ST. KILDA FROM WITHOUT 195 



been brought at last within fifteen miles of the Holy 

 Land of one's longings and then to be turned back. 

 But, happily for most of us, in this world of light and 

 shade, the minor trials of life, at least, commonly bring 

 with them the element of compensation which 



' Gives even affliction a grace, 

 And reconciles man to his lot.' 



To return to London without having caught a 

 glimpse of the Peak of Conagher was a disappoint- 

 ment. But perhaps on the whole it was well. 



As one gets on in life the pleasant illusions of youth 

 which survive become fewer, and it is something to 

 have spared even one of them. 



If the wind had slept for another day, or if it had 

 awakened in any other quarter, St. Kilda would 

 probably have been now for us a hilly island, incon- 

 veniently situated; disfigured by unromantic cottages 

 with corrugated iron roofs; with a population a little 

 spoilt by the visits of excursion steamers; with birds 

 on the cliffs more plentiful even than we had pictured 

 them, but with very little else to distinguish it from 

 many another island more easily to be got at. 



But the wind roused itself to blow freshly from the 

 south-east, the one quarter to which the bay and 

 landing-place are hopelessly exposed, and St. Kilda 

 is still the Garden of the Hesperides of boyish dreams 

 the inaccessible, enchanted island where the reckless 

 fowler let go his rope as he gathered eggs in the 

 recess into which he had swung himself under the 

 overhanging rock half-way down the cliff, and nerved 



