The Spell of Scotland

b

g about its harbour, between confining water and hill. An embankment holds it in, and at twilight the scimeter drawn from the scabbard of night flashes with light, artificial, but as wonderful at Oban as at Monte Carlo. One is content to be, at Oban. Quite certainly Oban has cente

must have come hither to claim it or dispute possession of it in the beginning of time. Of course the Stewarts came out of this Island West! But, either because one has made a round circle of S

f ever the history of Scotland is set forth as pageant-I do not know that this ha

oaches from the near country, railroads from the east and north, bring the world to Oban. And from Oban boats move out on the Firth of Lorne and the Sound of Mull and through the broken waters of the Hebrides, out into the unbroken waters of the At

ents, steamers lying at their ease after the day's work, looking, yes, like pirates, retired pirates, rakish, with tapering spars and brave red funnels, the soft plash of oars out on the bay and the moving lights of the r

and story combine in more continuous lure. Easy and attainable is Dunolly Castle, much more attainable than it was in the old days when the Lord of the Isles made his permanent seat here, and defied the world and the king; more attainable now than when Scott came this way seeking "copy" and "colour" and declar

ue a castle as there is in the world-and we are in a land of castles picturesquely set. The walls above the waters lift themselves in lofty height, and promise to remain, with their great thickness presented to the consuming world. It is still towered for strength and scope, and looks its part of royal residence. Here was found

eight, at these bastions, to look over this western world and decide that it was good and should be added to his Scottish world. Across Loch Linnhe he could see the bens of Morven and

far before that great day to see the coast "strewn with the ruined dream of Spain." And he

the world, and when the sun is about to sink behind Ben More. Pulpit Hill is a wooded steep bluff to the east of Oban, at its foot parklike drives and forest-embowered cottages with

ated. Or one may look over the land and "soothly swear was never yet a scene so fair." Or, to borrow

ss the bay, bathing the far land in tender lilac, the sea in steely blue, while Kerrera lies in patches of dark and light, a farmhouse sharp against a rose mist that rises in shallow places and quickly fades, leaving all the world purple in hue. Shepherd lads and shepherd dogs may be seen at

URN C

ble in a day, and yet a night in Glencoe is almost imperative if one would be played

ying against the farther mountain; because of Ardchonnel Castle, ivy covered, and "it's a far cry to Loch Awe"; because of Fraoch-Eilean (isle of heather) which is the island of Ossian'

s generation knows him, hardly as a name. But when I was young, collegiately young, Hamerton was an authority on life and art, and a preceptor of be

ike those on the Cut bank or the Piegan trails in Glacier Park, yet not quite so high. I did not climb Ben Cruachan to look on the Atlantic-but I have not made my last journey to Scotland. On foot and alone, I threaded "the dark pass of Brandir," and felt in my blood and bone that something in me ancestral had been there before. Perhaps we inherit w

r Awe. "You will not find a scene more impressive than the Brandir Pass, where the black narrowing water moves noisel

gravestones, for islands in the far days were the only safe places, safe for the dead as for the living; war and ravage would pass them by. Throughout this western

an to advantage, even as one

dark purple-gray. Its under edge is sharply smoothed into a clearly-cut curve by the wind; the upper edge floats and melts away gradually in the pale green air. The cloud is shaped rather like a dolphin with its tail hidden behind the hill. The sunlight on all the hill, but especially towards the summit, has turned from mere warm light to a delicat

erent in July from what he saw it in December, but equal in ma

onely and most terrible glen. There is such a thing as being haunted,

Etive, sparkling in the sun. The second wide opening is terrible as massacre, not green, very stern, and wild as Scottish nature, human or not, can become. Even the little clachan of the Macdonalds seems not

e from the earth even yet, to bear witness against the assassins who gave the name of Glen Coe such power over the hearts of men. For so long as history shall be read, and treachery hated, that name, Glen Coe, shall thrill m

declared Glencoe lovely and not terrible. No doubt the g

h to drink a glass here, and we doubted not he had read of the trials of Dorothy Wordsworth, sheets that must be dried for hours before the beds could be made, the one egg for breakfast, and-could we have found that china cup that Dorothy forgot?

o

rine excelling pilgrimage to Iona. And all the pilg

these, as of those, has had its history, and here one ponders that history, perhaps tries to remember it, or, tries to evoke it. Dunolly which we visited in the day's dr

hills begin to stand boldly forth, for the gray mists of the morning are rising. It is to be a fine day, which here because of its exception means a brilliant sun-stricken day, and all things clear as geography. But,

a turret's

steep and ba

ark Mull! thy

ng tides, wit

h hills from M

CAS

the Castle of Ardtornish, and Aros a little farther on, and Kinlochalive at the top of the

the Lord, the grandeur of the islands, the splendour of those thi

d go far into the backward. Perhaps traversing Mull as did McLeod of Dare when he hunted so royally-and in such a moonstruck way; or David Balfour when he was shipwrecked and walked through Mull; or the Pennells when t

h far and away there are islands, black lines thickening here and there the hori

ic grandeur, the sufficing bigness of these names, and the faith, and the limitations back of them; as though there should never be a gre

TO FING

ple-from Oberlin-speak the name. "Col! So that is Col!" they said to each other, "so that is Col off

ld have Staffa for one's self. But there are always fellow travelers, there is no inn, no habitation here, not even a shepherd's shieling, visible from the water. Th

ith dark basaltic columns lifted in marvelous regularit

elf it seeme

o her Maker

it has done since the time Staffa began, and since Mendelssohn, a mighty organ surge, like the "Overture to Fingal's Cave," and yet, more than that. To be here alone, to be the shepherd of S

sh, and Inchkenneth on Mull and Skerryvore, "the noblest of all deep sea light," a mere speck on the far Atlantic-what vigils the

s Duncan

to Col

rehouse of his

ian of th

ould have doubted, and sent us wandering from pillar to post of royal burial

all a place, yet a beautiful island withal, and with its cathedral, now al

while we have the advantage of having come after him to Iona. And yet, to Columba, valiant adventuring saint, Iona n

n, who had taken this life to themselves. While being practical in that they sold exquisite wares, in silver and gold and brass and bronze, each article, large or little, carrying some Ionian insignia, still they must have a very beautiful life, ever making things of

d its simple cotters, perhaps a little more sophisticated than those of other western islands because of their continuing contact with a curious world; and yet these men and women and serious children live here the

the "merry men" ran their violent ways on the shore of Mull, there are

heir sunward side; the Dutchman's Cap with its long brim and conical center, and Lunga also like a cap with a shorter brim and a higher peak in front, becoming a trifle blue. And then Col and Tiree lying like a pale strip on the far horizon; while far away in the north the mountains

on the far northern Shetlands, there are some dark somber faces remaining over f

und, on his little island, and the great sea, and the great world beyond. No doubt he wished he might live longer and labour farther. St. Columba who carried the Gospel and his gentle Irish gospel from the sixth century of Ireland into the far N

aving the island world behind him

d it be to me to

innacle

might o

e of th

r the song of th

of ha

the thunder of t

the r

work without

ld be de

king dulse fr

es fis

ross pleasant or perilous seas. The very rock on which Columba landed, the traveler seeking the subtle transubstantiation from the past may stand on. And there

IONA AND ST.

of St. Oran, St. Martin's and the Maclean, the only two left out of nearly four hundred, cannot date much farther back than this, or than "gentle Duncan." There is a long line of graves, each with its aged granite slab, of the kings, No

rose. If the generations coming six hundred years after us are to know of St. Columba, and not to reproach us for our co?peration with time the vandal, these roofs, this protection, must be afforded. Still, the gate is so

out and on the capitals, with the early grace of the later Italians; quite worth careful preserving. And here is the altar, and I doubt not at this very spot-church shrines continue in this steadfast Scotland-Columba knelt before the God whose worship he had brought over the seas, and was to carry still

nd peace on the deep of the Atlantic; tender dawns, still high noons, twilights of soft visible gray th

the stern sad faces of these far away folk as they listened to a very simple sermon of an old simple story. I remembered that at Earraid, Robert Louis Stevenson had been interested in the religious services hel

ook as he saw it, for except for the roadway it looked as though I were the firs

ong of a lad

ld that

oul he sai

e sea t

stern, Rum

he starb

uth glowed

that gl

ain all tha

he sun th

eyes, give

he lad th