A SUMMER IN SKYE BY ALEXANDER SMITH AUTHOR OF "A LIFE DRAMA," ETC. VOLUME I. ALEXANDER STRAHAN, PUBLISHER 148 STRAND, LONDON 1865 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. EDINBURGH STIRLING AND THE NORTH OBAN SKYE AT LAST AT MR M'IAN'S A BASKET OF FRAGMENTS THE SECOND SIGHT IN A SKYE BOTHY A SUMMER IN SKYE. _EDINBURGH._ Summer has leaped suddenly on Edinburgh like a tiger. The air is still and hot above the houses; but every now and then a breath of east wind startles you through the warm sunshine--like a sudden sarcasm felt through a strain of flattery--and passes on detested of every organism. But, with this exception, the atmosphere is so close, so laden with a body of heat, that a thunderstorm would be almost welcomed as a relief. Edinburgh, on her crags, held high towards the sun--too distant the sea to send cool breezes to street and square--is at this moment an uncomfortable dwelling-place. Beautiful as ever, of course--for nothing can be finer than the of the Old Town etched on hot summer azure--but close, breathless, suffocating. Great volumes of white smoke surge out of the railway station; great choking puffs of dust issue from the houses and shops that are being gutted in Princes Street. The Castle rock is gray; the trees are of a dingy olive; languid "swells," arm-in-arm, promenade uneasily the heated pavement; water-carts everywhere dispense their treasures; and the only human being really to be envied in the city is the small boy who, with trousers tucked up, and unheeding of maternal vengeance, marches coolly in the fringe of the ambulating shower-bath. Oh for one hour of heavy rain! Thereafter would the heavens wear a clear and tender, instead of a dim and sultry hue. Then would the Castle rock brighten in colour, and the trees and grassy slopes doff their dingy olives for the emeralds of April. Then would the streets be cooled, and the dust be allayed. Then would the belts of city verdure, refreshed, pour forth gratitude in balmy smells; and Fife--low-lying across the Forth--break from its hot neutral tint into the greens, purples, and yellows that of right belong to it. But rain won't come; and for weeks, perhaps, there will be nothing but hot sun above, and hot street beneath; and for the respiration of poor human lungs an atmosphere of heated dust, tempered with east wind. [Sidenote: Joy of vacation.]