ENTOMOLOGICAL DISCOMFORTS.

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floor, with the table above him to cheat him into the belief that it is a four-poster; and if he should go on to the New Hotel to encounter a like disappointment; and should finally arrive at Callander, worn out in temper and body, to find its inns also occupied, and an indifferent lodging to be routed after at ten or eleven at night if this sad chain of events should befal Mr. Jones, then his reminiscences of the 'enchanted land' of the Trosachs will, very possibly, not be of a nature to accord with the glowing descriptions in 'The Lady of the Lake' and the Guide Books, but will be darkly coloured by his last night's misadventure.

Again, if Mr. and Mrs. Robinson are on their Highland tour, and have arrived at one of the chief lions, its roaring will doubtless appear to them to be more dolorous than grand, and to have been very much overrated, if the wretched couple have tossed and tumbled through the previous night in vain endeavours to get a wink of sleep, and to gain a moment's cessation from certain small and strong-smelling specimens of entomology, which Mrs. Robinson will delicately refer to by the euphemism of 'fleas,' but which she will (as boldly as truthfully) tell the landlady were nothing less than Bugs, and very fine ones too. How can Mrs. Robinson be expected to see any beauty in the scenery, when her eyes are half closed from the ugly swellings caused by those dreadful animals? And how can Mr. Robinson gaze with appreciative looks on any landscape, however lovely, when the whole surface of his skin is irritated by that sharp contact with the finger ends, pronounced by philosophers to be the final cause of those insects that the landlady is prepared to swear upon oath have been introduced into her hitherto cleanly domicile by himself and his blistered spouse?

And so on, in many ways. Perhaps you are not so good a sailor as a son of the mistress of the seas ought to be; and, consequently, under certain effects of sea and weather, the voyage to Oban and Skye is not appreciated as it deserved to be. Or, the man who has driven you in a wonderfully open and unclean carriage to Dryburgh or Abbotsford has endeavoured to impose upon you, and has added insult to injury, by abusing you in the presence of ladies; and your powerlessness under his lingual onslaught, and your inability to deal with him as you would with a London cabman, has so perturbed your gentle spirit, that the home and grave of Scott are not so pathetically interesting to you as they otherwise would have been. Or, your poetical daughter has carried you off to see Melrose by moonlight; and your sciatica has been none the better for the expedition. Or, your romantic daughter has manoeuvred that you should see the sunset from the summit of Ben Lomond; and, as you were obliged to go on the score of propriety (your daughter's last admirer, Captain Whiskerwing, being of the party), and as you were forced to make the ascent after enjoying a luxurious dinner at the Tarbet Hotel, your views from the top of the mighty Ben are more dyspeptic than pleasant. Or, your artistic daughter has detained you so long while she made her sketch of the Fall of Foyers, that you never can think of that waterfall without the memory of it being accompanied by a sympathetic twitch of the neuralgia, from which you suffered so acutely after your long, long detention in its damp precincts. And thus, in many ways, do accidental circumstances convert lights into shadows.

Then, if you are an amateur artist, and have in

THE TOURIST'S POWERS TAXED.

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creased the pleasures of your Tour in Tartan-land' by carrying away on your sketching-block pictured representations of the scenes that have especially charmed you; as you take out your sketches on your return home, and exhibit them to your especial circle of friends, and can yourself see nothing in them but a reflex of the 'Lights' that so delighted you in the originals, how often are unexpected 'Shadows' cast over your drawings by what even your extreme friendship cannot consider as anything else than the gross stupidity of people who ought to have known better! For example: perhaps your pet sketch is one of Loch Katrine looking from Ben Venue, with Ellen's Isle and Ben Aan in the background; and you bring it forth with a most complaisant air of inward satisfaction, and display it to your particular lady-friend, in whose good judgement you have hitherto had no reason to doubt. She forthwith charms you by saying, 'Oh, how very good! excellent! just like it! dear me, it quite carries me back to that lovely Loch Lomond!'

'Loch Lomond !' you echo. This is a view of Loch Katrine!'

"Yes!' says your friend, with commendable presence of mind; 'yes, of course! we saw them both in one day, you know; so I never think of one without the other. Yes! Loch Katrine, of course! would have told me that.'

Ben Venue

But that is not Ben Venue,' you say. This view is taken from Ben Venue, and looks across Loch Katrine to the opposite range of hills.'

'Yes,' placidly replies your friend, with a courage deserving the Victoria Cross; 'yes, as I was sayinglooking from Ben Venue. And very exact it is. One

could recognise it in a moment; though, really now, don't you think that all mountains and lakes in Scotland are very much alike?' And, in that way, 'Shadows' are dashed across your artistic 'Northern Lights.'

Fortunately for the modern tourist in Tartan-land, he is now so every-day a character, that he is no longer forced to satisfy the curiosity of his English friends, in the same way that Edward Waverley, at Huntingdon, had to appease Frank Stanley's inquisitiveness concerning the manners and customs of the Highlanders, by whistling a pibroch, dancing a strathspey, and singing a Gaelic song. These are northern accomplishments that would severely tax the abilities of a southron. One's friends nowadays set bounds to their curiosity, and are contented with our delineations by pen and pencil. To whistle or dance a jig is not required of us; but to tell truly and faithfully the impressions we received during our Tour in Tartan-land.'

This I have attempted to do to the best of my ability in the following pages. And, although I am fully aware that Edinburgh, Glasgow, Loch Lomond, Loch Katrine, the Trosachs, Melrose, Abbotsford, Roslin, and the other spots spoken of in this book, are places which have been heard of before to-day, yet, as their powers of attraction are far from being on the wane, I trust that what I have to say concerning them may not prove uninteresting, or altogether uninstructive, to

I have been careful to consult the best authorities on the various subjects touched upon in the following pages, and to treat them with exactness. Several rare books have also been examined, and much out-of-the-way and curious information has been gathered from them, which, it is hoped, will be found both amusing and instructive.

A WORD TO THE READER.

those readers with whom and the several places there may be a long-standing friendship; and may also act as a stimulant to those who have not seen the originals, to do so at their earliest opportunity.

If so, may the fickle Scotch weather be as favourable to them as it was to me; and may they receive equal pleasure and benefit from their tour in Tartan-land.