te with this country.
We saw one old man, the keeper of a little solitary inn in the very
heart of the hills, arrayed in the full glory of the old-time
garb--plaid, tartan, sporran and skene-dhu, all set off by the plumed
Glengarry cap--a picturesque old fellow indeed. And we met farther on
the way a dirty-looking youth with his bagpipes slung over his
shoulder--in dilapidated modern garb he was anything but a fit
descendant of the minstrels whose fame has come down to us in song and
story. Still, he was glad to play for us, and despite his general
resemblance to an every-day American tramp, it was something to have
heard the skirl of the bag-pipe in the Pass of Killiekrankie. And after
all, the hills, the vales and the lochs were there, and everywhere on
the low green mountains grazed endless flocks of sheep. They lay
leisurely in the roadway or often trotted unconcernedly in front of the
car, occasioning at times a speed limit even more unsatisfactory than
that imposed in the more populous centers by the police traps.
Incidentally we learned that the finest sheep in the world--and vast
numbers of them--are produced in Great Britain. When we compare them
with the class of animals raised in America it is easy to see why our
wool and mutton average so greatly inferior.

[Illustration: IN THE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS.

From Painting by D. Sherrin.]

A clean, quiet, charming city is Inverness, "the capital of the
Highlands," as the guide-books have it. It is situated on both shores of
its broad, sparkling river--so shallow that the small boys with
turned-up pantaloons wade across it in summer time--while an arm of the
sea defines the boundary on the northeast. Though tradition has it that
Macbeth built a castle on the site of the present structure, it
disappeared centuries ago, and there is now little evidence of antiquity
to be found in the town. The modern castle is a massive, rambling,
brown-stone building less than a hundred years old, now serving as a
county court. The cathedral is recent, having been completed in the last
quarter of a century. It is an imposing church of red stone, the great
entrance being flanked by low, square-topped towers. As a center for
tourists, Inverness is increasingly popular and motor cars are very
common. The roads of the surrounding country are generally excellent,
and a trip of two hundred miles will take one to John O'Groats, the
extreme northern point of Scotland. The country around has