My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
  My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
  A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe—­
  My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.

We passed through Renton, where there were bleaching and calico printing works.  A public library graced the centre of the village, as well as a fine Tuscan column nearly 60 feet high, erected to Tobias Smollett, the poet, historian and novelist, who was born in 1721 not half a mile from the spot.  The houses were small and not very clean.  The next village we came to was Alexandria, a busy manufacturing place where the chief ornament was a very handsome drinking-fountain erected to a member of the same family, a former M.P., “by his tenants and friends,” forming a striking contrast to its mean and insignificant surroundings of one-storied houses and dismal factories.  We were soon in the country again, and passed some fine residences, including the modern-looking Castle of Tullichewan situated in a fine park, and reached Balloch at the extreme end of Loch Lomond, from which point we had a momentary view of the part of the lake we had missed seeing on the preceding evening.  Here we paid the sum of one halfpenny each for the privilege of passing over the Suspension Bridge, which gave us access to a very pleasant part of the country, and crossed one spur of a hill, from the top of which, under favourable conditions, we might have seen nearly the whole of Loch Lomond, including the islands and the ranges of hills on either side—­

[Illustration:  MAINS CASTLE, KILMARONOCK]

  Mountains that like giants stand
  To sentinel enchanted land.

But though it was only about a mile and a half from our path to the summit, and the total elevation only 576 feet, 297 of which we had already ascended, we did not visit it, as the mist would have prevented an extended view.  It stood in a beautiful position, surrounded by woods and the grounds of Boturich Castle; why such a pretty place should be called “Mount Misery” was not clear, unless it had some connection with one of the Earls of Argyll who came to grief in that neighbourhood in 1685 near Gartocharn, which we passed shortly afterwards.  He had collected his clan to overthrow the Government of James VII (James II of England) and had crossed the Leven at Balloch when he found Gartocharn occupied by the royal troops.  Instead of attacking them, he turned aside, to seek refuge among the hills, and in the darkness and amid the bogs and moors most of his men deserted, only about five hundred answering to their names the following morning.  The Earl, giving up the attempt, was captured an hour or two later as he was attempting to cross the River Clyde, and the words applied to him, “Unhappy Argyll,” indicated his fate.  We passed Kilmaronock church in the dark and, after crossing the bridge over Endrick Water, entered Drymen and put up at the “Buchanan Arms” Inn, where we had been recommended to stay the night.