350 A FARMER'S YEAR 



Leaving the tomb of the McLeans — all that remains to them of 

 the island which they ruled for generations — we walked back to 

 the Castle by the seashore, observing the ways of the seabirds as we 

 went, and especially those of an old heron, who stood upon a rock 

 looking out for little fishes until the tide rose to the height of his 

 stomach and forced him to move on. By the way, on the top of 

 the grass knolls in this part of the island are most curious little 

 knobs of turf, almost bottle- or rather breast-shaped, and ending 

 in a point. The suggestion is that these knobs are formed by 

 the droppings of birds ; but when I cut one off with my spud and 

 examined it, I found that the peat of which it was composed is 

 of the same character as that of the mound beneath. This seems 

 to negative the bird-dropping idea, but what else can have caused 

 the lumps is to me a mystery. 



In the afternoon we accompanied our host to the Green 

 Mountain to examine a mound which may have been a tumulus. 

 Certainly it is placed in just such a spot as a sea-rover with taste 

 would have chosen for his grave — elevated, airy, and commanding 

 a magnificent view of the ocean, that beats incessantly on the 

 gneiss rocks below, flying about and above them in clouds of 

 ghstening foam. Indeed, so choice a situation would commend 

 itself to many even in these latter days ; at least, did I dwell in 

 Coll, it would commend itself to me. 



September 20. — Yesterday we were shooting at Arinagaur and 

 Gallanach. The day was beautiful, but rain with a high wind 

 came on as we turned homewards. It was strange, in the 

 gathering gloom, to see the plover borne past us on the gale, utter- 

 ing their plaintive cries, and, now white, now black, as the breeze 

 tossed them, looking for all the world like great wind-swept 

 aspen leaves. I do not know the reason, but beneath that drear and 

 sodden sky they seemed to add a wild touch to the landscape and 

 to accentuate its loneliness. 



As we passed Arinagaur I admired the dressed granite of which 

 a chapel there is built, but Lees told me that this granite is very 



