FEBRUARY 45 



the bleak little kirkyard, perched on a bluff crag, round 

 which Thurso creeps between bastions of ice. Roads 

 were impassable for all but foot passengers, and these 

 struggled with difficulty through the wreaths. God's 

 acre was swathed in white : only in one spot had the 

 pall been pierced and the ruddy earth thrown out to 

 make a grave. The mourners gathered round, a group 

 intensely black upon the snow. No pomp of funeral 

 procession, no roll of muffled drum, no wailing pipe, no 

 sobbing organ could have lent pathos to the simple 

 severity of the scene, silent save for the rushing mighty 

 wind. 



How few summer tourists have any idea of the winter 

 aspect of their favourite haunts ! In an enclosed 

 country, a fall of snow has the effect of The 

 dwarfing the landscape. Distant objects are lands in 

 brought near, and near objects show up so wm er 

 sharp and black in the surrounding pallor that the 

 view loses its breadth. But among mountains the sense 

 of size is increased. Hills seem higher and valleys 

 vaster under snow. The pass between Dalwhinnie and 

 Dalnaspidal, even as viewed from the comfortable 

 cushions of a railway carriage, presents a scene during 

 this great snowstorm of February 1895 not soon to be 

 effaced from memory. Hardly a rock is visible; one 

 unbroken sheet of white covers the moorland fore- 

 ground, wraps the frozen river, and towers on the 

 mountain domes to meet the deep blue of the sky. 



