us varieties of color as they rested
on the green trees, the azure skies, and all the endless shades of
lovely flowers and plants.

The railway train, which they entered at the Waverley Station, conveyed
Nell and her friends to Glasgow. There, from the new bridge across the
Clyde, they watched the curious sea-like movement of the river. After
a night's rest at Comrie's Royal Hotel, they betook themselves to the
terminus of the Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway, from whence a train would
rapidly carry them, by way of Dumbarton and Balloch, to the southern
extremity of Loch Lomond.

"Now for the land of Rob Roy and Fergus MacIvor!--the scenery
immortalized by the poetical descriptions of Walter Scott," exclaimed
James Starr. "You don't know this country, Jack?"

"Only by its songs, Mr. Starr," replied Jack; "and judging by those, it
must be grand."

"So it is, so it is!" cried the engineer, "and our dear Nell shall see
it to the best advantage."

A steamboat, the SINCLAIR by name, awaited tourists about to make the
excursion to the lakes. Nell and her companions went on board. The day
had begun in brilliant sunshine, free from the British fogs which so
often veil the skies.

The passengers were determined to lose none of the beauties of nature to
be displayed during the thirty miles' voyage. Nell, seated between James
Starr and Harry, drank in with every faculty the magnificent poetry
with which lovely Scottish scenery is fraught. Numerous small isles and
islets soon appeared, as though thickly sown on the bosom of the lake.
The SINCLAIR steamed her way among them, while between them glimpses
could be had of quiet valleys, or wild rocky gorges on the mainland.

"Nell," said James Starr, "every island here has its legend, perhaps
its song, as well as the mountains which overshadow the lake. One may,
without much exaggeration, say that the history of this country is
written in gigantic characters of mountains and islands."

Nell listened, but these fighting stories made her sad. Why all that
bloodshed on plains which to her seemed enormous, and where surely there
must have been room for everybody?

The shores of the lake form a little harbor at Luss. Nell could for a
moment catch sight of the old tower of its ancient castle. Then, the
SINCLAIR turning northward, the tourists gazed upon Ben Lomond, towering
nearly 3,000 feet above the level of the lake.

"Oh, what a noble mountain!" cried Nell; "what a view there mus