352 RAMBLES OF A GEOLOGIST. 



water ; but it stops abruptly at a tree, the last in the de- 

 scent, and the green and dewy rock sinks beyond for more 

 than a hundred feet, perpendicular as a wall. It was at the 

 abrupt termination of this path that a Highlander once saw a 

 beautiful child smiUhg and stretching out its little hand to 

 him, as it hung half in air by a slender twig. But he well 

 knew that it was no child, but an evil spirit, and that if he 

 gave it the assistance which it seemed to crave, he would be 

 pulled headlong into the chasm, and never heard of more. 

 And the boulder still bears, it is said, on its side, though I 

 failed this evening to detect the mark, the stamp, strangely 

 impressed, of the household keys of Balconie.* 



The sun had now got as low upon the hill, and the ravine 

 had grown as dark, as when, so long before, the Lady of Bal- 

 conie took her last walk along the sides of the Auldgrande ; 

 and I struck up for the little alpine bridge of a few undressed 

 logs, which has been here thrown across the chasm, at the 

 height of a hundred and thirty feet over the water. As I 

 pressed through the thick underwood, I startled a strange- 

 looking apparition in one of the open spaces beside the gulf, 

 where, as shown by the profusion of plants of vaccvnium, the 

 blaeberries had greatly abounded in their season. It was that 

 of an extremely old woman, cadaverously pale and miserable 

 looking, with dotage glistening in her inexpressive, rheum- 

 distilling eyes, and attired in a blue cloak, that had been 

 homely when at its best, and was now exceedingly tattered. 

 She had been poking with her crutch among the bushes, as 

 if looking for berries ; but my approach had alarmed her ; 

 and she stood muttering in Gaelic what seemed, from the 

 tones and the repetition, to be a few deprecatory sentences. 

 I addressed her in English, and inquired what could have 

 brought to a place so wild and lonely, one so feeble and help- 



* The story of the Lady of Balconie and her keys is narrated in " Scenes 

 and Legends of the North of Scotland," chap. xi. 



