Here was a square stone, called, as we are told,
Fingal's Table.
If we had been provided with torches, we should have proceeded in
our search, though we had already gone as far as any former
adventurer, except some who are reported never to have returned;
and, measuring our way back, we found it more than a hundred and
sixty yards, the eleventh part of a mile.
Our measures were not critically exact, having been made with a
walking pole, such as it is convenient to carry in these rocky
countries, of which I guessed the length by standing against it.
In this there could be no great errour, nor do I much doubt but the
Highlander, whom we employed, reported the number right. More
nicety however is better, and no man should travel unprovided with
instruments for taking heights and distances.
There is yet another cause of errour not always easily surmounted,
though more dangerous to the veracity of itinerary narratives, than
imperfect mensuration. An observer deeply impressed by any
remarkable spectacle, does not suppose, that the traces will soon
vanish from his mind, and having commonly no great convenience for
writing, defers the description to a time of more leisure, and
better accommodation.
He who has not made the experiment, or who is not accustomed to
require rigorous accuracy from himself, will scarcely believe how
much a few hours take from certainty of knowledge, and distinctness
of imagery; how the succession of objects will be broken, how
separate parts will be confused, and how many particular features
and discriminations will be compressed and conglobated into one
gross and general idea.
