t be from
the top!"

"Yes, Nell," answered James Starr; "see how haughtily its peak rises
from amidst the thicket of oaks, birches, and heather, which clothe the
lower portion of the mountain! From thence one may see two-thirds of old
Caledonia. This eastern side of the lake was the special abode of the
clan McGregor. At no great distance, the struggles of the Jacobites and
Hanoverians repeatedly dyed with blood these lonely glens. Over these
scenes shines the pale moon, called in old ballads 'Macfarlane's
lantern.' Among these rocks still echo the immortal names of Rob Roy and
McGregor Campbell."

As the SINCLAIR advanced along the base of the mountain, the country
became more and more abrupt in character. Trees were only scattered
here and there; among them were the willows, slender wands of which were
formerly used for hanging persons of low degree.

"To economize hemp," remarked James Starr.

The lake narrowed very much as it stretched northwards.

The steamer passed a few more islets, Inveruglas, Eilad-whow, where
stand some ruins of a stronghold of the clan MacFarlane. At length the
head of the loch was reached, and the SINCLAIR stopped at Inversnaid.

Leaving Loch Arklet on the left, a steep ascent led to the Inn of
Stronachlacar, on the banks of Loch Katrine.

There, at the end of a light pier, floated a small steamboat, named,
as a matter of course, the Rob Roy. The travelers immediately went on
board; it was about to start. Loch Katrine is only ten miles in length;
its width never exceeds two miles. The hills nearest it are full of a
character peculiar to themselves.

"Here we are on this famous lake," said James Starr. "It has been
compared to an eel on account of its length and windings: and justly so.
They say that it never freezes. I know nothing about that, but what we
want to think of is, that here are the scenes of the adventures in the
Lady of the Lake. I believe, if friend Jack looked about him carefully,
he might see, still gliding over the surface of the water, the shade of
the slender form of sweet Ellen Douglas."

"To be sure, Mr. Starr," replied Jack; "why should I not? I may just as
well see that pretty girl on the waters of Loch Katrine, as those ugly
ghosts on Loch Malcolm in the coal pit."

It was by this time three o'clock in the afternoon. The less hilly
shores of Loch Katrine westward extended like a picture framed between
Ben An and Ben Venue. At the distance of half a mile