24 FRESH FIELDS 



up before me; a pair of ringed ousels took a hasty 

 glance at me from behind a rock; sheep and lambs, 

 the latter white and conspicuous beside their dingy 

 and all but invisible dams, were scattered here and 

 there ; the wheat-ear uncovered its white rump as it 

 flitted from rock to rock, and the mountain pipit 

 displayed its larklike tail. No sound of wind in 

 the trees; there were no trees, no seared branches 

 and trunks that so enhance and set off the wildness 

 of our mountain-tops. On the summit the wind 

 whistled around the outcropping rocks and hummed 

 among the heather, but the great mountain did not 

 purr or roar like one covered with forests. 



I lingered for an hour or more, and gazed upon 

 the stretch of mountain and vale about me. The 

 summit of Ben Lomond, eight or ten miles to the 

 west, rose a few hundred feet above me. On four 

 peaks I could see snow or miniature glaciers. Only 

 four or five houses, mostly humble shepherd dwell- 

 ings, were visible in that wide circuit. The sun 

 shone out at intervals; the driving clouds floated 

 low, their keels scraping the rocks of some of the 

 higher summits. The atmosphere was filled with 

 a curious white film, like water tinged with milk, 

 an effect only produced at home by a fine mist. 

 "A certain tameness in the view, after all," I 

 recorded in my note-book on the spot, "perhaps 

 because of the trim and grassy character of the 

 mountain; not solemn and impressive; no sense of 

 age or power. The rock crops out everywhere, but 

 it can hardly look you in the face ; it is crumbling 



