Observing that they spoke of the personages, too, with the same air of confidence, we asked if they were sure that all this really happened.

They replied, "Certainly; it had been told from father to son through so many generations." Such is the power of genius to interpolate what it will into the regular log-book of Time's voyage.
Leaving Loch Katrine the following day, we entered Rob Roy's country, and saw on the way the house where Helen MacGregor was born, and Rob Roy's sword, which is shown in a house by the way-side.
We came in a row-boat up Loch Katrine, though both on that and Loch Lomond you _may_ go in a hateful little steamer with a squeaking fiddle to play Rob Roy MacGregor O.I walked almost all the way through the pass from Loch Katrine to Loch Lomond; it was a distance of six miles; but you feel as if you could walk sixty in that pure, exhilarating air.

At Inversnaid we took boat again to go down Loch Lomond to the little inn of Rowardennan, from which the ascent is made of Ben Lomond, the greatest elevation in these parts.

The boatmen are fine, athletic men; one of those with us this evening, a handsome young man of two or three and twenty, sang to us some Gaelic songs.
The first, a very wild and plaintive air, was the expostulation of a girl whose lover has deserted her and married another.

It seems he is ashamed, and will not even look at her when they meet upon the road.
She implores him, if he has not forgotten all that scene of bygone love, at least to lift up his eyes and give her one friendly glance.
The sad _crooning_ burden of the stanzas in which she repeats this request was very touching.