ns--except the nave, but recently
restored--was originally built in the Eleventh Century. Weird and
strange indeed is the array of memorials rudely cut from Scotch granite
that mark the resting places of the chiefs of many forgotten clans,
while a much higher degree of art is shown in the regular and even
delicate designs traced on the numerous old crosses still standing. In
olden days Iona was counted sacred ground after the landing of St.
Columba in 563, and its fame even extended to Sweden and Denmark, whose
kings at one time were brought here for interment. We were fortunate in
having a fine day, the sky being clear and the sea perfectly smooth. We
were thus enabled to make landing at both isles, a thing that is often
impossible on account of the weather. This circular trip--for the return
is made by the Sound of Mull--is a remarkably beautiful one, the steamer
winding in and out through the straits among the islands and between
shores wild and broken, though always picturesque and often impressive.
Many of the hills are crowned with ruined fortresses and occasionally an
imposing modern summer residence is to be seen. Competent judges declare
that provided the weather is fine no more delightful short excursion by
steamer can be made on the British coast than the one just described.
Three miles from Oban lies Dunstafnage Castle, a royal residence of the
Pictish kings, bearing the marks of extreme antiquity. It occupies a
commanding position on a point of land extending far into the sea and
almost surrounded by water at high tide. We visited it in the fading
twilight, and a lonelier, more ghostly place it would be hard to
imagine. From this old castle was taken the stone of destiny upon which
the Pictish kings were crowned, but which is now the support of the
coronation chair in Westminster Abbey. A place so rich in romantic
legend could not be expected to escape the knowledge of the Wizard of
the North and Scott made more than one visit to this solitary ruin. As a
result the story of Dunstafnage has been woven into the "Legend of
Montrose" as "Ardenvohr" and the description may be easily recognized by
any one who visits the old castle.

Oban is modern, a place of many and excellent hotels fronting on the
bay. So far, only a small per cent of its visitors are Americans, and
the indifferent roads leading to the town discourage the motorist. Had
we adhered to the route outlined for us by the Motor Union Secretary, we
sh