252 WHAT I HAVE SEEN WHILE FISHING 



is very, very low, he will be off up the Glen to the 

 Elm Tree, or to the Pulpit where the water is said 

 to be as deep as in any pool between here and 

 Perth. But, be the water high or low, we will go 

 upwards to-day that I may show you the Pulpit. 

 Have with you, ready to hand, a few pence to give 

 in response to the appeal of the women gipsies 

 whom we are likely to meet. You will get in 

 return for each a smile and a curtsy, and if that 

 does not satisfy you take a look at their men ; 

 notice their scornful unconsciousness of what is 

 transpiring under their uplifted noses. 



On seeing the Pulpit Pool you cannot help but 

 wonder how many ages must have passed since 

 first the river ran the course provided for it at 

 the last great upheaval. You can easily see how 

 changed it is from what it must have been, and you 

 ask yourself what can have excavated the narrow 

 channels to such a depth through solid rock. The 

 sides look as though they had been pared by some 

 huge cheese-cutter, pressed down to great depths 

 by a Titan's hand. When the spate comes, you 

 get your answer ; the penny is in the slot, and 

 the whole machine is put in motion. Innumerable 

 stones are working, twirling and grooving, in 

 innumerable holes, and the grit that comes from 

 these rough lathes of Nature goes washing down 

 to fulfil its mission elsewhere. And so the work 

 goes on, slowly, yet surely ; so slowly that no one 

 lives to note its progress. 



