he
mails; and finally, live stock. I remember being struck on the mouth by
a sheep heaved into the boat by the above-mentioned cynic. "Come, come,
that's enough, keep the rest; let us be off," shouted a boatman.
Everybody was wet to the skin: the wind was howling; the women weeping;
and the babies were mixed up with the sheep.

Once clear of the _Fingal_, the adroit ferrymen did their duty well, and
in less than ten minutes we were all landed. A crowd of islanders were
waiting to lift us out. All agreed that it had been a _close shave_.

Such was my introduction to _Pierless Tiree_.

I did not stay long enough in the island to measure brochs, but quite
long enough to experience the good-will and kindliness of the natives.
The houses are solid and substantial, the inhabitants strong and
muscular. Great gales from the Atlantic blow almost continually, sweep
up the sand in clouds, and prevent any trees from taking root. I did not
see much poverty with my own eyes, but the ministers all assured me
there was a great deal. Maize, more than oatmeal, is the cereal used for
porridge. For supplementary information, Dr. Beveridge's admirable and
accurate work may be consulted.

LOCHBUIE IN MULL.

The great straggling island of Mull, so full of scenery, romance, and
song, still awaits its historian. Few, who have ever visited the noble
isle, will refuse to say with Macphail, the bard of Torosay:

"O the island of Mull is an isle of delight
With the wave on the shore and the sun on the height,
And the breeze on the hills and the blast on the Bens,
And the old green woods and the old grassy glens."

The gem of the island is undoubtedly the haven of Lochbuie, one of the
choicest nooks in insular Scotland. The modern mansion, which is but a
step or two from the well-preserved castle of olden times, is quite near
the shore, and looks straight south over the Atlantic to the island of
Colonsay. The entire surroundings are a delight to the eye: great
towering mountains behind, the sea in front, and in the space between,
green lawns, rocks, gorse, and many-tinted garden-plots.

The MacLaines of Lochbuie trace their descent from the great Gillean of
the Battle-axe, a redoubtable warrior who flourished his weapon to some
purpose in the reign of Alexander III. But the most notorious of all
the MacLaines is _Ewen of the Little Head_, who died in battle, and
thereafter assumed the role of family ghost. Before the death