I.—The Old Man of Hoy

Extract

The tidal wave of travellers which, thanks to railroads and steamboats, pours northward over the country every summer, even as far as John o' Groat's, has hardly as yet risen much beyond that utmost shore. The tourist stops short at the Pentland Firth; indeed, when he reaches its bare treeless coast, and finds that there is really no traditional house at John o' Groat's (though a good inn, with careful host and kindly hostess, should tempt him to rest there a while), he is in a hurry to get back by daylight to the busy hum of men in the hyperborean city of Wick or Thurso, and as eager to flit southwards again next morning.