CHAP. xiii. WILD BULLS OF DUNNET. 181 



House of Castlehill, the blue bituminous flagstone crops 

 out, charged with broken fossil fish. The strata dip at 

 low angles nearly flat. Crossing the sands, with a 

 group of dunes or sandhills on our right, we arrive at 

 Dunnet, at the north-east angle of the bay. . . . The 

 blue slate at Brough, and on to Ham, dips very suddenly. 

 Indeed, all the way to Barrogill, one would think that 

 the bottom of the Pentland Firth had fallen in; the 

 strata are all on end. 



" It is a dull, cold, dreary morning. Strange stories 

 are told of wild men and wild bulls to be encountered 

 amid the grassy links of Dunnet ; but with a fearless 

 step we go on our way in hope, remarking that surely 

 the ocean was once farther inland than where we are 

 treading. We are now across the links without any 

 harm or appearance of evil. By and by we have Loch 

 Haellan on our right, and we hear the ' quack, quack ' of 

 ducks and the startled cry of the snipe. The word is still 

 ' On !' Up the hill, along the hill, and down the hill ; 

 and now we are fairly moving across the Moss of Mey. 



" The clouds have now dispersed. Shall we look at 

 the Aurora, or shut our eyes on Mars, on Venus, or 

 Jupiter, or the Moon ; for they all peep out and bid us 

 good morning! Yonder are the twin lights of the 

 Skerries. The wind has died away ; the sky is serene, 

 and the voice of the sea murmurs plaintively along the 

 shore. Oh ! 'tis worth all the trouble, all the toil, all the 

 fatigue, to have the opportunity of lifting up one's eyes 

 and contemplating the beauty, the grandeur, the sublimity 



of such a scene as this. 



9* 



