ON THE COAST OF ABRAN 113 



we observe that it heightens the effect of loneli- 

 ness. 



Kunning west of the two Cumbraes, and 

 under Largs, where Haco the Norwegian lost 

 his battle against the Scotch seven hundred 

 years ago, we come into the Frith of Clyde. 

 Twenty miles further and we are in that fine 

 centre where the Estuary, the Holy Loch, Loch 

 Long, the Gareloch, and the real mouth of the 

 Clyde, like five great water-ways, converge and 

 meet as in a vast basin. 



We are no sooner in the Clyde itself than 

 the scene changes. We are environed by a low- 

 hung- cloud of fog and smoke. The sun shines 

 over it and on to it, and even casts a gleam on 

 the water near us ; but the wall of mist is 

 impenetrable to the eye, and phantom ships, 

 enormously heightened in size, sail in and out 

 of it with strange effect. We only say one 

 word, and that is enough ' Turner.' 



And now, unfortunately, we must linger at 



i 



