Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. 404, June, 1849

BULLER

I cry you mercy.

NORTH

Without palpitation of the heart; without determination of blood to the head; without panting; without dizziness; with merely a slight acceleration of the breath, and now and then something like a gasp after a run to a knowe which we foresaw as a momentary resting-place – we felt that we were conquering Cruachan! Lovely level places, like platforms – level as if water had formed them, flowing up just so far continually, and then ebbing back to some unimaginable sea – awaited our arrival, that on them we might lie down, and from beds of state survey our empire, for our empire it was felt to be, far away into the lowlands, with many a hill between – many a hill, that, in its own neighbourhood, is believed to be a mountain – just as many a man of moderate mental dimensions is believed by those who live beneath his shade to be of the first order of magnitude, and with funeral honours is interred.

BULLER

Well for him that he is a hill at all – eminent on a flat, or among humbler undulations. All is comparative.

NORTH

Just so. From a site on a mountain's side – far from the summit – the ascender hath sometimes a sublimer – often a lovelier vision – than from its most commanding peak. Yet still he has the feeling of ascension – stifle that, and the discontent of insufficiency dwarfs and darkens all that lies below.

BULLER

Words to the wise.

NORTH

We fear to ascend higher lest we should lose what we comprehend: yet we will ascend higher, though we know the clouds are gathering, and we are already enveloped in mist. But there were no clouds – no mist on that day – and the secret top of Cruachan was clear as a good man's conscience, and the whole world below like the promised land.

BULLER

Let us go – let us go – let us go.

NORTH

All knowledge, my dear boy, may be likened to stupendous ranges of mountains – clear and clouded, smooth and precipitous; and you or I in youth assail them in joy and pride of soul, not blind but blindfolded often, and ignorant of their inclination; so that we often are met by a beetling cliff with its cataract, and must keep ascending and descending ignorant of our whereabouts, and summit-seeking in vain. Yet all the while are we glorified. In maturer mind, when experience is like an instinct, we ascertain levels without a theodolite, and know assuredly where dwell the peaks. We know how to ascend – sideways or right on; we know which are midway heights; we can walk in mist and cloud as surely as in light, and we learn to know the Inaccessible.

BULLER

I fear you will fatigue yourself —

NORTH

Or another image. You sail down a stream, my good Buller, which widens as it flows, and will lead through inland seas – or lochs – down to the mighty ocean: what that is I need not say: you sail down it, sometimes with hoisted sail – sometimes with oars – on a quest or mission all undefined; but often anchoring where no need is, and leaping ashore, and engaging in pursuits or pastimes forbidden or vain —with the natives—

BULLER

The natives!

NORTH

Nay, adopting their dress – though dress it be none at all – and becoming one of themselves – naturalised; forgetting your mission clean out of mind! Fishing and hunting with the natives —

BULLER

Whom?

NORTH

The natives – when you ought to have been pursuing your voyage on – on – on. Such are youth's pastimes all. But you had not deserted – not you: and you return of your own accord to the ship.

BULLER

What ship?

NORTH

The ship of life – leaving some to lament you, who knew you only as a jolly mariner, who was bound afar! They believed that you had drawn up your pinnace for ever on that shore, in that lovely little haven, among reeds and palms – unknowing that you would relaunch her some day soon, and, bounding in her over the billows, rejoin your ship, waiting for you in the offing, and revisit the simple natives no more!

BULLER

Methinks I understand now your mysterious meaning.

NORTH

You do. But where was I?

BULLER

Ascending Cruackan, and near the summit.

NORTH

On the summit. Not a whit tired – not a bit fatigued; strong as ten – active as twenty ownselves on the flat – divinely drunk on draughts of ether – happier a thousand times, greater and more glorious, than Jupiter, with all his gods, enthroned on Olympus.

BULLER

Moderately speaking.

NORTH

In imagination I hear him barking now as he barked then – a sharp, short, savage, angry and hungry bark —

BULLER

What? A dog? A Fox?

NORTH

No – no – no. An Eagle – the Golden Eagle from Ben-Slarive, known – no mistaking him – to generations of Shepherds for a hundred years.

BULLER

Do you see him?