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CHAPTER IX.
THE POETRY OF THE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS. — OSSIAN.
It was towards the end of August when I bethought
me of my Oxford audience, and of what I should say-
when next I met them. Around me was the flush of
the heather on all the braes ; before me the autumn
lights and shadows were trailing over the higher Bens.
With the power of the hills thus upon him, who could
turn to books? It seemed impossible for me to fix on
any subject which was not in keeping with the sights
on which my eyes were resting the while.
And then I thought of the countless throng of
strangers from England and from all lands, who at
that moment were crowding all the tourist thorough-
fares of the Highlands, visiting the usual lochs and
glens, and climbing, perhaps, some of the more famous
mountains. And I could not but feel how rarely any one
of these penetrates beyond the mere shell of what he sees,
or gets a glimpse into the heart of that mountain vision
which passes before him. It cannot be that they should.
They hurry for a week or ten days, which are all thej'
have leisure for, along the beaten tracks ; they catch

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