356 FIELD AND FERN. 



to an Argyleshire pier ; or perhaps we merely stop 

 in the offing, and a boat is sent off to us. An old 

 Corunna man in one of them is quite a god-send 

 in the dulness. He is at once invited down to the 

 principal cabin to show his medal, and gets a second 

 glass on the strength of his own, as well as Sir 

 John Moore's memory. Occasionally we skirt the 

 open Atlantic, with the usual result ; but when the 

 evening is far spent, we are land-locked close by 

 Isle Ornsay, among the very intricate navigation, and 

 wait patiently for the moon to rise. Its beams light 

 up the shadowy oriel of the U. P. church, as we 

 scramble out of the boat at Portree ; but it takes 

 many a thundering knock to rouse the inn. The 

 cattle show has come off the day before ; and the 

 convener, vice-convener, and all the rest of them, are 

 snoring in their dreams. 



Portree is not lively by daylight. The principal 

 shop seems to unite castor-oil, senna, and Harvey's 

 sauce, with "two practical discourses/' and photo- 

 graphs of the man in shoe-buckles who made them. 

 There are cakes elsewhere, of a texture which goes 

 far to prove that Young Portree must have the sto- 

 mach of a cock. The only visible remnants of the 

 cattle show are a few loose hurdles in a meadow ; 

 and we find the pick of the Duntulm Highlanders and 

 Cheviot shearlings, all with first-prize cards on their 

 heads, browsing near Kingsburgh Bridge in the mid- 

 dle of their twenty-mile walk. The milestones point 

 to no towns, but only to inns j and there is a sort of 



