I went to talk with the mistress, who was making barley
cakes, which she wrought out with her hands as thin as the oaten bread we
make in Cumberland. I asked her why she did not use a rolling-pin, and
if it would not be much more convenient, to which she returned me no
distinct answer, and seemed to give little attention to the question: she
did not know, or that was what they were used to, or something of the
sort. It was a tedious process, and I thought could scarcely have been
managed if the cakes had been as large as ours; but they are considerably
smaller, which is a great loss of time in the baking.

This woman, whose common language was the Gaelic, talked with me a very
good English, asking many questions, yet without the least appearance of
an obtrusive or impertinent curiosity; and indeed I must say that I
never, in those women with whom I conversed, observed anything on which I
could put such a construction. They seemed to have a faith ready for
all; and as a child when you are telling him stories, asks for 'more,
more,' so they appeared to delight in being amused without effort of
their own minds. Among other questions she asked me the old one over
again, if I was married; and when I told her that I was not, she appeared
surprised, and, as if recollecting herself, said to me, with a pious
seriousness and perfect simplicity, 'To be sure, there is a great promise
for virgins in Heaven;' and then she began to tell how long she had been
married, that she had had a large family and much sickness and sorrow,
having lost several of her children. We had clean sheets and decent
beds.

* * * * *

_Wednesday_, _September_ 14_th_.--Rose early, and departed before
breakfast. The morning was dry, but cold. Travelled as before, along
the shores of Loch Lubnaig, and along the pass of the roaring stream of
Leny, and reached Callander at a little past eight o'clock. After
breakfast set off towards Stirling, intending to sleep there; the
distance eighteen miles. We were now entering upon a populous and more
cultivated country, having left the mountains behind, therefore I shall
have little to tell; for what is most interesting in such a country is
not to be seen in passing through it as we did. Half way between
Callander and Stirling is the village of Doune, and a little further on
we crossed a bridge over a pleasant river, the Teith. Above the river
stands a ruined castle of conside