RETURN TO SLIGACHAN.

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mountains and think of their natural history, do not forget that they were born amidst the most intense volcanic throes, when the whole of Skye was a huge cauldron of molten rock.

When I had completed the circuit of Loch Coruisk, I sat down where I could take in the vast sweep of dark precipices overhanging the lake. The clouds, here never or rarely at rest, were drifting grandly amidst the serrated peaks, which towered aloft like huge distorted cathedral spires. Not a living thing was visible, and, in striking contrast to the motion above, the bosom of the dark lake was dead and still.

The influences of the scene were, indeed, so awfully oppressive that they became painfully overwhelming, and I felt as if a load had been removed from my mind, when, descending from my craggy eyrie, I turned my back on the sable waters of Loch Coruisk, and joining my boatmen, returned to Camasunary, and in the evening to Sligachan.

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CHAP. XXXIII.

A Second Expedition to the Cuchullins.-Start for Sgor-na-Strith.— Wet Mosses.-Ignorant Guide.--Small-pox Rock.-Enter the Mists. A Shepherd's Reproof. — The Mists Disperse.-Grand View of the Cuchullins.-Ascent of the Cone of Sgor-na-Strith.—The Summit of the Cone. View from the Summit.-The Monarch of the Cuchullins. An Inaccessible Peak.-Work for the Alpine Club.-Residence of the King of the Isle of Mists.-Plutonic Activity.-The Cuchullins, Past and Present.-Claystone Veins.-A Luncheon amidst Hypersthene.-Ride Back to Sligachan.

My expedition to Loch Coruisk whetted my desire to see more of the Cuchullins, and when seated on the marge of the grim lake, gazing upwards at the giant peaks above the wreathed clouds, I resolved-weather permitting to ascend one of them the following day; and, if possible, that between Loch Coruisk and Loch Scavaig, from the summit of which I felt certain there must be a grand panoramic view.

You will believe that I did not much expect to be favoured by fine weather, and you will therefore conceive how fortunate I deemed myself when, on looking out the following morning, I saw the Cuchullins almost cloudless. My determination was quickly taken. En

gaging my guide and pony of yesterday, I took counsel with the landlord, and started about eight o'clock with the purpose of ascending Sgor-na-Strith, the Hill of Strife. This is by no means one of the highest Cuchullins, but, on the contrary, below their average height, the Admiralty chart marking it at 1627 feet, little more than half the elevation of the highest mountains of this group. But the position of Sgor-na-Strith is admirably adapted for obtaining an excellent view of the Cuchullins, besides possessing the advantage of enabling you to look from its summit on Loch Coruisk and Loch Scavaig, and far over the sea and islands to the south.

As far as Loch-na-Crioche we followed the track which we took yesterday, but here we turned to the right; and though by no means partial to guides, I am bound to say that were you to undertake this little expedition without a guide, the probability is that you would lose your way, and find yourself floundering in the wet mosses, which I assure you have such capacious maws that many would swallow you and your pony in a

twinkling.

Beyond acting as guide and carrying provisions, my lad was useless; for though his life had been spent amidst the Cuchullins as a shepherd, and occasionally a deerstalker, he was ignorant of the names of all the mountains excepting those close to Sligachan; but indeed, had he known them, his Gaelic pronunciation of the long-tailed words

would have perplexed me sorely. Fancy, for example, a rough-throated, wild young Gael pronouncing this name, Sgor-na-Panachtich,-Small-Pox Rock. On leaving the lake we began to ascend the trackless mountain-side, which soon became so steep that I thought it would be impossible for my pony to climb it. But the Skye ponies, though by no means lovely to behold, are wonderfully strong and sturdy, and mine plodded bravely on, picking its way among the rocks, and across glittering torrents, in a manner that showed it to be an adept at mountain climbing.

Through the glen the weather had been most propitious, but we had hardly ascended 500 feet ere we were shrouded in mist, which rolled through the gorges and wreathed the peaks. My heart fell, I confess, when the scene thus suddenly changed, and I thought of Dr. MacCulloch, who states that he made seven attempts, during five successive summers, to ascend the Cuchullins, and was on each occasion baffled by the adverse weather. However, having gone so far, I did not think for one moment of abandoning the enterprise, for my guide knew the way, and occasionally I saw through the mist small isles of blue, which gave promise that the day might yet be fine. Now, had we not had oceans of rain, and almost constant mist, one might have been

less disposed to growl at any prospect of the weather not keeping its morning promise, but the island was

running over with water, and no shepherd would, I apprehend, have reproved me had he heard me grumbling, as one is said to have rebuked an English traveller in the Highlands, who complained of the weather. "What ails you at the mist, sir? It wats the grass and slockens the ewes, and it's God's wull."

An hour's scramble brought us to the top of a kind of col, or plateau, overhanging Loch Coruisk, from which the cone of Sgor-na-Strith and other of the Cuchullins spring. You cannot ride higher than this col, and if you are not strong limbed, I do not think that you will be able to surmount Sgor-na-Strith. Fortune favoured me at this juncture. The mists that had been assuming all manner of forms—now settling like a huge vapoury platform beneath the hill tops, and now, harried by gusts, driven into the ravines and gorges, where they curled and writhed in seeming agony- were at length fairly put to flight by a mighty wind which bared the vault of heaven and left the Cuchullins standing up in their grim barrenness, cutting the blue sky with their rugged outlines and serrated crests. As you may suppose I made the best of this golden opportunity, and leaving the pony in charge of the boy guide, who honestly told me that as he had never ascended Sgorna-Strith he could be of no use to me, I set off alone. How deceptive is the appearance of all mountains, and especially so when shrouded in mist! Sgor-na-Strith,

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