Any footpath, sir? NORTH. Yes--for the roe and the goat. BULLER. And the Man of the Crutch. NORTH. Good. But I speak of days when the Crutch was in its tree-bole---- BULLER. As the Apollo was in its marble block. NORTH. Not so good. But, believe me, gentlemen, I have done it with the Crutch. SEWARD. Ay, sir, and could do it again. NORTH. No. But you two are yet boys--on the sunny side of fifty--and I leave you, Seward, to act the guide to Buller up Cladich-Cleugh. BULLER. Pray, Mr North, what may be the name of that sheet of water? NORTH. In Scotland we call it LOCH-OWE. BULLER. I am so happy--sir--that I talk nonsense. NORTH. Much nonsense may you talk. BULLER. 'Twas a foolish question--but you know, sir, that by some strange fatality or another I have been three times called away from Scotland without having seen _Lock-Owe_. NORTH. Make good use of your eyes now, sirrah, and you will remember it all the days of your life. That is Cruachan--no usurper he--by divine right a king. The sun is up, and there is motion in the clouds. Saw you ever such shadows? How majestically they stalk! And now how beautifully they glide! And now see you that broad black forest, half-way up the mountain? BULLER. I do. NORTH. You are sure you do. BULLER. I am. NORTH. You are mistaken. It is no broad black forest--it is mere gloom--shadow that in a minute will pass away, though now seeming steadfast as the woods. BULLER. I could swear it is a forest. NORTH. Swear not at all. Shut your eyes. Open them. Where now your wood? BULLER. Most extraordinary ocular deception. NORTH. Quite common. Yet no poet has described it. See again. The same forest a mile off. No need of trees--sun and cloud make our visionary mountains sylvan: and the grandest visions are ever those that are transitory--ask your soul. BULLER. Your Manilla is out, my dear sir. There is the case. NORTH. Caught like a cricketer. You must ascend Cruachan. "This morning gives us promise of a glorious day;" you cannot do better than take time by the forelock, and be off now. Say the word--and I will myself row you over the Loch. No need of a guide: inclining to the left for an hour or two after you have cleared yonder real timber and sap wood--and then for an hour or two, to the right--and then for another hour or two straight forwards--and then you will see the highest of the three peaks within an hour or two's walk of you--and thus, by mid-day, find yourself seated on the summit. BULLER. Seated on the summit! NORTH. Not too long, for the air is often very sharp at that altitude--and so rare, that I have heard tell of people fainting. BULLER. I am occasionally troubled with a palpitation of the heart-- NORTH. Pooh, nonsense. Only the stomach. BULLER. And occasionally with a determination of blood to the head-- NORTH. Pooh, nonsense. Only the stomach. Take a calker every two hours on your way up--and I warrant both heart and head-- BULLER.