e huntsman and hound "is in the desert no more"; but as "the sons of
the feeble" pass along, they see, as did Fingal at the tomb of Ryno,
"how peaceful lies the stone of him who was the first at the chase!"

But we may not pause to muse upon Dunolly, with its dreams of other
days. As we sweep round the base of the promontory, a scene bursts on
our view so wildly grand that any single feature of the imposing
landscape shrinks abashed and owns its insignificance. We are making
direct for the entrance to the Sound of Mull; but behind and to the
north of us is stretched out a panorama of rock and hill and deeply
indented coast of incomparable grandeur. To the left of us rise the
rugged and desolate shores of Mull, while far away to the northeast
extends the lofty range of dark, resounding Morven,--the prospect in
that direction terminated and crowned by the huge and precipitous
Cruachan Ben, while in a more northerly direction the Adnamurchan Hills
shut in our horizon.

And when, at length, the eye is satisfied with gazing on the prospect in
its entirety, one after another, the moss-grown fortresses and other
hoary relics of ancient Erse architecture claim our reverent attention;
for the Hebridean chieftains, an amphibious race, almost invariably
chose the extreme verge of ocean-precipice for the site of their
fortresses, thus securing facilities for friendly communication, and
defence against the attacks of hostile clans. Dunstaffnage, though left
some distance to our right, is still sufficiently in view for us to
discern its regal proportions. On the opposite shore, and farther up the
coast, glimpses may be had here and there of many a solitary tower,

"that, steep and gray,
Like falcon-nest, o'erhangs the bay."

And as Imagination travels on, she sees each misty eminence crowned with
its airy castle, its ancient beacon,--

"Each on its own dark cape reclined,
And listening to its own wild wind,
From where Mingarry, sternly placed,
O'erawes the woodland and the waste,
To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging
Of Connal with his rocks engaging."

But that we are bound to the steamer's track, we should be continually
darting off our course to explore the deep indentations of island and
coast, many of which are the entrances to romantic inland lochs. Could
we spread white sails to the winds of Morven, and linger at pleasure in
this picturesque region, we should leave no haun