homely thrush and some other bird, in which the thrush, with his louder, more continuous, and more varied song, bore away the palm. It was amusing to see how the rival songsters continued, evidently now listening to each other, and continuing “long with spiteful energy of sweet sounds.” But the shadows will soon begin to lengthen and lie another way, and we may make a straight road for Lochgoilhead. BEN VENUE. Who that has read “Rob Roy” would not wish to make a pilgrimage to the clachan of Aberfoyle, where visitors can see for themselves the historic coulter of the “Bailie,” still red-hot, hanging on a tree in front of the hotel? It will be remembered that this implement did no little damage to the Highlandman’s plaid, and led to the very important question, when the articles of agreement were being decided on in the inn, after the fracas—“But who’s to pay for ma new plaid?” And who that has read of Roderick Dhu and Fitz-James would not wish to go to the top of Ben Venue? Well, all this can be done in one short day from Glasgow, and at a very small outlay of money; and with my reader’s leave I will act as his cicerone, in case he should wish to visit a district which is more visited and better known by the world at large than any other in Scotland. Take a return ticket to Aberfoyle by the North British, and if money is a consideration, do it on a Saturday. If walking is no consideration to you, if you can walk six miles over a hill and then climb two, up a safe but very and continuously steep mountain, start, after you have had a look around and at the old brig, up the road to the east of the hill. Take the old road, with its short cuts as often as you can, and you will be well on your way before the coach, which has to walk the half of the way, will overtake you.