CHAP. xiv. LOCH MORE. 197 



matter in hand, for which he cannot account. And yet 

 how often men do so, and how often they find reason to 

 repent ! 



" The ill thief blaw yon carle south, 

 An' never snuff be near his drouth ; 

 He tauld mysel' by word o' mouth, 



The strath was better ; 

 I lippened to the loon in trouth, 



And was his debtor. 



" I went down the strath by the river side ' strecht 

 doon,' in direct opposition to my better judgment. 

 Philosophically musing in mud and mire, I could see 

 that Loch More was once much larger than it is now. 

 The river is fast filling it up with siliceous sand, clay, 

 and peat mud. I walked over a very large piece of 

 alluvium, wrested slowly and in detail from the bed of 

 Loch More by the stream flowing into it. Loch More * 

 will one day become Loch Little, and finally disappear. 

 Such are the changes taking place on the earth under 

 our very eyes ! 



" I had nearly rounded the loch, and was congratulat- 

 ing myself on my expeditious dispatch, when all at once 

 I was startled by a deep broad stream emptying itself 

 into the loch ! To cross it was impossible ; to turn back 

 was maddening. Oh, the reverend-looking man thresh- 

 ing bere ! ' Oh, the confounded scoundrel ! ' said I loud 

 out. But ' forgive us our debts,' I added, and let us 

 begin anew. 



" I turned back, and had to walk and jump over 



* More or Molir, Gaelic for big or large. 

 10 



