THE FERNS OP SUTHERLAND AND ROSS. 77 



"For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 

 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 

 And said as plain as whisper in the ear, 

 The place is haunted." 



The next day we rode back to Stanley harbour, and the following 

 morning we hove up our anchor and steamed slowly out. We were accom- 

 panied as far as the lighthouse by the governor and several of the officials. 

 As soon as their boats were clear of the ship, the order was given to set 

 sail, and put on full steam. I can even now remember the pleasurable 

 emotions I experienced at that moment. There are some events in our 

 lives which, although of trivial import, remain impressed upon the memory 

 as long as reason holds its seat. Such a one was this. 



The sailors have brought the topsail haulyards to the capstan, round 

 which they cluster, like bees, seeming to sing with more than usual spirit, 

 that famous chorus of "Cheerily men!" familiar to all who go down to the 

 sea in ships, keeping time to the sharp click of the windlass. Then as 

 the ponderous } 7 ard slowly rises, and the heavy folds of the topsail swell 

 out to the breeze, we mutter to ourselves these glorious words — homeward 

 bound, homeward bound. Ah! what a world of thick-coming fancies crowd 

 upon us now. What wishes, hopes, and fears, do these words suggest. 

 Visions of the past, visions of the future, of the days before we left the 

 shores of England, and of those scenes we hope soon to revisit; and far 

 above all, the pleasing anticipation of seeing again the friends from whom 

 we have been so long parted. What if at that moment a true mission 

 could have shewn us, as in a glass, our own anxious faces, as we eagerly 

 perused the letters awaiting our arrival at Liverpool, or the sickening 

 sensation that came over us as we laid them aside; for they told us how 

 some were sick even unto death, and others had fallen asleep. 



Thus musing we cast our eyes towards the sterile shores we have quitted, 

 and nothing remains but a low misty outline, hardly to be distinguished 

 from the heavy bank of clouds which hangs over it. We left the Falkland 

 Islands without regret. 



A PEEP AT THE 

 FERNS, ETC., OF SUTHERLAND AND ROSS. 



BY W. 

 ( Continued from page 32. j 



My stay at Durness was now over, and I set sail for Dingue, on board 

 a highland pony, on Friday, August 16th. The road winds along the 

 sea-coast for several miles, and the country presents much the same ap- 

 pearance as that round Durine. Towards Loch Eribol the rocks in a 



VOL. VII. M 



