_Thursday morning [on the Clyde]._--Now we come to Lord Blantyre's house, as I remember it eighteen years ago.... Gradually appears the Rock of Dumbarton, very wild, low water, screaming birds, to me very interesting from recollections. Entrance to Loch Lomond grand and stately. Large hills before us, covered with heather, and sprinkled all over with wood. Deer on island, in shape resembling the isle at Windermere. Further on an island, of large size, curiously scattered over with yew-trees--more yews than are to be found together in Great Britain--wind blowing cold, waves like the sea. I could not find out our cottage isle. The bay at Luss even more beautiful than in imagination, thatched cottages, two or three slated houses. The little chapel, the sweet brook, and the pebbly shore, so well remembered. Ferry-house at Inversnaid just the same as before, excepting now a glass window. A girl now standing at the door, but her I cannot fancy our "Highland girl"; and the babe, while its granddame worked, now twenty, grown up to toil, and perhaps hardship; or, is it in a quiet grave? The whole waterfall drops into the lake as before. The tiny bay is calm, while the middle of the lake is stirred by breezes; but we have long left the sea-like region of Balloch. Our Highland musician tunes his pipes as we approach Rob Roy's cave. Grandeur of Nature, mixed with stage effect. Old Highlanders, with long grey locks, cap, and plaid; boys at different heights on the rocks. All crowd to Rob Roy's cave, as it is called, and pass under in interrupted succession, for the cave is too small to contain many at once. They stoop, yet come out all covered with dirt. We were wiser than this; for they seem to have no motive but to say they have been in Roy's cave, because Sir Walter has written about it.