RAMBLES OF A GEOLOGIST. 377 



last great feature. All was gloomy and chill ; and as I turn- 

 ed me down the descent, the thick wetting drizzle again came 

 on ; and the mist-wreaths, after creeping upwards along the 

 hill-side, began again to creep down. "When I had first vi- 

 sited the valley, more than a quarter of a century before, it 

 was on a hot breathless day of early summer, in which, though 

 the trees in fresh leaf seemed drooping in the sunshine, and 

 the succulent luxuriance of the fields lay aslant, half-prostrated 

 by the fierce heat, the rich blue of Ben Wyvis, far above, was 

 thickly streaked with snow, on which it was luxury even to 

 look. It gave one iced fancies, wherewithal to slake, amid 

 the bright glow of summer, the thirst in the mind. The 

 recollection came strongly upon me, as the fog from the hill- 

 top closed dark behind, like that sung by the old blind Eng- 

 lishman, which 



"O'er the marish glides, 

 And gathers ground fast at the lab'rer's heel, 

 Homeward returning." 



But the contrast had nothing sad in it ; and it was pleasant 

 to feel that it had not. I had resigned many a baseless hope 

 and many an idle desire since I had spent a vacant day amid 

 the sunshine, now gazing on the broad placid features of the 

 snow-streaked mountain, and now sauntering under the tall 

 ancient woods, or along the heath-covered slopes of the val- 

 ley ; but in relation to never-tiring, inexhaustible nature, the 

 heart was no fresher at that time than it was now. I had 

 grown no older in my feelings or in my capacity of enjoy- 

 ment ; and what then was there to regret ? 



I rode down the Strath in the omnibus which plies between 

 the Spa and Dingwall, and then walked on to the village of 

 Evan ton, which I reached about an hour after nightfall, some- 

 what in the circumstances of the " damp stranger," who gave 

 Beau Brummel the cold. There were, however, no Beau 

 Brummels in the quiet village inn in which I passed the night, 



