Intended to have been here last night--left Glasgow yesterday morning--and had a most delightful forenoon of it in the Steamer to Tarbert. Loch Lomond fairly outshone herself--never before had I felt the full force of the words--"Fortunate Isles." The Bens were magnificent. At Tarbert--just as I was disembarking--who should be embarking but our friends Outram, M'Culloch, Macnee----
And I was induced--I could not resist them--to take a trip on to Inverarnan. We returned to Tarbert and had a glorious afternoon till two this morning--thought I might lie down for an hour or two--but, after undressing, it occurred to me that it was advisable to redress--and be off instanter--so, wheeling round the head of Loch Long--never beheld the bay so lovely--I glided up the gentle slope of Glencroe and sat down on "Rest and be thankful"--to hold a minute's colloquy with a hawk--or some sort of eagle or another, who seemed to think nobody at that hour had a right to be there but himself--covered him to a nicety with my rod--and had it been a gun, he was a dead bird. Down the other--that is, this side of the glen, which, so far from being precipitous, is known to be a descent but by the pretty little cataracts playing at leap-frog--from your description I knew that must be Loch Fine--and that St Catherine's. Shall I drop down and signalise the Inverary Steamer? I have not time--so through the woods of Ardkinglass--surely the most beautiful in this world--to Cairndow. Looked at my watch--had forgot to wind her up--set her by the sun--and on nearing the inn door an unaccountable impulse landed me in the parlour to the right. Breakfast on the table for somebody up stairs--whom nobody--so the girl said--could awaken--ate it--and the ten miles were but one to that celebrated Circuit Town. Saluted Dun-nu-quech for your sake--and the Castle for the Duke's--and could have lingered all June among those gorgeous groves.
Hitherto it had been cool--shady--breezy--the very day for such a saunter--when all at once it was an oven. I had occasion to note that fine line of the Poet's--"Where not a lime-leaf moves," as I passed under a tree of that species, with an umbrage some hundred feet in circumference, and a presentiment of what was coming whispered "Stop here"--but the Fates tempted me on--and if I am rather wet, sir, there is some excuse for it--for there was thunder and lightning, and a great tempest.