ve been only three
incumbents in it during the last hundred and thirty years, himself being
the third, with twenty-six years' ministry to his credit so far. These
facts procured him an extraordinary reception in America, where he spent
a holiday recently. The Americans, with whom change is the permanent
element, looked with amazement on a minister who came from a parish with
such a record. They thronged round his hotel to get shaking hands with
him, while he blushed to think that homage was being paid to the
longevity of his predecessors. It is no treat to be a lion in Maine.

The visitor to Drimnin should return to Oban by driving to Lochaline,
where there is a pier. A mere glance up that inlet of Lochaline is
sufficient to prove the unerring accuracy of Sir Walter's description:
"Fair Lochaline's woodland shore." Scott had a marvellous eye for
scenery, and having once seen a locality, could describe it better than
a native could do who had lived in the neighbourhood from youth
upwards.[19]

[19] I may here refer to a pleasant three hours spent in rowing
on Lochaline in the company of Mr. Hugh Macintyre, an old
gentleman full of Scott and well versed in the lore of the
locality. He was a policeman in Glasgow for thirty-five years
(latterly as guardian of the Kelvingrove Picture Gallery), and
now, in the enjoyment of good health and a pension, spends his
time reading and doing good in his native district. Mr.
Macintyre's earliest recollection is of his father being evicted
from a small holding, at the head of the loch, in the "forties."

Tennyson and Palgrave were visitors at Ardtornish, as Mr. Lang
tells us, but made no special impression on the natives, who
styled them respectively _Tinman_ and _Pancake_.

CRAIGNISH.

At Craignish (two miles _or so_ from Ardfern, next pier to Luing on the
way from Crinan to Oban) I was astonished to find what I think is unique
in Scotland, an old clergyman, born in 1824, still, without any aid
whatever, performing all the duties of a parish minister in one of the
wildest parts of Argyllshire. I refer to the Rev. Mr. M'Michael, who was
chairman at the lecture. The old gentleman, who is remarkably hale in
body and never melancholy at meal-time (as he slyly puts it), is prone
to speak by preference of the events of "auld lang syne." He gave me a
most vivid account of Professor John Wilson (whom, as I do not now live
in Paisley, I ma