IN ASSYNT. 141 



delighted at the change. The Highlanders themselves do 

 not try his patience so much as the coy moods of their moun- 

 tains. 



But let us take a different scene. It is eleven o'clock on a 

 balmy July night, and Loch Assynt sleeps far spread below in 

 lustrous beauty, watched by Quinaig on one hand, like a lion 

 couchant, and on the other flanked by dark rock walls, rounded 

 and tufted with bushy trees every here and there, till they give 

 way to heather on the higher altitudes. These crags culminate 

 in Canisp and Suilven, whose massive heads peer over the 

 nearest range of cliffs. A strange amber light diffuses itself 

 everywhere such a light as Poole would paint for the setting 

 of an enchanted land, and Turner might have despaired of ever 

 reproducing in all its copiousness of aerial transparency. The 

 setting sun has flooded the opposite heights with a deep golden 

 glow, which fades to rich saffron, and then to this singularly 

 warm twilight, which is seldom or never seen away from the 

 Northern mountains. A few black cattle and many heaps of 

 peat speck the valley below. Every rocky shelf around is 

 brought into vivid distinctness. The perfect stillness is almost 

 oppressive. No swallows are found here ; no swifts dart 

 screaming overhead as they would in England. The distant 

 rumble and screech of the locomotive is here unknown. Not 

 a murmur from the great world invades the landscape's peace. 

 Only a thin light hum rises and falls in the air, a gnat thirsting 

 for your blood, for here these troublesome insects abound. 

 Fortunately the " clegs " (or still more fell gadflies) have ceased 

 to be aggressive at sundown. You draw out your watch ; it is 

 eleven, but quite light enough to enable a letter to be read. 

 So you linger drinking in draughts of balmy air and mountain 

 beauty. Their summits are now purple, while gloom gathers 

 below, and gradually creeping upwards, displaces the purple 

 tints with cold grey outlines. And now like ghosts of their 

 daylight-selves the mountains stand clear-cut against a starry 



