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Rh something white fluttering in the wind. It was a big Highlander returning, as he told us, from Glasgow. Overcome by the heat of the day, and incommoded by a garment to which he was not much accustomed, he had taken off his trousers and was carrying them on his shoulders. It was his shirt that had caught my eye.

At Tarbet our travellers dined at the little inn on the bank of Loch Lomond. Here, a few years later, Saint-Fond and his party



arrived very late on a rainy night in September. They were on their way from Glasgow to Inverary, and had meant to rest at Luss. Unfortunately for them it was the the time of the autumn circuit. The inn looked like a fisherman's hut. The landlady coming out made them a sign that they must not utter a sound. They were thrust into a stable, where she said:—"Le lord juge me fait l'honorable faveur dans sa tournée de loger chex moi; il est là; chacun doit respecter ce qu'il fait; il dort." She added that she could take in neither them nor their horses. They remonstrated,