t wonderful production of nature we ever beheld. It
reminded us of the west front of York or Lincoln cathedral--a
resemblance, perhaps, fanciful in all but the feelings they both
excite--especially when the English minster is seen by moonlight. The
highest point of Staffa at this view is about one hundred feet; in its
centre is the great cave, called Fingal's Cave, stretching up into the
interior of the rock a distance of more than 200 feet. After admiring in
mute astonishment the columnar proportions of the rock, regular as if
chiselled by the hand of art, the passengers entered a small boat, and
sailed under the arch. The boatmen had been brought from Iona, and they
instantly set themselves to light some lanterns, and form torches of old
ropes and tar, with which they completely illuminated the ocean hall,
into which we were ushered.

The complete stillness of the scene, except the low plashing of the
waves; the fitful gleams of light thrown first on the walls and ceiling,
as the men moved to and fro along the side of the stupendous cave; the
appearance of the varied roof, where different stalactites or
petrifactions are visible; the vastness and perfect art or semblance of
art of the whole, altogether formed a scene the most sublime, grand, and
impressive ever witnessed.

The Cathedral of Iona sank into insignificance before this great temple
of nature, reared, as if in mockery of the temples of man, by the
Almighty Power who laid the beams of his chambers on the waters, and who
walketh upon the wings of the wind. Macculloch says that it is with the
morning sun only that the great face of Staffa can be seen in
perfection; as the general surface is undulating and uneven, large
masses of light or shadow are thus produced. We can believe, also, that
the interior of the cave, with its broken pillars and variety of tints,
and with the green sea rolling over a dark red or violet-coloured rock,
must be seen to more advantage in the full light of day. Yet we question
whether we could have been more deeply sensible of the beauty and
grandeur of the scene than we were under the unusual circumstances we
have described. The boatmen sang a Gaelic _joram_ or boat-song in the
cave, striking their oars very violently in time with the music, which
resounded finely through the vault, and was echoed back by roof and
pillar. One of them, also, fired a gun, with the view of producing a
still stronger effect of the same kind. When we had