Rudha na tiuamha 



watched her drawing from the various hill plants the dyes 

 which they hold; the yellow from the bog myrtle, or from 

 the foxglove, the black from the young alder shoots or 

 from the elder twigs, the green from the heather, the brown 

 from the crotal a stone-loving lichen and have marvelled at 

 her skill. 



It is in early summer, in fine weather, that the Head- 

 land of the Caves gives a view of unsurpassed beauty to 

 those who can penetrate thus far. One such day, when I 

 lay on the hilltop above the headland, will linger long in 

 the mind's eye. 



In the morning heavy thunder-clouds hung low on the 

 hills, and not the faintest breeze stirred the heather, but 

 towards noon the sky brightened and the air was of a clear- 

 ness I have never, I think, previously known. 



From the croft my way lay up the heather-clad hill- 

 side. Above me buzzards soared, their plumage glinting 

 in the sunlight, and ravens passed with husky croak. Be- 

 neath me lay Loch Scridain, its waters ruffled by the 

 gentlest of sea breezes and, at its entrance, the sands of 

 lona lying white in the light of the sun. The hill-top is 

 not high it stands less than 1,500 feet above sea-level yet 

 I do not think that it has ever been my good fortune to 

 be favoured with so extensive a view as during this day when 

 summer was yet young, and the scent of hill plants was 

 everywhere. 



Westwards there lay, as it were at my feet, many 

 islands set in the sun-flooded sea. Tiree, with its white 

 sands shining, and almost joining it, rocky Coll. Then 

 away beyond them stood the distant sentinel islands of Barra 

 and South Uist. More to the south I saw clearly the 

 granite-built lighthouse of Skerryvore a needle-like object 

 of white, set in the midst of a great waste of waters, and 

 even beyond it, and near foriy miles from me, I could make 

 out, through the glass, herring drifters rising and falling 

 on the swell, which, with the exception of a day or 



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