more easily cooked; but when the fowl made its appearance, to
their great disappointment it proved a cold one that had been stewed in
the broth at dinner.

* * * * *

_Monday_, _August_ 29_th_.--It rained heavily this morning, and, having
heard so much of the long rains since we came into Scotland, as well as
before, we had no hope that it would be over in less than three weeks at
the least, so poor Coleridge, being very unwell, determined to send his
clothes to Edinburgh and make the best of his way thither, being afraid
to face much wet weather in an open carriage. William and I were
unwilling to be confined at Tarbet, so we resolved to go to Arrochar, a
mile and a half on the road to Inverary, where there is an inn celebrated
as a place of good accommodation for travellers. Coleridge and I set off
on foot, and William was to follow with the car, but a heavy shower
coming on, Coleridge left me to shelter in a hut and wait for William,
while he went on before. This hut was unplastered, and without windows,
crowded with beds, uncomfortable, and not in the simplicity of the
ferryman's house. A number of good clothes were hanging against the
walls, and a green silk umbrella was set up in a corner. I should have
been surprised to see an umbrella in such a place before we came into the
Highlands; but umbrellas are not so common anywhere as there--a plain
proof of the wetness of the climate; even five minutes after this a girl
passed us without shoes and stockings, whose gown and petticoat were not
worth half a crown, holding an umbrella over her bare head.

We turned at a guide-post, 'To the New Inn,' and, after descending a
little, and winding round the bottom of a hill, saw, at a small distance,
a white house half hidden by tall trees upon a lawn that slopes down to
the side of Loch Long, a sea-loch, which is here very narrow. Right
before us, across the lake, was The Cobbler, which appeared to rise
directly from the water; but, in fact, it overtopped another hill, being
a considerable way behind. The inn looked so much like a gentleman's
house that we could hardly believe it was an inn. We drove down the
broad gravel walk, and, making a sweep, stopped at the front door, were
shown into a large parlour with a fire, and my first thought was, How
comfortable we should be! but Coleridge, who had arrived before us,
checked my pleasure: the waiter had shown himself disposed to look coo