Summer at the Lake of Monteith

From Stirling to Inchmahome.
hammer lends a chorus to the rustic scene. . The road in
front of us is beautifully shaded with stately oaks, skirted
on the right by the well-kept grounds of Cardross. On our
left is a dark forest, some miles in length; and we can see
the simple roe bounding for protection far amid its dark
recesses. Here we get a beautiful glimpse of the Hill of
Glenny, its top rising high above the trees, as if it threatened
to stop our northward passage. We now reach the seques-
tered and romantic cottage of Tomavhoid (or Courthill),
where, in days long gone by, the neighbouring lairds sat
in final judgment on the offending wretches of their estates.
We look around, and our eye rests on a hoary ash, sending
its grey branches wide to the breeze, whose old boughs
served the purpose of our new-fashioned scaffolds, when the
rustic native of the cottage performed the part of modern
Calcraft. Our thoughts wander back some hundred years;
imagination paints the assembled throng, — the proud laird,
with sullen and merciless face, wielding the sceptre of his
relentless feudal power — the pitying looks of his attend-
ants, as they turn their eyes to gaze upon the fellow-mortal
on his way to the drop; — ay, methinks I see the poor
culprit, as he kicks high and dry upon the branch! But
why fatigue the imagination with scenes like these? Feudal
days are past, the court has vanished, and the mark of the
rope has disappeared.
Leaving Tomavhoid, we have a beautiful, varied, and
interesting view of the Lake of Monteith and surrounding
country. To the left we get a fine prospect of the west
Grampians — Ben-Lomond keeping watch and ward over
nether land, with an outstretching plain of cultivated fields,