the view cannot but be a lovely one. Perchance we may find ourselves in Perthshire, on a low range of hills where the heather struggles in patches to within a hundred yards of the summit, which is crowned by rough broken rocks that seem like a rude cairn erected by the hands of the Titans of olden days. On the one hand Schehallion rears its noble outline, crowned with the early snowfall of the declining autumn, and seamed as to his sides with great streaks of glistening splendour as the sun gleams upon the masses of snow lodged in the hollows that run downwards from the summit.
On the other side lies the huge dark mass of Ben Lawers, along whose base runs the silver streak of Loch Tay, melting away into the distance at the foot of noble Ben More. In the distance peak after peak rears its head, till far, far away a white cloud of more pronounced outline than usual attracts our eye, and we are told that Ben Nevis itself is, for once in a way, within our ken. To the north and east stretches an imposing range of noble hills, which we can recognise as the Grampians. They seem to have collected more snow than the other peaks, and our attendant gillie points out a streak or two, now prominent indeed, but which he tells us are ever visible throughout the whole summer. Between us and the Grampians we can detect another silver streak, which indicates the course of
