er only in her
festive and recreative capacity. And, after all, who knows but this
scheme of touching at Tobermory originated in the design to accommodate
us with the lovely view which is presented by the picturesque,
straggling town, its terraced walks, its green copses, and its
mountainous background and inclosure, which combine to form the
landscape that greets us as we enter the little bay?

II.

We leave Tobermory and the shelter of the Sound almost simultaneously;
and now, as we emerge into open ocean, the long wave of the Atlantic, on
which the steamer is rolling, no less than the grand ocean prospect,
unbroken, except by the numerous small islands among which our course
lies, betrays the fact that we are getting out to sea. We have passed
the westernmost extremity of the main land, and are outside of and
beyond the great island whose circuit we are making. The romantic and
legendary character of the scenery has now given place to the sublime;
and, the attention no longer diverted by a succession of objects close
at hand, we can give ourselves uninterruptedly to the contemplation of
Nature in her grandeur. The chief objects of our voyage already dawning
upon us. As we pass the Point of Callioch, a stormy headland on the
northeastern shore of Mull, we share the experience of the poet
Campbell, who, living for some months in his youth as a tutor at Sunipol
House, just in this neighborhood, wrote to a friend, "The Point of
Callioch commands a magnificent prospect of thirteen Hebrid islands,
among which are Staffa and Icolmkill, which I visited with enthusiasm."
Thus we have the poet's warrant, as well as that of travellers and sages
of many centuries, for the enthusiasm with which we had embarked on an
excursion, the principal objects of which were Staffa and its far-famed
Fingal's Cave, and Icolmkill, otherwise the sacred island of Iona.

But these objects of engrossing interest are still far off in the
distance. Staffa, the smaller and nearer of the two, presents but an
unimposing front from the quarter by which we approach, being oval in
form, low, and with a gently undulating surface, in which respect it
does not differ materially, except in its dimensions, from the inferior
islands among which we are steering our course, and which, cold, bald,
and of a monotonous and desolate uniformity, betray their near
relationship to the conical, heather-covered hills of the Highlands. It
almost seems, indeed, as if th