ould have missed it altogether. We had made a stop in the town two
years before, and yet there are few places in Britain that we would
rather visit a third time than Oban.

X

THROUGH HISTORIC SCOTLAND

The north of Scotland is rapidly becoming little more than a
pleasure-ground for the people of the Kingdom, and its attractions are
yearly drawing a larger number of Americans. There are practically no
European visitors, but that is largely true of the entire Kingdom. The
people of the Continent consider Britain a chilly, unattractive land.
Its historic and literary traditions, so dear to the average American,
who holds a common language, do not appeal to those who think their own
countries superior to any other in these particulars.

It is only a natural consequence that Scotland, outside of the three or
four largest cities, is becoming, like Switzerland, a nation of
hotelkeepers--and very excellent ones they are. The Scotch hotels
average as good as any in the world. One finds them everywhere in the
Highlands. Every lake, every ruin frequented by tourists has its hotel,
many of them fine structures of native granite, substantially built and
splendidly furnished.

We left Oban over the route by which we came, since no other was
recommended to motorists. Our original plan to follow the Caledonian
Canal to Inverness was abandoned on account of difficult roads and
numerous ferries with poor and infrequent service. After waiting three
hours to get an "accumulator" which had been turned over to a local
repair man thirty-six hours before with instructions to have it charged
and returned promptly, we finally succeeded in getting off. This delay
is an example of those which we encountered again and again from failure
to get prompt service, especially when we were making an effort to get
away before ten or eleven in the morning.

It was no hardship to follow more leisurely than before the road past
Loch Awe, whose sheet of limpid water lay like a mirror around Kilchurn
Castle under the cloudless, noonday sky. A little farther on, at
Dalmally, we paused at a pleasant old country hotel, where the delicious
Scotch strawberries were served fresh from the garden. It was a quaint,
clean, quiet place, and the landlord told us that aside from the old
castles and fine scenery in the vicinity, its chief attraction to guests
was trout-fishing in neighboring streams. We were two days in passing
through the heart of the Highla