168 ODD HOURS WITH NATURE 



the whole character of the Gael. Then come the 

 midges. In May there are none. About the 

 end of the second week in June they appear in 

 meagre companies. A week later they occupy 

 the evening air in battalions. During July their 

 armies grow in strength, and in August, particularly 

 in districts where there is much swampy ground, the 

 usual formula for atmospheric air becomes utterly 

 inadequate, and must be supplemented by a plus 

 midge, for they become one of its constituents. 

 They settle upon the exposed parts of the human 

 person in hundreds. Their mere crawling over the 

 face and neck is an intolerable misery to most 

 people, but crawling is the least of their offences. 

 It is a mere preliminary to a bite, which, consider- 

 ing its minuteness, is astonishingly irritating. All 

 suffer under it, repeated as it may be many hun- 

 dreds of times, and some acquire bloated and 

 swollen countenances as the result of it. 



In size this biting midge of the Highlands is 

 one of the most insignificant of insects. A tenth 

 of an inch is rather more than its extreme length, 

 and it takes good eyes to see the fine thread-like 

 body of an unfed specimen between the relatively 

 broad wings. The common dancing midge with 

 which the Lowlander is familiar is a huge giant 

 compared with it. But the one is a good-natured 

 and harmless giant, and the other a virulent and 

 poisonous pigmy. The dancing midge cannot bite, 

 because it has not the means. Those of the 

 minute biting midge are amazingly efficient. Just 

 consider what they can do. In size the midge 

 is to a man what a man is to Ben Nevis. The 



