A JOURNEY DUE NORTH 249 



the usual direction of electrical discharge, i.e., from 

 the cloud down^Ya^ds. 



The railway has supplanted all the coaches between 

 London and Thurso (except the Kingussie branch 

 coach to Fort William), but this pair-horse mail still 

 runs. It passes, at anything but a breakneck pace, 

 over forty-five miles of as wild a country (via Eeay, 

 Melvich and Bettyhill), as the traveller w^ould care 

 to see, until to his satisfaction he finds an oasis 

 in the desert, in the shape of a post-office planted 

 amidst the fine fishing facilities which bring trade to 

 the postal telegraph in the smiling village of Tongue. 



The Thurso ride to Tongue is not, however, the 

 longest and loneliest that the mail-cart driver has to 

 undertake in that remote part of Caithness. 



The forty-seven miles from Lairg to Lochinvar 

 cover a longer and more lonely road. A pair-horse 

 mail-cart gets over it in eight hours. This road has 

 been distinguished by mention in a recent work of 

 fiction, not, I fear, on account of the weight of the 

 mail-bags, but because of the wild country it passes 

 through. Lairg is also the starting-point of two other 

 long and dreary rides — to Scourie, forty-three miles, 

 and to Tongue itself, thirty-seven miles. 



The route of the branch cart from Lochinvar to 

 Drumbeg (14^ miles) provides the finest and most 

 exciting drive in the United Kingdom. Not only are 

 there splendid views — running as the road does close 

 to the coast — but the cart is driven for part of the 

 distance along ledges of rock overhanging the depths 



