CHAP. XXXII] HIGHLAND SCENERY. 245 
by the approaching masses of rain and drift. The clouds closed 
round us, and the rain began to fall in straight hard torrents; 
at the same time, however, completely allaying the wind. 
“ Well, well,” said Donald, “ I just dinna ken what to do.” 
Even I began to think that we might as well have remained at 
home ; but, putting the best face on the matter, we got under 
a projecting bank of the burn, and took out our provision of oat- 
cake and cold grouse, and having demolished that, and made a 
considerable vacuum in the whisky flask, I lit my cigar, and 
meditated on the vanity of human pursuits in general, and of 
deer-stalking in particular, while dreamy visions of balls, operas, 
and the last pair of blue eyes that I had sworn everlasting alle- 
giance to, passed before me. 
Donald was employed in the more useful employment of 
bobbing for burn trout with a line and hook he had produced 
out of his bonnet—that wonderful blue bonnet, which, like the 
bag in the fairy tale, contains anything and everything which is 
required at a moment’s notice. His bait was the worms which 
in a somewhat sulky mood he kicked out of their damp homes 
about the edge of the burn. Presently the ring-ousel began to 
whistle on the hill side, and the cock grouse to crow in the valley 
below us. Roused by these omens of better weather, I looked 
out from our shelter, and saw the face of the sun struggling to 
show itself through the masses of cloud, while the rain fell in 
larger but more scattered drops. In a quarter of an hour the 
clouds were rapidly disappearing, and the face of the hill as 
quickly opening to our view. We remained under shelter a few 
minutes longer, when suddenly, as if by magic, or like the lifting 
of the curtain at a theatre, the whole hill was perfectly clear 
from clouds, and looked more bright and splendidly beautiful than 
anything I had ever seen. No symptoms were left of the rain, 
excepting the drops on the heather, which shone like diamonds 
in the evening sun. The masses of rock came out in every 
degree of light and shade, from dazzling white to the darkest 
purple, streaked here and there with the overpourings of the 
swollen rills and springs, which danced and leapt from rock to 
rock, and from erag to crag, looking like streams of silver. 
“ How beautiful!” was both my inward and outward exclama- 
tion. ‘Deed it’s not just so dour as it was,” said Donald; 
