I read over Scott’s poem to refresh my memory. It is a charming fiction the scene of which is happily selected in this wilderness. It has opened the country to the Tourist. In the morning I walked on a good road for a mile and a quarter to the Loch Katrine. The centre of the picture is Ben Venue, a old assemblage of round headed elevations clothed with deep green color, and imposing from every point of view. Without being very high, the irregularity of the surface interspersed with water makes a pretty and picturesque country bordering on grandeur. Returned in season to attend Divine service at a very small church a short distance from the Hotel. The attendance was good, though largely composed of the tourist visitors. The service was the432 simple one of the Scotch as well as our Puritan church. The preacher was young, and his discourse was plain and practical. He announced that at six o’clock he should conduct the series at a designated place in Gaelic. This is generally spoken in the Highland even after more than two centuries of English rule. Such is the tenacity of national habit. After service we tried a walk in the woods and around Loch Achray, which fronts the Hotel, bu the flies and little midges were intolerable and drove us home. At four o’clock we followed the Sunday practice here of dinint at the ordinary, which gave us the opportunity to see the other inmates of the House. They looked like respectable citizens of Glasgow or Edinburg or Manchester on an excursion with their children. I found nothing inviting to closer acquaintance.