30 THE FERNS OP SUTHERLAND AND ROSS. 



of the parish, I started on Monday, 11th. August, to walk on foot a 

 distance of thirteen miles. On landing on the opposite side of the Kyle 

 of Durness, I espied some Ferns growing in the cliffs of the rocks. They 

 proved to be Asplenium adiantum-nigrum, A. trichomanes, Polypodium 

 phegopteris, and others of a more common kind. We were now fairly on 

 our road; but, somewhat to our dismay, the clouds, which, during the 

 morning, had hung in threatening aspect towards the east, began to give 

 forth their contents in no ordinary quantities — in real Highland drops — 

 and the wind to come in fitful gusts, driving the rain before it like 

 snow-drift. We consoled ourselves with the fine view of the bay, and 

 the thought that all would soon be over; but it only grew more and 

 more stormy. It would be like cowards to turn, and on we held — like 

 idiots, some may say. 



The road for the whole distance is very dreary and ugly. The hills 

 towards the south have in general a tame, rounded appearance, softened 

 by the distance of several miles from the road. The intervening space is 

 somewhat uneven, and mostly of a peaty nature, covered with heath and 

 bent, a loch or two only breaking the dreariness of the scene. On the 

 north side the ground is, for the most part, hilly, and shuts out the 

 view of the sea, except at a part about five miles from the Cape, where 

 the road rounds the shoulder of a hill, and comes in sight of the ocean. 

 On we trudged, with the rain hissing and pelting against our drenched 

 persons, now and then casting a look behind us, to examine the face of 

 the sky. A wild sight it was! Landward, the hills were covered with 

 a dark sort of haze; for about ten degrees above the horizon extended a 

 space of a dun dirty white; above that the clouds were piled on cloud, 

 blacker and ever blacker; sea-ward, the sky and water seemed to meet; mass 

 after mass rose, and chased each other up the heavens in deep blackening 

 folds, till the whole was inky black. 



" ponto nox incubat atra." 



In our evil plight, we beguiled the time by speaking of "the light of 

 other days," and sometimes launching forth on hope's wings to a sunny 

 future. Things often go by contrast; we were in rain, and mist, and 

 cloud — why should not the imagination run wild in sunny fields? Mine 

 did so, and I began "biggin' castles in the air," to the forgetting of the 

 storm. At last we got to the Lighthouse, "like to eat the wind for 

 hunger." Most hospitably were we entertained by Mr. and Mrs. Ewing, 

 and most heartily did we enjoy our meal. A long road, a mountain air, 

 and a merry heart make an empty stomach, and hunger makes the sweetest 

 "kitchen." 



After viewing the Lighthouse, we stepped over the wall that surrounds 



