Had a little room and bed to myself the first time since being with Miss MacL. Said I was in a foolish humour from the whiskey punch. It was better not to run any risk of being too foolish. In fact I am afraid of sleeping with her on account of her cough and care not to make love too far. I do quite enough. She looks oldish in the face yet takes all very well tho’ properly enough. Yet I see that if I seriously pushed the matter I might succeed, but I forever now talk of having M- if anything happens to C-. No motion neither this morning nor yesterday nor Friday. Feel heated, languid, heavy, sleepy, not capable of much exertion & not well. Breakfast at 10¼. Went to the Episcopalian chapel to hear Bishop Gregg who merely read part of the communion service & gave the blessing after the service. Did not wear his lawn sleeves. A young man did the duty. Preached ½ hour from John iii 5 very fairly, but I was too sleepy to be able to attend much. There at 11, home at 1½.
We walked to Waterloo Place to call on 2 Miss [Macleans]. Not at home. Off from Gibb’s, Stirling in a post chaise at 1 55/60. Perpetual showers or should have walked to Bannockburn, 2 miles. Should have liked to have gone to Ardoch, 12 miles (“The Roman camp upon this estate is the most entire in Britain,” 57/415 Scottish Tourist), but had not time. At 2 55/60 alight at the mill of Torr to see “the great Persian wheel employed in raising the water for floating into the Forth the moss of Kincardine,” 59/415. Close to Mr Home Drummond’s entrance gate turn into the grounds (of Blair Drummond) & drove thro the handsome park. At 3½ pass over the bridge over the Teith, a handsomeish river, & stop the carriage a moment to enjoy the fine view of Doune Castle, “one of the finest baronial ruins in Scotland,” 62/415 Scottish Tourist. Have (right) the neat looking little town or village of Doune, with its neat, handsome little lately built gothic church. At 4 20/60 (right) 1½ miles from Doune, Cambus-Wallace or Doune Lodge, a nice hunting seat belonging to the Earl of Moray 63/415. Fir Plantations. Too formal. Never like these anywhere. 3 miles from Doune, Lanrick Castle. Sir Evan McGregor bought the chieftainship of the clan of McGregor. Not acknowledged by 1 half the clan. Married a daughter of the Duke of Athol. Sir E. McG- a dancing beau of Miss McL- when each was [aged] 11.
At 5 5/60 look down the neat (1 long windish street) village of Callander. The neat inn, kept by Macgregor, the best house in the village, built some years ago by the Laird of McNab. Modern neat church. The village picturesquely situated upon the verge of the highlands. Here we changed chaise & horses & were off again at 5 20/60. At the turnpike just of Callander the women seemed to speak & understand only Gaelic. Here turned left over a bridge, round thro’ a wild woodless tract of heather hill. The intrenchments on the top of the hill (right) supposed to be Roman, 65/415. Should see the Pass of Leney & Bracklinn bridge, 65/415 Scottish Tourist. Loch Vennachar would be pretty if the sides were wooded, but too bare. By & by the scenery very picturesque & pretty. The Wood of Lamentation close on our right covering the hill, 67/415. Pass the Brig of Turk, very [narrow], and Loch Achray, very pretty (pronounced Loch Achry). The Trossachs fine. Alight at the inn (very picturesque). There at 6 55/60. Unfortunately it had rained more or less almost all the way from the Mill of Torr (from 3 p.m.) to our journey’s end, and has since been a very wet evening & night. Tea at 7¼. Sat talking till 9. From then to now, one, wrote out the whole of Friday, yesterday & today.
Margin: On going upstairs at Callender, reminded of the Irish wit against “dirty Dick Twiss” by seeing at the bottom of the chamber vase a large open-mouthed likeness of “Dr Macculloch” whose last work on the highlands (4 volumes, octavo) seems to have given offence.
Margin: Stirling to Callender 16 miles
Callender to Trosachs 10 miles
 English writer Richard Twiss’s book, A Tour in Ireland in 1775, contained some rather critical remarks on the country and its inhabitants. In revenge, some Irish men produced chamber pots with Richard Twiss’s face painted inside them, with the motto, ‘Let ev’ry man piss on lying Dick Twiss.’
You can read the original diary entry here: https://www.catalogue.wyjs.org.uk/CalmView/GetImage.ashx?db=Catalog&type=default&fname=ae%5c462373-0498-4a80-8db4-047c2b729147.jpg