SomE ANCIENT CHAPELS OF KNAPDALE. 53 
Muir’s sketch, “The Ferryhouse,’’ the following description 
of it:— 
“This cross, though not a showy specimen, is interesting 
from being in its form a singular variety of the few departures 
from the ordinary conventional type, which is a narrow pillar 
terminating in a solid girdle or disk into or through which, as 
it were, the arms of the cross are stuck. It is a simple Latin 
cross with the re-entering angles of the intersections rudely 
notched into semi-circles. The pillar stands in the middle of a 
slightly raised causeway of circular form, and measures 7 feet 
A inches in height. Overspreading its eastern face is a series of 
curious sculptures, the greater part in high relief. In the 
uppermost or vertical limb of the cross is St. Michael, winged, 
and trampling on the ‘ Apostate Angel’ in the disguise in which 
he talked over Mother Eve. Under this, and occupying the 
intersection, is a central boss charged, or seeded, as it would be 
termed in heraldic speech, with three minute pellets—betoken- 
ing, very probably, the Trinity in Unity. On each side of the 
boss is a serpent; under each serpent is a dog; and under the 
dogs, and filling the uppermost portion of the shaft, is a priest 
or some other ecclesiastic, whose ears the dogs are worrying, 
while at the same time their chaps are being torn by the serpents. 
In the division next below the priest is a kind of reticulated 
work in moderate relief ; under that are two animals resembling 
leopards, face to face; and, finally, a quantity of scrollings of 
purely ornamental character.”’ 
Curiously the west face of the cross is entirely plain. 
Returning to the shore at Keills Bay, we found that the 
breeze had completely died away, leaving the sound a wide 
glassy expanse of water shimmering in the evening light. Away 
to the south-west the striking conical outlines of the three great 
Paps of Jura, so poetically named the “ Mountain of Gold,’’ 
the “ Mountain of Sounds,’’ and the “ Sacred Mountain,’’ stood 
out clear and distinct against the western sky. 
It was an evening on which to realise the spell and glamour 
of the west, which seems to ever brood most deeply over that 
lonely silent sea, on which, as we drew away from the land, the 
throbbing of the noisy little motor seemed strangely out of place. 
Before us, now coming more clearly into view, lay the 
“magic island’? of the sound, round which and its ancient 
