another delightful walk back to Aviemore, though under what different conditions. In the morning, the mysterious attraction of the unknown to lure us on, in the evening the satisfaction of success; then a long day's task before us, now a wellspent day to look back on, and rest approaching; then the sun blazed down upon us, now the coolness of evening among the great pines fittingly closed a memorable day on the rocks of Sgoran Dubh. The hotel was reached in two hours from the Bothy, plus a ten minutes' rest, and next morning the train sped us south again to resume once more the threads of the life which had been dropped for a bare forty-eight hours-alas! AQUATIC SPORT ON BEN NEVIS. By W. R. RICKMERS. "SNOW is hardly water," said my friend who saw the above headline and thought he knew the subject. "Snow is hard water," I replied, and he vanished, muttering as he went, "It's illicit still; his imagination is out of bounds." No doubt he was sorry to leave me alone with my inspiration. "He meant 'out of bond,' surely," I chuckled, and from its crystal bower with loving lips I lured the Scottish muse. The British, the greatest of all seafaring nations, were clearly predestined to be the first in taking up mountaineering as a sport. Between the Mountain and the Main the connection is not far to seek. From ice to water is but a question of temperature; from Ararat to Ben Nevis through the ten lost tribes (who were evidently not competent to go without guides) to the British Isles stretches one unbroken tradition, and from Noah to mountain dew is one absorbent theme. As a mere Continental I had not until lately quite realised how important water is to the Nation of the Seas. It is the mainspring of their greatness, their well of health, and the source of their pleasures. No wonder they worship it to an extent undreamt of in other countries. They rule the waves, they fish the stream and tread the snowy crest, they enter into water from their beds, and even mix the omnipresent liquid in their drinks. Truly, providence favours them and always provides an exceptionally liberal supply of wet for the holidays, so that these islanders may sail forth and, together with their favourite element, swamp the playgrounds of Europe. Was it mere idle fancy of the poet's mind that Venus rose from the foaming waves? I think I see the purpose of the symbol. From water, the all-pervading, material generator, is born the ideal, the allbeautifier: She, woman, the giver of life, the inspiration of our work, the companion of our sports. Though it may be the etymological speculation of one who left out of his glass the sober fluid of the pump, I revel with unsophisticated joy in the idea that "she" is the word-root as well as the presiding unit of the triad She, Ship, and Ski. Before I saw this, I objected to the Norwegian spelling “ski” (I wanted "skee") and the Norwegian pronunciation (which is "she") being introduced into the English language. But history and providence knew better, and now I have been taught that the three best things in the world are called "she." True heirs of the chivalrous Norsemen who roamed over the briny and the snow, the British have the ships and what goes with them, and they were the first to adopt the ski before any other country outside of Scandinavia. Reader, if you feel a moist mist gathering round your understanding, if you resent my flight of fervid fancy (alas! its wings are dripping still), remember that I, a son of the sunny South, have, before writing this, tried to absorb the local colour of your literature, and among others I perused the book of a former Astronomer-Royal for Scotland, which left on my mind that indelible impress which nothing can wash off. His speculations about the Great Pyramid have a natural attraction for mountaineers, for Cheops' tombstone is high and steep. I have studied the book carefully, and by the clear exposition of the she-symbolism I hope to prove myself as possessing the inheritance of the true spirit of him who did his oriental work in one of the driest regions of the world, who from Auld Reekie to Gizeh joined two contrasts into one fantastic revelry of the imagination, and who must have been instilled with and tried to combine what is most characteristic of the two extremes. I am still wet with Highland moisture outside and in. That is my justification to the patriotic Scot, who, filled with grief (unless it be something better), bids me hurry to the scene of my exploits. He does not realise perhaps that I am already in it, in full swim, in fact, making headway with a will, and trying to reach the shore. Allow me to say that for eight days I have been the hygroscopic victim drenched between the infinite deluge of a diluted outer world and the concentrated and stronger flood of the limited space within. Small wonder that I was a sodden sponge which would have burst asunder but for the tender |