From Fox's Earth 



ling the characteristic northern heath, which 

 reaches to higher altitudes than the purple 

 heather. Through the ling appears the cotton 

 grass, which hangs so many pennants out to be 

 blown of the autumn wind. Probably, the situa- 

 tion is somewhat damp, at least in the winter. 

 And the dry fruit fixes the time as not much 

 earlier than July. 



An hour or two on either side of midday, there 

 is nothing to tell where the burn may rise. Only 

 mountain rills have a summer habit of running 

 themselves away, leaving but the dry bed. And 

 the large volume, after rainless weeks, raises some 

 speculation. From the arid heights, whose very 

 heather is dusted with the powdery debris of 

 rocks, can so much water come ? Straining up 

 the course of the scarce lessening burn which 

 has no time to play at winding, as its sisters of the 

 plain do behold the slope ends in a plateau. 



Three sides are steep hill summits, and in the 

 deep niche, retiring within inaccessible banks, is 

 water in a long, still, half-threatening sheet. 

 Dotting the engirdling slopes are loose stones, 

 which keep slipping down in miniature ava- 

 lanche. Glittering as they go with the weird 

 sheen of something out of which the hills are 

 built, they vanish with a sullen plunge. I never 

 tried the slopes, but I could imagine that one 

 who did would be in danger of starting an 

 avalanche, of which he would form a part. The 



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