302 FIELD AND FERN. 



little pets of the place ; and two or three score of 

 black Essex pigs, old and young, were out at work 

 among the potatoes, in those long hurdled yards 

 which radiate from the sties. Another look at 

 Fosco and Allan, and then we rode on once more to 

 Keir, and, leaving our mare in good box-quarters for a 

 fortnight among the Peggies and the Jessies, we 

 made a dash by rail and foot for a day in the Western 

 Highlands. 



The tourist time was over ; but, nothing daunted 

 by the snow-cap on Ben Ledi, we left Callander, 

 stick in hand, and, scorning the turn to the Tros- 

 sachs, we pointed away towards Rob Roy's grave. 

 There was little to see at starting, save the light- 

 brown oak and underwood of the Pass of Leny, where 

 the Scotch fir seemed fairly driven off the ground to 

 an islet. On our left for miles were two lazy 

 lochs, Lubnaig and Voil, joined by a lazier stream. 

 Nothing was sailing on them save a couple of swans ; 

 but there is no swan hopping, no municipal marking 

 of cygnets there. The ash had lost its leaf, and 

 the birk, rich with materials for many a bobbin 

 frame, grew by its side ; and goats, black, white, and 

 grey, were just visible on the face of a large rock, 

 where it is hardly safe for the sheep to climb. The 

 farms along the road have generally a share of the 

 low ground and of the hill behind. They vary in 

 size from a hundred to a thousand acres, and carry 

 flocks of blackfaces in proportion. 



Valley operations were rather at a standstill, 



