ON THE COAST OF AERAN 59 



beautiful that the heart rises to meet it, as it 

 were, with a fellowship of joy. 



We take our long journey leisurely, and by 

 the time we have crossed the summit and begin 

 the descent towards Chalmadale the hot, blue 

 noon is over us. It is really hot one of the 

 few days of the year of which this could be 

 said, and we make a protracted halt at what is 

 called the Witches' Bridge. I have not been 

 able to find any legend attached to the locality, 

 but I suppose it must be a place where some 

 belated shepherd, hurrying down from the dark 

 moorland, fancied that the witches in pursuit of 

 him were cut off, as in ' Tarn o'Shanter,' by the 

 running water. It looks no place for a cold, 

 northern witch or fiend now rather a haunt 

 for the happy naiad and the gamesome faun. 



The stream at this bridge comes down a 

 little scaur in the hillside. The water is clear 

 and sparkling, and the banks are covered with 

 soft cushions of moss and heather ; so here we 



