182 ON A HIGHLAND LOCH 



Trained on a wall, the quaint Salisburia affords a cover- 

 ing as interesting as it is beautiful, and, unlike every 

 other resinous plant, does not seem to resent ce fa- 

 meux fog londonien, qu'on ne coupe pas precisdment 

 d'un couteau, mais qu'on pent prendre a la cuiller. 



XLIV 



Physical enjoyment owes much of its zest to contrast 

 on a High- ^he transition from humdrum to lively- 

 land Loch f rom appetite to gratification from crowd to 

 solitude from wood-pavement to heather or meadow- 

 grass. The mildew of monotony destroys the keenest 

 pleasure ; in no respect has civilisation wrought more 

 potent effect than in rendering easy sudden change of 

 environment. Thus it came to pass one sweltering after- 

 noon in July that, elbowing my way through the throng 

 of Cheapside, I was buoyed by the almost incredible 

 certainty that within four-and-twenty hours I should 

 be seven hundred miles away, in the great archipelago 

 of the West the realm of the Lord of the Isles. 

 London folk were fussing at the prospect of a water 

 famine; nevertheless, I packed my fishing-gear that 

 afternoon in serene confidence born of long acquaint- 

 ance with West Highland skies, which are wont to 

 drop fatness in no niggardly measure. One of the 

 chief merits of an infatuation for angling is the intense 

 interest it imparts to meteorological prospects. 



Sure enough, a welcome signal hung from the hill- 

 brow as the yacht steamed steadily through the 



