THE TEMPERATURE 59 



reached the bridge across the stream 

 about a hundred yards from where it 

 joins the loch. Looking down upon the 

 deep pool under the bridge, I saw scarcely 

 any water at all. The surface was covered 

 with blocks of white ice, apparently thick ; 

 and from the high banks, down the mossy 

 sides of which water had been trickling 

 before the frost, great clusters of huge 

 icicles hung. The cascade just above, 

 which is in three stages, each about twelve 

 feet high, was still in play ; but the water 

 was small amid the encrusting ice. How 

 unlike the appearance of the stream in 

 summer or in autumn ! Then it had been 

 a tawny torrent, often with a flow as good 

 as that of the Test. Now, meandering 

 through the rough masses of snowy ice, 

 it was a blue trickle not much greater 

 than that of an artificial waterfall in a 

 summer garden. 



This may seem an odd similitude ; but 

 it is, I think, true. Grandeur of a wild 

 kind is one aspect of the Highlands ; but 

 it is not the only aspect. Even in summer 



