Wednesday saw us on our way Steaming out from Oban Bay, (Lord, it was a fearsome day!) To right and left we looked upon All the lands of Stevenson — Moidart, Morven, and Ardgour, Ardshiel, Appin, and Mamore — If their tale you wish to learn Then to "Kidnapped" you must turn. Strange that one man's eager brain Can make those dead lands live again! From the deck we saw Glencoe, Where upon that night of woe William's men did such a deed As even now we blush to read. Ben Nevis towered on our right, The clouds concealed it from our sight, But it was comforting to say That over there Ben Nevis lay'. Finally we made the land At Fort William's sloping strand, And in our car away we went Along that lasting monument, The good broad causeway which was made By King George's General Wade. He built a splendid road, no doubt, Alas! he left the sign-posts out. And so we wandered, sad to say, Far from our appointed way, Till twenty mile of rugged track In a circle brought us back. But the incident we viwed In a philosophic mood. Tired and hungry but serene We settled at the Bridge of Spean. Our journey now we onward press Toward the town of Inverness, Through a country all alive With memories of "forty-five." The noble clans once gathered here, Where now are only grouse and deer. Alas, that men and crops and herds Should ever yield their place to birds! And that the splendid Highland race Be swept aside to give more space For forests where the deer may stray For some rich owner far away, Whose keeper guards the lonely glen Which once sent out a hundred men! When from Inverness we turned, Feeling that a rest was earned. We stopped at Nairn, for golf links famed, "Scotland's Brighton" it is named, Though really, when the phrase we heard, It seemed a little bit absurd, For Brighton's size compared to Nairn Is just a mother to her bairn. We halted for a day of rest, But took one journey to the West To view old Cawdor's tower and moat Of which unrivalled Shakespeare wrote, Where once Macbeth, the schemer deep, Slew royal Duncan in his sleep, But actors since avenged his death By often murdering Macbeth. Hard by we saw the circles gray Where Druid priests were wont to pray.