at I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal."

The history of Iona is a history of untold beauty and human interest.
Druids, Pagans, Christian saints, have all inhabited the Holy Isle.
Proud kings, like Haco of Norway, were here consecrated, and here--

"Beneath the showery west,
The mighty kings of three fair realms were laid."

All that I could do was to visit the ruins of the monastery and the
cathedral, and one of the stone crosses, of which there were at one time
360, and to regret that these beautiful monoliths were cast into the sea
by the orders of the Synod as "monuments of idolatrie." St. Columba,
like all the saints, was a little ungallant as regards the fair sex.
Perhaps it is as well that his rule is over. He would not allow even
cattle on the sacred isle. "Where there is a cow," argued the saint,
"there must be a woman; and where there is a woman there must be
mischief." Clearly, the ladies have very much improved since the
lamented decease of the saint. From Iona we made our way to the very
prosperous home of commerce and whisky known as Campbeltown. Actually,
the duty on the latter article paid by the Campbeltown manufacturers
amounts to as much as 60,000 pounds a year. At one time it was the very
centre of Scottish life. For three centuries it was the capital of
Scotland. It is still a very busy place, and it amused me much of a
night to watch the big, bare-footed, bare-headed women crowding round the
fine cross in the High Street, which ornaments what I suppose may be
called the Parochial Pump. Close to the town is the church and cave of
St. Kieran, the Apostle of Cantyre, the tutor of St. Columba. At present
the chief boast of Campbeltown is that there were born the late Norman
Macleod and Burns' Highland Mary. When Macleod was a boy the days of
smuggling were not yet over in that part of the world. Here is one of
his stories:--"Once an old woman was being tried before the Sheriff, and
it fell to his painful duty to sentence her. 'I dare say,' he said
uneasily to the culprit, 'it is not often you have fallen into this
fault.' 'No, indeed, shura,' was the reply; 'I hae na made a drap since
yon wee keg I sent yoursel'.'" Let me remark, _en passant_, that my
friend, the Doctor, was born here, and that is proof positive that at
Campbeltown the breed of great men is not yet exhausted. I mention this
to our lady, and she is of the same opinion.

CHAPTER VIII.
K