the waters of the Sound to the shore of the mainland. And, strange to say, a corresponding mass of black rock, in the form of a great but much abraded natural dyke, reappears on the sandy flats of the opposite coast, and bears the name of the Black Rock. In whatever direction we turn the scenery is of the finest, and is undisturbed by any manufacturing chimney or coalpit, though I have heard of a Cockney who wondered “what kind of work can that be on the top of that ’ill?” when he saw the Holy Isle with its nightcap on. It is not easy to leave a sight like this, but time and tide wait for no man, and we have the station below us as constant mentor, and we make the descent for it, paying in passing a visit to the old Castle of Fairlie, which, with the glen in which it stands, all visitors to Fairlie should see. The site is so peculiar that the popular eye has no difficulty in tracing in it the real residence of Hardy Knute, the hero of the well-known beautiful ballad of that name. Whether the story is wholly a fiction seems to be doubted, but it does not follow that it had no foundation in tradition. We reach the station again three hours after leaving it, with a strong desire to do something to make this hilltop better known than it is, for it has only to be seen once to be a joy for ever. Our friend, with the view of helping in this laudable endeavour, suggested the following lines:— When other lips with other lies The guide book’s page shall fill, Be sure you kindly advertise The name of Kaim’s fair hill. In another hour and a half we are singing the praises of Kaim to our home circle. GOATFELL.