ay's
journey in a rudely appointed cattle boat, which twice a week left Oban
at noon, carrying a few passengers, and reached at nightfall the rude
pier of Salen, about nine miles from the house. To my unaccustomed eyes
the descent from the sleeping car at Oban, with the vision which greeted
them of sea and heathery mountain, was like walking into the Waverley
Novels. As I followed a barrow of luggage to the pier from which the
steamer started, I expected to see Fergus MacIvors everywhere. This
expectation was not altogether fulfilled; but at last, when the pier was
reached, I knew not which thrilled me most--the smallness and rudeness
of the vessel to which I was about to commit myself or the majesty of a
kilted being who so bristled with daggers that even Fergus MacIvor might
have been afraid of him. Not till later did I learn that the name of
this apparition was Jones; but even if I had known it then, no resulting
disillusion could have marred the adventurous romance of the voyage
which was now awaiting me.

It was a voyage of astonishing and, to me, wholly novel beauty. The
islands which we passed, or at which we stopped, wore all the colors of
all the grape clusters of the world, until these were dimmed by slowly
approaching twilight, when we found ourselves at rest in the harbor of
Tobermory in Mull. We waited there for more than an hour, while
leisurely boats floated out to us, laden with sheep and cattle, which
were gradually got on board in exchange for some other cargo. Then, with
hardly a ripple, our vessel was again in motion, its bows pointing to
the mouth of Loch Salen opposite. By and by, in the dimness of the
translucent evening, our vessel stopped once more--I could not tell why
or wherefore, till a splash of oars was heard and some bargelike craft
was decipherable emerging out of the gloom to meet us. Into this, as
though in a dream, a number of sheep were lowered; and we, resuming our
course, found ourselves at last approaching a small rocky protrusion, on
which a lantern glimmered, and which proved to be Salen pier.

Gallic accents reached us, mixed with some words of English. With the
aid of adroit but hardly distinguishable figures, I found myself
stumbling over the boulders of which the pier was constructed, and
realized that a battered wagonette, called "the machine," was awaiting
me. A long drive among masses of mountain followed. At last a gleam of
waters was once again discernible. The road, r