And Maculloch not here! Why the hills behind Cladich, that people call tame, make a background that no art might meliorate. Cultivation climbs the green slopes, and overlays the green hill-ridges, while higher up all is rough, brown, heathery, rocky--and behind that undulating line, for the first time in my life, I see the peaks of mountains. From afar they are looking at the Tents. And far off as they are, the power of that Sycamore Grove connects them with our Encampment. TALBOYS. Are you sure, sir, they are not clouds? NORTH. If clouds, so much the better. If mountains, they deserve to be clouds; and if clouds, they deserve to be mountains. SEWARD. The long broad shadow of the Grove tames the white of the Tents--tones it--reduces it into harmony with the surrounding colour--into keeping with the brown huts of the villagers, clustering on bank and brae on both sides of the hollow river. NORTH. The cozey Inn itself from its position is picturesque. TALBOYS. The Swiss Giantess looks imposing-- BULLER. So does the Van. But Deeside is the Pandemonium-- TALBOYS. Well translated by Paterson in his Notes on Milton, "All-Devil's-Hall." NORTH. Hush. And how lovely the foreground! Sloping upland--with single trees standing one by one, at distances wide enough to allow to each its own little grassy domain--with its circle of bracken or broom--or its own golden gorse grove--divided by the sylvan course of the hidden river itself, visible only when it glimpses into the Loch--Here, friends, we seem to see the united occupations of pastoral, agricultural--and-- BULLER. Pardon me, sir, I have a proposition to make. NORTH. You might have waited a moment till-- BULLER. Not a moment. We all Four see the background--and the middle-ground and the foreground--and all the ground round and about--and all the islands and their shadows--and all the mountains and theirs--and, towering high above all, that Cruachan of yours, who, I firmly believe, is behind us--though 'twould twist my neck now to get a vizzy of him. No use then in describing all that lies within the visible horizon--there it is--let us enjoy it and be thankful--and let us talk this evening of whatever may happen to come into our respective heads--and I beg leave to add, sir, with all reverence, let's have fair play--let no single man--young or old--take more than his own lawful share-- NORTH. Sir? BULLER. And let the subject of angling be tabooed--and all its endless botheration about baskets and rods, and reels and tackle--salmon, sea-trout, yellow-fin, perch, pike, and the Ferox--and no drivel about Deer and Eagles-- NORTH. Sir? What's the meaning of all this--Seward, say--tell, Talboys. BULLER.