166 ON GOATFELL. [CHAP. iv. 



the top of Goatfell that it was either beautiful, picturesque, 

 or sublime, for it is grand I might say a mysterious com- 

 bination of all these qualities ; for it cannot be contem- 

 plated without a certain feeling of awe gradually becoming 

 incidental to the situation. We obtain, first of all, in the 

 distance, a faint and dreamlike view of mountains in Ireland, 

 away, however, over a far expanse of sea. Nearer at hand, 

 looking another way, the giant crag of Ailsa rises perpendi- 

 cular from the water, and we can almost hear the screaming 

 of the myriads of wild fowl which float over it like a cloud. 

 Then at our feet lie in rich profusion the green islands of the 

 Clyde Bute and the Cumbraes close at hand ; Argyle, with 

 its lovely bays of glassy water, farther away ; and more 

 distant still, the cragged peaks of Skye. Opening up from 

 all parts of the river, which glitters brilliantly in the sun, 

 there may be discovered glimpses of lovely scenery hill-tops 

 melting into clouds, and lofty mountains so abundantly 

 clothed with wood that the very branches dip into the 

 water. Here and there, distance no doubt lending enchant- 

 ment to the view, we can see deep glens and gloomy ravines, 

 with trickling brooks and a rare wealth of foliage, penetrated 

 ever and anon by flashing sunbeams that light up the picture 

 for a moment and then leave it darker and grander than 

 before. Pastoral hill-sides too we can see covered with kine ; 

 while every here and there steamboats dot the water and 

 show their hazy trail of smoke. Lochfyne, covered with tiny 

 skiffs, is in view, the waters yielding up their wealth of nourish- 

 ment to the industrious fisherman. There too are the wind- 

 ing Kyles of Bute, as much worthy of being immortalised in 

 verse as the well-sung Isles of Greece. The eye loves to 

 linger on the soft-looking waters of the inland seas ; and again 

 and again we gaze upon the Cobbler as he keeps watch over the 

 waters of Loch Long, or scan the placid expanse of Lochfyne. 

 The late Miss Catharine Sinclair very happily said 



