We arrived at Invergarry Inn as the evening was closing. This, as I have said, is a most comfortable house, and it is situated amidst scenery that will make glad the heart of a landscape painter.

CHAP. XXXVI.

The Grounds of Glengarry.-The River Garry.-Loch Oich.-Castle of Invergarry.-Rock of the Raven.-Down the Caledonian Canal.Last Flight of Tourists. - Loch Lochie.-Bannavie. The Last Coach.-A Strange Journey.-Whisky in Living Barrels.-Pass of Glencoe.-Tyndrum.-The Glens of Glencoe and Sligachan Compared.-Loch Lomond.-Luss.-Conclusion.

SIX HUNDRED MILES lie between Invergarry and London, a distance that a few years ago would have taken a large slice out of one's holiday time to travel. Now you may leave London in the morning, sleep that night in Glasgow, the second at Oban, and the third at Invergarry. Or you may journey from Glasgow, vid Loch Lomond and Glencoe, to Bannavie, and from thence up the Caledonian Canal to this sweet resting-place.

A morning's ramble through the lovely grounds of Glengarry, open freely to all comers, confirmed my impressions of the beauty of Invergarry. Indeed, I know few walks more charming or varied than that through the woods by the rapid river Garry, to its outflow in Loch Oich, and along the lake shore, to the ruined castle of Invergarry, the ancient stronghold of the Macdonells.

You have probably seen it as you have sped over Loch Oich, but that fitful view of its grey towers above the dark green woods gives you a very inadequate idea of its extent and picturesque features.

It stands on a rock bearing the Gaelic name of Craggan-an-Phithrick-Rock of the Raven, the emblem of the Macdonells, and the five remaining storeys of the shattered fabric attest its former importance. Alas! no ravens now frequent the rock, for the surrounding mountains abound with deer, and where these are, as you know, keepers are careful not to allow eagles and ravens to exist.

Looking at all the wealth of beauty that culminates around the mansion belonging to the Earl of Dudley,

"A lovely rural seat of various views,"

you may think that if such a house were yours you would spend the summer there, and have no desire to rent deer-forests in Sutherland, particularly as there are an abundance of these animals near you. But not so thinks the noble proprietor of Glengarry, for last summer the house was occupied by parties to whom he had let his shootings.

I had to drive to the head of Loch Oich, four miles distant, to embark on board the steamer. Here I parted from my farmers: they proceeded by land to Inverness, I to Bannavie with punctual Captain Turner, who went

DD

through his course of lectures with natural illustrations as usual; with this difference, however, that his audience of passengers did not now amount to a dozen, the last flight of tourists hastening home like myself. And it is time to leave the Highlands; the wind blows harsh over Loch Lochie, and Ben Nevis is already streaked with snow.

I left the steamer at Bannavie, passed the night in the excellent hotel, supped with one tourist, an American, who was in raptures with the Highlands, and had seen them leisurely and well, and the next morning dressed by candle-light and left by the huge van-like coach for Loch Lomond, via Glencoe.

It was its last journey for the season, and a strange journey it was. For at every place between Bannavie and Loch Lomond where we stopped, we took up various articles belonging to the coach establishment: brushes and buckets, horse-cloths and harness, with an enormous quantity of whisky contained in living barrels, said barrels being the ostlers. The fact is, the coach was returning to its winter quarters to be laid up in ordinary until the ensuing season; and as no passengers were expected, everybody considered that he had full license to get drunk.

How the coach got through Glencoe is a mystery to me. I walked, and arrived at King's House long before the coach reeled up to that lonely abode. Here more

ostlers full of whisky were taken up, with the result, of course, of increasing the drunken confusion of everybody; and so we galloped down that long hill across the shoulder of the Black Mount, and through Lord Breadalbane's forest, to Tyndrum, scattering, to the dismay of their shepherds, thousands of sheep that were being driven to Falkirk Cattle Tryst, and which whitened the road for many miles. That the coach, with its motley and tremendous load, arrived whole at Tyndrum, is highly creditable to its builder, for so erratic were its motions that I momentarily expected to find myself sprawling on the road, and see the vehicle break up into innumerable fragments.

Pray do not, dear reader, imagine that because I hurry you so quickly through famous Glencoe, and the many beauties between that grim glen and Loch Lomond, that I was insensible to the gloomy grandeur of the first or the loveliness of the latter. Far from this ; for, as you sec, I had abundant leisure to observe the pass, and to compare it with Glen Sligachan, which exceeds Glencoe in gloomy grandeur. But you have probably made this journey; and if not, you have read more than one account of the scenery of this part of Scotland, and I am therefore unwilling to write about places so well known and so frequently described.

The night was falling when I embarked on board the steamer on Loch Lomond, but my voyage was brief, for