of the country by erecting fine residences in the neighbourhood, some of which we passed in close proximity.  Just before crossing over the railway bridge we came to a frightful figure of a human head carved on a stone and built in the battlement in a position where it could be seen by all.  It was coloured white, and we heard it was the work of some local sculptor.  It was an awful-looking thing, and no doubt did duty for the “boggard” of the neighbourhood.  The view of the hills to the right of our road as we passed along was very fine, lit up as they were by the rays of the evening sun, and the snow on Ben Wyvis in the distance contrasted strangely with the luxuriant foliage of the trees near us, as they scarcely yet showed the first shade of the autumn tints.

About four miles farther on we arrived at a place called the Muir of Ord, a rather strange name of which we did not know the meaning, reaching the railway station there just after the arrival of a train which we were told had come from the “sooth.”  The passengers consisted of a gentleman and his family, who were placing themselves in a large four-wheeled travelling-coach to which were attached four rather impatient horses.  A man-servant in livery was on the top of the coach arranging a large number of parcels and boxes, those intolerable appendages of travel.  We waited, and watched their departure, as we had no desire to try conclusions with the restless feet of the horses, our adventures with the Shetland pony in the north having acted as a warning to us.  Shortly afterwards we crossed a large open space of land studded with wooden buildings and many cattle-pens which a man told us was now the great cattlemarket for the North, where sales for cattle were held each month—­the next would be due in about a week’s time, when from 30,000 to 35,000 sheep would be sold.  It seemed strange to us that a place of such importance should have been erected where there were scarcely any houses, but perhaps there were more in the neighbourhood than we had seen, and in any case it lay conveniently as a meeting-place for the various passes in the mountain country.

We soon arrived at Beauly, which, as its name implied, was rather a pretty place, with its houses almost confined to the one street, the Grammar School giving it an air of distinction.  Our attention was attracted by some venerable ruins at the left of our road, which we determined to visit, but the gate was locked.  Seeing a small girl standing near, we asked her about the key, and she volunteered to go and tell the man who kept it to come at once.  We were pressed for time, and the minutes seemed very long as we stood awaiting the arrival of the key, until at last we decided to move on; but just as we were walking away we saw an old man coming up a side street with the aid of a crutch and a stick.

[Illustration:  ON THE BEAULY RIVER.]