Chapter XIV (5)

"Near Slui on the Findhorn there is a range of precipices
and wooded steeps crowned with pine, and washed by a clear
and rippling stream of the river, through which there is an
excellent ford, very well known to the roe, for escaping to
the woods of Slui when pressed by the hounds. This reach is
called the Ledanreich, from a remarkable craig, a sheer naked
even wall of sandstone, lying in horizontal strata eighty or
ninety feet high: At the eastern extremity of this rock there
is a great division, partly separated from the main curtain by
a deep woody slope, which dips into the precipice with little
more inclination from the perpendicular than to admit of careful
footing. In the face of the divided craig, the decomposition of
the softer stone between the courses of the strata has wasted
it away into narrow galleries, which, passing behind the tall
pillars of the pines growing from the rifts and ledges, extend
along the face of the precipice, veiled by a deep tapestry of
ivy, which spreads over the mighty wall of rock, and hangs
from shelf to shelf over the covered ways. Beyond the craigs,
the bank of the forest, an abrupt steep, covered with oak and
copsewood, slopes down to the river, its brow darkened with a
deep-blue cloud of pines, and its descent carpeted with moss,
primroses, and pyrolas, here and there hollowed into quaint
'cuachs,' filled with hazels, thorns, and giant pines. Along
this woody scarp, and through its thick copse, the roe had made
narrow galleries, which communicated with the ivy corridors
on the face of the craig, to which there were corresponding
ways upon the opposite side. In that fortress of the rock, for
shelter from the sun and flies, and seclusion from the stir of
the world during the day in the heat of summer, the red-deer
and roe made their secret haunt, concealed behind the deep dim
veil of leaves, unseen and unsuspected in the cool hollows of
the cliff. The prying eye might search the craig from below,
and the beaters or the woodmen might whistle, and whoop, and
shout above, but nothing appeared or moved except the gray
falcon, which rose channering out of the rifts. Above the craig
the wooded bank was so abrupt, that to the front view there
was no indication of a slope, and any who passed quickly over
the brow was immediately out of sight. At each descent beyond
the extremities of the whole range of rocks there was a common
roe's run and pass, which was supposed to be 'deadly sure' if
the deer took the path, since the precipice below was believed
to be an infallible barrier against any intermediate escape.
Often, however, when pressed upon the terrace above, the deer
neither went through the passes nor turned against the beaters,
but vanished as if by magic--nobody could tell where; and it
was the common opinion of the drivers and fishermen, that, when
forced near the river, they threw themselves over the craigs
'for spite,'--a belief often confirmed by old Davie Simpson, who
declared that he had often found their bodies beneath the rocks,
and in the Cluach, the Clerk's Pool, and the 'Furling Hole.' He
did not, however, relate what _wounds_ they had, and the truth
was, that those which disappeared at the brow of the Ledanreich
dashed down the sudden dip of the bank between the precipices,
and, turning through the ivy corridors, went out through the
copse galleries upon the other side, and either descended to the
water or skirted below the pass, and went back into the forest.
Those which were found dead were such as had been mortally
wounded at some in-wood pass, and, unable to take, or cross
the water, had died on the beach, or been carried down by the
river. In the same mysterious passages which gave concealment
and escape to the stags and bucks, the does were used to lay
with their kids, and from thence at morning and evening they
brought them out to pluck the tender grass upon the green banks
beyond. Often from the brow above, or from behind the ivy
screen, we have watched their 'red garment' stealing through the
boughs, followed by their little pair drawing their slender legs
daintily through the wet dew, and turning their large velvet
ears to catch every passing sound upon the breeze as it brought
the hum of the water, or the crow of the distant cock--now
trotting before, now lingering behind their dam, now nestling
together, now starting off as the gale suddenly rustled the
leaves behind them--then listening and re-uniting in a timorous
plump, pricking their ears, and bobbing their little black noses
in the wind,--then, as the doe dropped on her knees in the moss,
and laid her side on the warm spot where the morning sun glanced
in through the branches, they gambolled about her, leaping over
her back, and running round in little circles, uttering that
soft, wild, plaintive cry like the treble note of an accordion,
till, weary of their sport, they lay down at her side, and
slept while she watched as only a mother can. No marvel it was
that they loved that safe and fair retreat, with all its songs
and flowers, its plenty and repose. All around was sweet, and
beautiful, and abundant, such as the poetical imagination of the
painter can rarely compose, and _never_, unless like Salvator
he has lived in the wilderness with its free denizens. Upon the
summit above the craig there was a broad and verdant terrace
surrounded by ivied pines and feathering birches, and upon a
little green glade in the midst grow two of the most beautiful
objects ever produced by art or nature. These were a pair of
twin thorns exactly similar in size, age, and form, and standing
about three yards from each other: their stems as straight as
shafts, and their round and even heads like vast bushes of wild
thyme, but each so overgrown with ivy and woodbine, that their
slender trunks appeared like fretted columns, over which the
thorny foliage served as a trellis to suspend the heavy plumes
of the ivy and the golden tassels of the woodbine. Many a
'ladye's bower' we have seen, and many a rich and costly plant
reared by the care of man, but none so beautiful as those lonely
sisters of the forest, planted by His hand in His great garden,
where none beheld but those for whom He made it lovely--the
ravens of the rock, the deer who couched under its shade by
night, and the birds who sang their matins and their even-song
out of its sweet boughs."

If we go on quoting at this rate, we shall never reach the hill, and as yet we have not started from the hut. To say the truth, we are in no hurry, and neither, we suspect, upon many occasions were the Stuarts, indomitable huntsmen as they are. What though at night the river swept with the sound of thunder below, making the solid rock vibrate to its deep foundation,--what though the wind swept mightily down the ravine, swaying the trees like saplings, and threatening to tear them away,--what though the windows of heaven were open, and the deluge came down, and the bark of the hill-fox sounded sharp above the roaring of the water and the wood,--yet within that little bothy that rests upon the face of the craig, the wearied huntsmen slept peacefully; and in the morning, says one of them,--"I was awakened as usual by the whistle of the robin in the bird-cherry, and the sharp note of the blue bonnet sharpening his little saw on the top of the holly. I went out to the narrow terre-plain over the craig. The wind was gone, and the sun smiling on the still leaves and dewy grass--the flood torrent of the river dancing and laughing in its light, and the calm bright air breathing with the sweet perfume of the damp plants, and all the freshness and fragrance of the forest wilderness." We back it against the forest of Ardennes!

Every true hunter is humane. What! you say--do you call it humane to persecute the unfortunate stag, the monarch of the wilds, to the death?--to drive rifle-bullets into the target of the harmless roe? to murder otters by the dozen, and to slaughter seals by the score? Indubitably we do. Let us reason a little upon this. Yesterday, you recollect that you dined upon very juvenile veal, smothered in a mess of dingy vegetable matter which we apprehend to have been sorrel, after the beastly fashion of the Gauls. Posterior to that, you devoured the larger moiety of a duckling. This morning we saw you, with our own eyes, regaling yourself at the club, between the intervals of muffin, with what assuredly were cutlets of lamb. After all this, can you have the face to stand up and defend your own humanity? For how many days had the sun dawned upon that luckless calf, the mangled fragments of which upon your platter rather resembled the rags of a kid-glove, than food meet for the stomach of a Christian? How long had the feeble quackle of Draco been heard round the row of peas near which he unsuspiciously perambulated, little dreaming how much the pods thereof were mixed up with his future destiny? How many races were run upon the meadow by that perished daughter of the sheep? Three infantine lives cut off simply for your sole gormandising! This is but a slight case. Set you down to a rook-pie, and you will engulf a dozen unfortunates before you bury your visage in the pewter. Pay for you at Blackwall, and the whitebait will disappear by the thousand. It is in vain that you attempt to shift the atrocity of your inordinate appetite from your own shoulders to those of the grazier, the butcher, the poulterer, or the fisherman. Cobden, or Joe Hume, or any other of the political economists belonging to the tribe who would starve the workman in order that they may guzzle themselves, will tell you that invariably the demand regulates the supply. You, therefore, are the responsible party: the young have fallen into your Scylla--the immature of days have been swept into the vortex of your Charybdis! Moreover, if you were a sportsman--which you are not--our minds would be grievously troubled for the future safety of the singing-birds. Welford, the friend of Bright, as we all remember, proposed a grand crusade throughout Britain against the feathered tribe; and you are not at all unlikely to join in a general St Bartholomew of the sparrows. Do you venture to retort upon us? Do you think we take life unnecessarily, or that we are base enough to use our weapons until the quarry has reached its prime? No calf or fawn ever fell by the hand of the genuine hunter--no cheeper or pout ever sullied the interior of the sportsman's bag. Not until the better part of his life has been run,--till his muscles are hard as iron, his slot deep, and his branches towering on the beam,--not until he has lived and loved, do we strike down, as if with lightning and painless death, the great hart in the middle of the wilderness. But to all innocent things--to the harmless indwellers of the forest and moor, the true hunter is a guardian and a friend. The strong man is ever brave, and none but the strong can pass to where the herds of the mountain dwell.

One more scene at the Hut, and we shall illustrate this subject further.

"But though our bothie was far from resembling the Peri
Paribanon's cell, or the rock-palace where the old kaiser keeps
his court in the bowels of the Unterberg--we loved it, not
only for its bucks and stags, and all its greenwood cheer, but
for the love of nature by which it was surrounded. Beyond its
'vert and venison,' there was a world of life and interest for
those who had the eye to mark and the heart to read its book.
On every side we had companions; from the passenger which came
from Norway, to the little native guest--the robin which roosted
in the holly-bush above us. '_The_ robin?'--you smile and say.
Yes, there was but one. He lived in the bush, as we lived in
the bothie, and we were his neighbours too long not to be very
well acquainted. His species, as well as all the small tribes,
conformable to the minuteness of their range and habits, are
very local, and may be found all the year in, or near, the same
place; and those who feed them will rarely wait many minutes
for their appearance. There were many robins which lived about
the bothie, and all were continually in its vicinity, and very
tame; but none so gentle and grateful as our little neighbour
in the holly. They would, however, enter the hut, sit on the
bed or the table, and hop about the floor, and, when I went
out, follow me to the brae. They liked very much to see me turn
up the soil, which always provided them with a little feast;
accordingly, they were never absent at the planting of a shrub
or a flower; and when I brought home, in my shooting-bag, a
tuft of primroses, pyrolas, or lilies of the valley, they were
always in attendance to see them put into the bank. For watching
my occupation, they preferred something more elevated than the
ground, but not so high as the branches of the trees, which
were too far from the earth to give them a clear sight of what
I turned up; for their accommodation, therefore, I made little
crosses and crotchets, and, when I was planting, set them up
beside me, moving them as I proceeded from place to place.
Each was immediately occupied by an attentive observer; and,
whenever an insect or a worm was discovered, one of the nearest
darted down and caught it, even from between my fingers, and
disappeared for a few moments under the rock or behind the great
holly, to enjoy his success undisturbed. At his disappearance
his place was immediately occupied by another, but at the return
of the first it was amiably resigned by his successor. The
blue-bonnets were almost as numerous as the robins, but they
never arrived at the same intimacy and confidence. They never
entered the bothie in my presence, and even when I fed them
they would not approach as long as I remained outside the door;
but as soon as I went in they descended four or five together,
chattering and fluttering about the entrance, peeping in at
the little window, and stretching their necks as far as they
could, to see where I was, and if all was right. Then they would
begin their breakfast on what I had left for them, talking a
great deal about it, but occasionally ogling the door, in a
manner from which I concluded that there was but small esteem
or gratitude in their conversation.----Far different was the
friendship of our little neighbour in the holly. In the morning
he used to come down and perch on the arm of the bird-cherry,
which stretched over the precipice before the door, waiting
for its opening and the preparation of the breakfast, which he
always shared; and when we were seated he would venture over the
sill, and gather the crumbs about the table at our feet. Often
when the first blood-red streaks of the autumn morning shone
like lurid fire through the little window, we were awakened by
his sad and solitary whistle, as he sat on his usual branch,
his jet-black eye cast towards the door, impatient for our
appearance. Many of his little cousins there were in the wood,
with whom we were also well acquainted, and between us happened
many an incident, which increased our interest and familiarity.

"I remember a day, one of those deep still blue days so solemn
in the forest; the ground was covered with a foot of snow, and
all the trees were hanging like gigantic ostrich feathers; but
all the world was blue,--the sky was a sleeping mass of those
heavy indigo clouds which forebode a 'feeding storm,'--not a
tempest, but a fall of snow; for, in Scotland, snow is called
'_storm_,' however light and still it falls: thus, in tracking
the deer, we say he 'has brushed the _storm_ from the heather;'
and a '_feeding storm_' is when the clouds are continually
feeding the earth with its velvet pall.--The reflection of
those deep-blue clouds cast a delicate tint of the same colour
over the whitened world. I was standing with my back against a
huge pine--one of the old remnant of the great forest of Moray,
which had, no doubt, heard the bell toll for the first Stuart
earl.--I counted the rings in a smaller tree which once stood in
the same hollow;--I shunned its wreck as I would have avoided a
corpse which I could not bury, and always, when I passed near
it, averted my face; but one day running to cut off a buck, and
just heading him, I dropped on my knee to receive him as he
came out from a mass of junipers, and when reloading, I found
that I had knelt by the stump of my old friend.--I counted two
hundred and sixty-four rings in his wood!--how many earls had
he seen?--Well, I was leaning against his elder brother, as I
suppose by the size. I had been there for a long time, waiting
to hear the dogs bring back a buck from--I don't know now from
where.----As I had been through all the swamps, and stripes, and
wet hollows on that side of the forest, and waded through two
and three feet of snow-wreaths, my kilt and hose, and, as it
seemed, my flesh was saturated to the bones with 'snaw-bree,'
and I began to beat, first one foot, and then the other, to
quicken the blood, which was warm enough in my trunk.--I had
scarce commenced this exercise, when I heard a little 'tic!'
close to my ear, and the soft low voice of a bird--a sound,
neither a whistle nor a chirp, but which I knew very well before
I turned and saw the robin, who sat on a dry branch within a
yard of my cheek. I guessed what had brought him: he was very
cold, his ruffled back humped as round as a ball, and his tail
drooping almost perpendicular with his legs, as if it was a
little brown peg to lean on, like that on which the travelling
Tyrolean merchant rests his pack. He looked at me with his large
black eye, then, with a flirt of his tail and a bow with his
head, indicated that, if I had no objection, he should like to
descend to the place which I occupied; the object of which
he expressed, by turning his head sidelong, and directing one
eye into the black earth which my foot had beaten bare in the
snow. I immediately drew back a couple of feet, and he instantly
dropped into the spot of mould, peeped and picked under every
leaf and clod of earth, and, when there was nothing more, hopped
up on the guard of my rifle, on which I was leaning, and,
turning his head, looked at me with his upper eye.--I again
stepped forward, and recommenced my foot-exercise, during which
he returned to his branch, examining my progress with some
impatience. As soon as my foot was removed, he again dropped
into the hollow, and busily collected all the little grubs and
chrysales which, though too small for me to see as I stood, I
knew abounded beneath the sere leaves and thatch of moss and
sticks. In this manner I repeated his supply several times,
on one of which, when I was too long, or he too impatient, he
dropped from his perch, and hovered over the space in which my
foot was at work, and, as I continued, lighted on the point of
the other shoe, and remained there, peeping into the hollow,
until I withdrew my foot, and then descended to finish his
repast. When he was satisfied, he ruffed his feathers, looked
up sidelong to me, and, after a shake of satisfaction, resumed
his perch close to my head, and, after pruning and oiling his
feathers, mounted another branch higher, and opened his little
throat with that most sad, sweet, and intermitting warble which
gives such a melancholy charm to a still winter's day."

Take a picture of the roe, and you will hardly doubt the humanity of our sportsmen. But why talk of it thus? No one, we hope, save a member of the Manchester manufacturing school could feel otherwise--certainly not a genuine hills-man; and we quote the passage simply for its extreme beauty and perfect fidelity to nature. No creature is more beautiful than the kid of the roe-deer, especially when seen in their rest, or moving through the ferns, on a summer evening, beside their gentle mother the doe.

"In the bedding season the does retire into the most secret
thickets, or other lonely places, to produce their young, and
cover them so carefully that they are very rarely found; we
have, however, deceived their vigilance. There was a solitary
doe which lived in the hollow below the Bràigh-cloiche-léithe
in Tarnaway. I suppose that we had killed her 'marrow;' but I
was careful not to disturb her haunt, for she was very fat and
round, stepped with much caution, and never went far to feed.
Accordingly, when at evening and morning she came out to pick
the sweet herbs at the foot of the brae, or by the little green
well in its face, I trode softly out of her sight, and if I
passed at noon, made a circuit from the black willows, or thick
junipers, where she reposed during the heat. At last, one fine
sunny morning I saw her come tripping out from her bower of
young birches as light as a fairy, and very gay and 'canty'--but
so thin, nobody but an old acquaintance could have known her.
For various mornings afterwards I saw her on the bank, but she
was always restless and anxious--listening and searching the
wind--trotting up and down--picking a leaf here and a leaf
there, and after her short and unsettled meal, she would take a
frisk round leap into the air--dart down into her secret bower,
and appear no more until the twilight. In a few days, however,
her excursions became a little more extended, generally to the
terrace above the bank, but never out of sight of the thicket
below. At length she ventured to a greater distance, and one day
I stole down the brae among the birches. In the middle of the
thicket there was a group of young trees growing out of a carpet
of deep moss, which yielded like a down pillow. The prints of
the doe's slender-forked feet were thickly tracked about the
hollow, and in the centre there was a bed of the velvet 'fog,'
which seemed a little higher than the rest, but so natural,
that it would not have been noticed by any unaccustomed eye. I
carefully lifted the green cushion, and under its veil, rolled
close together, the head of each resting on the flank of the
other, nestled two beautiful little kids, their large velvet
ears laid smooth on their dappled necks, their spotted sides
sleek and shining as satin, and their little delicate legs as
slender as hazel wands, shod with tiny glossy shoes as smooth
and black as ebony, while their large dark eyes looked at me out
of the corners with a full, mild, quiet gaze, which had not yet
learned to fear the hand of man: still they had a nameless doubt
which followed every motion of mine--their little limbs shrunk
from my touch, and their velvet fur rose and fell quickly; but
as I was about to replace the moss, one turned its head, lifted
its sleek ears towards me, and licked my hand as I laid their
soft mantle over them. I often saw them afterwards when they
grew strong, and came abroad upon the brae, and frequently
I called off old Dreadnought when he crossed their warm
track. Upon these occasions he would stand and look at me with
wonder--turn his head from side to side--snuff the ground again,
to see if it was possible that he could be mistaken--and when he
found that there was no disputing the scent, cock one ear at me
with a keener inquiry, and seeing that I was in earnest, trot
heavily onward with a sigh.

"The affection of the roe for their young is very strong; and
timid and feeble as they are by nature, inspired by the danger
of their offspring, they become brave and daring, and, in their
defence, will attack not only animals but men. We were one day
passing along the west walk of Eilean-Agais, and, beyond a turn
in the path, heard the sound of feet running towards us, and
immediately out shot a cat round the corner, and, close at her
heels, a doe pursuing her with great eagerness. Knowing that her
pursuer could not overtake her, and having no instinctive dread
of her kind, the cat did not give herself the trouble to run
faster than just sufficient to keep beyond her reach, while the
doe pursued her with an angry scrambling pace, and, whenever she
was near overtaking her, endeavoured to kneel on her back. This
is a mode of attack common to deer as well as cattle, which,
when they have overthrown their object, not only gore them with
their horns, but bruise and crush them with their knees. At our
appearance there was a pause; the cat cantered up the brae to
the top of a little rock, where she lay down in the sun to see
what would happen between us and her pursuer. The doe, after
a few bounds, turned round and looked indignantly at us, and
stamped and belled in great displeasure; this she continued for
some moments, glancing occasionally at the cat with a strong
desire to resume her chase; but being restrained by a sense of
prudence, she slowly ascended the hill, stopping at intervals to
stamp and bell at us, who knew very well that she had two kids
in the junipers upon the craig."

Now let us up to the hill, where the mighty herds are feeding. Scotland will, in all probability, never see a tainchel more; indeed, save at a royal hunting, it were scarcely desirable now. The feudal system has melted away, the clans are broken and scattered, and we care not again to see a pageant which is indissolubly connected in our memories with national gallantry and misfortune. But the deer are still on the mountain and in the wood, and we shall seek them in their former haunt. Wood-stalking, though the Stuarts speak of it with considerable enthusiasm, was never much to our taste. It is true that the largest stags are generally to be met with in the wood, and we have followed the sport ere now in the Spessart, among the pines of Darmstadt, and the thickets of Strath Garve; but it must always partake more or less of the character of driving, and we never have felt, while engaged in it, that enthusiasm and keenness which sends the blood to the heart of the hunter when he first discovers a herd in the gorge of some solitary glen. Then he feels that he must put forth the whole resources of his art--that he must baffle the acutest of all instincts by the aid of human cunning--that he has a thousand difficulties to overcome before he can arrive within reach of his quarry, and that a single false step or miscalculation is sufficient to destroy the labour, the patience, and the vigilance of a day.

Great, fat fallow-deer, waxing into obesity in a park, do not seem to mind the approach of a human being, even were he an alderman redolent of black-currant jelly. But the red-deer, as many incipient stalkers know to their cost, has a very different amount of perception. Unless you take the wind of him, he is off like a shot, though your distance may be upwards of a mile. In the words of the old stalker, "Above all things, let not the devil tempt you to trifle with a deer's nose: you may cross his sight, walk up to him in a gray coat, or, if standing against a tree or rock near your own colour, wait till he walks up to you; but you cannot cross his nose, even at an incredible distance, but he will feel the tainted air. Colours or forms may be deceptive or alike; there are gray, brown, and green rocks and stocks as well as men, and all these may be equivocal; but there is _but one scent of man_, and that he never doubts or mistakes; that is filled with danger and terror, and one whiff of its poison at a mile off, and, whether feeding or lying, his head is instantly up, his nose to the wind, and, in the next moment, his broad antlers turn, and he is away to the hill or the wood; and if there are no green peas, corn, or potatoes in the neighbourhood, he may not be seen on the same side of the forest for a month." A word to the wise, from the lips of a Celtic Solon!

So much for your chance, if, in the plenitude of your full flavour, you take the hill, regardless of the currents of the air, which, moreover, are perpetually shifting. But there are other difficulties. Though not impossible, it is very ticklish work to get within shot of a deer by any other means save diligent creeping, and sometimes, when the ground is unusually flat and open, that method of approach is impracticable. Then there are divers enemies--that is, of yours, for in reality they are scouts to the deer--whom you must try particularly to avoid. This is not easy. Sometimes when you are sinuating like a serpent towards the especial stag of your heart, a blundering covey of grouse will start from the heather, and give an effectual alarm; sometimes the shrill whistle of the plover will change your anticipated triumph into mourning; and sometimes a charge of that disagreeable cavalry the mountain sheep, little less sagacious and wary than the deer themselves, will put the whole of the glen into disorder. But the worst enemies you have to guard against are the hinds, who are usually so disposed as to be out upon the feeding-grounds, and thus to mask the stag. In such a position, it becomes a point of honour to circumvent the lady, which is any thing but an easy task. The Stuarts give us an admirable recollection of such a scene in the forest of Glen-Fidich, which is so exciting that, though rather long, we make no apology for transferring it to the columns of Maga.

"After about an hour's stalking, we came upon the shoulder
of a long slope, which looks into the gorges of two or three
short glens, opening to a narrow plain, on which we saw a noble
sight--a herd of four or five hundred deer, among which were
many very fine stags. After having feasted my eyes with this
splendid sight--the illustrious cavalry of the hill, the crowned
and regal array of the wilderness--I began to calculate how to
make the approach, how to slip between the chain of vidette
hinds, and numerous picquets of small stags, which commanded
almost every knoll and hollow. In the centre of the main body,
with a large plump of hinds--which he herded within a wide
vacant circle--there was a mighty black hart, with a head like
a blasted pine, and a cluster of points in each crown. Though
each stag of the surrounding circle had not less than ten
points, there were none which approached his size, and they all
kept at a respectful distance, while he marched round and round
the central group of hinds. 'He will have them all in the ring
before long,' said MacLellan; 'yon's one of the old heroes of
the Monadh-liath; he has not been four-and-twenty hours in the
forest.' I looked with an eager and longing eye at his gigantic
stature, but there was no apparent possibility of approaching
even the outward circle of stags. The herd was scattered over
all the ground between the hills, and every little knoll and
eminence had its restless picquets, and plumps of discomfited
stags, which had been beaten by the great hart, and were chafing
about, driving off and broding the buttocks of all the inferior
stags which came in their way, then returning and staring
with jealous disgust at the mighty stranger, who gave them no
notice, except when one or two more audacious, or less severely
beaten, made a few steps before his companions; upon which he
immediately charged, drove them before him, and scattered the
nearest in every direction. Upon these occasions, some hind of
greater levity than the rest took the opportunity of extending
her pasture, or paying her compliments to her companions, for
which she immediately received a good prod in the haunch, and
was turned back again into the centre.

"'There is no doing any thing there,' said I.

"''Deed no', replied MacLellan, shutting up his glass, 'we be to
go down to the foot of the burn.'

"This was a stream which runs through the middle of the narrow
plain, and empties itself into the Fidich, about four miles
below, at the east end of the forest. Before resolving upon
this, however, we made an attempt to cross the little glen
to the north-west; but, after passing round one hill, and
nearly to the top of another, we fell in with a small herd
of insignificant stags, but none among them being worth the
disturbance of the great herd; and being unable to pass them
unobserved, we were obliged to adopt the last alternative, and
descend to the Fidich. In about an hour and a half we performed
this retrogration, and, having crossed at the forester's house,
ascended the burn till we again approached the deer, and
stealing from knoll to knoll, again came in sight of the herd.
The outskirts of its wide circle had been much broken and
deranged by the jousts and expulsions during our absence; and we
saw that it was impossible to get near the better stags without
taking the channel of the stream. We immediately descended
into the water, and crept up the middle, sometimes compelled
to crouch so low, that the pools reached our hips, and, as the
stones were round and slippery, it was very uneasy to proceed
without floundering and splashing. At length, however, we were
within the circle of the deer: there was not a breath of wind,
and the least sound was audible in the profound stillness.
We slipped through the water like eels, till we came to a
little rock, which, crossing the burn, made a shelving fall,
which there was no means of passing, but by drawing ourselves
up the shoot of the stream. With some difficulty I pushed my
rifle before me along the edge of the bank, and then, while
the water ran down our breasts, we glided up through the gush
of the stream, and reached the ledge above. The return of
the water, which I had obstructed, made, however, a rush and
plash different from its accustomed monotonous hum, and I had
scarce time to lay flat in the burn, when a _hind_ sprung up
within a few yards, and trotted briskly away, then another, and
another. I thought that all was over, and that, in the next
moment, we should hear all the clattering hoofs going over the
turf like a squadron of cavalry. All remained still, however,
and, in a few seconds, I saw the first hind wheel about, and
look back steadily towards the fall. I was rejoiced to observe
that she had not seen us, and had only been disturbed by the
unusual sound of the water. She continued, however, anxious and
suspicious--watched and listened--picked off the tops of the
heather--then walked on, with her ears laid back, and her neck
and step stilting away as stiff as if she had been hung up in
the larder for a week. This, however, was not the worst; all the
surrounding _hinds_ which noticed her gait gathered here and
there, and stood on the tops of the little knolls, like statues,
as straight as pucks, with nothing visible but their narrow
necks and two peg-legs, and their broad ears perked immovably
towards us, like long-eared bats. MacLellan gave me a rueful
look. 'Cha n'eil comas air.' 'Never mind,' said I, 'we shall
see who will be tired first.' The forester gave a glance of
satisfaction, slid up his glass on the dry bank, and we lay as
still as the stones around us, till the little trouts, which had
been disturbed by our convulsion, became so accustomed to our
shapes, that they again emerged from under the flat pebbles, and
returned to their station in the middle of the stream, skulling
their little tails between my legs with no more concern than if
I had been a forked tree. At length the immobility of the hinds
began to give way: first one ear turned back, then another,
then they became sensible of the flies, and began to flirt and
jerk as usual, and, finally, one applied her slender toe to
her ear, and another rubbed her velvet nose upon her knee;--it
was more than half an hour, however, before, one by one, they
began to steal away, perking and snuffing, and turning to gaze
at the least air that whiffed about them. At length they all
disappeared, except one gray, lean, haggard old grandmother
of hinds, who had no teeth, and limped with one leg, probably
from a wound which she received fifty or perhaps a hundred
years before I was born. Her vigilance, however, was only
sharpened by age; time, and the experience of many generations,
had made her acquainted with all the wiles and crafts of the
hill,--her eyes and ears were as active as a kid's, and I have
no doubt she could smell like Tobit's devil.--MacLellan looked
at her through his glass, and spit into the burn, and grinned
against the sun--as if he was lying in the bilboes instead of
cold water.--The old sorceress continued to watch us without
relaxation, and at last lay down on the brow of the knoll, and
employed her rumination in obstinate contemplation of the bank
under which we were ambushed. There was now no alternative but
to recommence our progress up the burn; and as I was determined
to circumvent the hind, I prepared for every inconvenience
which could be inflicted by the opposite vexations of a sharp,
rough, slippery, and gravelly stream. Fortunately, at the place
where we then were, it was so narrow, that we could hold by the
heather on both sides, and thus drag ourselves forward through
the water, between each of which advances I pushed my rifle on
before me. In this manner we reached the turn of the brook,
where I concluded that we should be round the shoulder of the
knoll, and out of sight of the hind, who lay upon its east brow.
This was effected so successfully, that, when we looked behind,
we only saw her back, and her head and ears still pointing at
the spot which we had left. One hundred yards more would bring
us within sight of the great hart; the general position of the
herd had not changed, and I hoped to find him near the central
knoll of the flat, at the base of which the burn circled. We
were almost surrounded by deer; but the greater number were
small vigilant hinds, the abomination and curse of a stalker.
At length, however, we reached the knoll, and rested, to take
breath, at its foot; I examined my rifle, to see that the lock
was clean and dry. We took a view of all around us, and, drawing
ourselves cautiously out of the burn, slid up through the
heather on the south side of the eminence.--Scarce, however, had
our legs cleared the stream, when we discovered a pair of ears
not above fifteen yards from the other side.--'_Mo mhallachd
ort!_' [My curse upon you]--whispered MacLellan. She had not
discovered us, however, and we glided round the base of the
knoll--but on the other side lay three hinds and a calf, and I
could see no trace of the great hart.--On the edge of the burn,
however, further up, there were five very good stags, and a
herd of about thirty deer, on the slope of the north brae. All
round us the ground was covered with hinds; for the prevalence
of the westerly wind, during the last few days, had drawn the
deer to that end of the forest. Upon the spot where I lay,
though I could only see a portion of the field, I counted four
hundred and seventy; and it was evident that no movement could
be made upon that side. We tried again the opposite slope of the
knoll;--the hind which we had first seen was still in the same
place, but she had laid down her head, and showed only the gray
line of her back over the heather. We drew ourselves cautiously
up the slope and looked over the summit. On the other side
there was a small flat moss, about seventy yards in breadth;
then another hillock; and to the left two more, with little
levels, and wet grassy hollows between them. Upon the side of
the first knoll there were two young stags and some hinds; but
the points of some good horns showed above the crest.--The
intervening ground was spotted with straggling hinds, and we
might lay where we were till to-morrow morning, without a chance
of getting near any of the good deer. While we deliberated,
MacLellan thought that, by crawling with extreme caution up a
wet hollow to the left, we might have a chance to approach the
stags whose horns we had seen behind the other knoll, and, as
nothing better could be done, we decided upon this attempt. The
sun was going down from the old towers of Auchandùn, and we had
no more time than would give light for this venture.--We slid
away towards the hollow, and, drawing ourselves, inch by inch,
though the heather and tall thin grass, had reached the middle
of the level between the hillocks, when we heard a stamp and
a short grunt close beside us--I had scarce time to turn my
head, and catch a glimpse of a base little gray hind who, in
crossing the hollow, had stumbled upon us.--It was but a moment:
a rapid wheel and rush through the long grass, and I heard the
career of a hundred feet going through the hollow. I sprung on
my knee, and skaled a dozen small stags and hinds which came
upon us full speed; for those behind, not knowing from whence
came the alarm, made straight for the hill. The herd were now
gathering in all directions; charging--flying--re-uniting,
dispersing, and reassembling in utter disorder, like a rout of
cavalry.--I made a run for the middle knoll,--two stags, with
pretty good heads, met me right in the face.--I did not stop
to look at them, but rushed up the brae.--What a sight was
seen from its top!--upwards of six hundred deer were charging
past--before, behind, around, in all directions.--The stately
figure which I sought--the mighty black hart, was slowly
ascending an eminence about three hundred yards off, from whence
he reconnoitred the ground below; while the disarray of stags
and hinds gathered round him, like rallying masses of hussars
in the rear of a supporting column. I was so intent upon the
king of the forest, that I saw nothing else.--No other heads,
forms, numbers, took any place in my senses; all my faculties
were on the summit of that height.--At this moment I felt my
kilt drawn gently; I took no notice--but a more decided pull
made me look round:--MacLellan motioned up the slope, and I
saw the points of a good head passing behind a little ridge,
about eighty yards away. I looked back at the hart--he was just
moving to the hill. What would I have given to have diminished
a hundred and fifty yards of the distance which divided us! He
passed slowly down the back of the eminence and disappeared, and
the gathering herd streamed after him. '_O Chìal! A Chìal!_'
exclaimed the forester--'_bithidh è air fàlbh!_' The stag whose
horns I had seen had come out from behind the ridge, and stood
with his broad side towards me, gazing at the herd; but as they
moved away, he now began to follow. The disappearance of the
great hart, and the disappointment of MacLellan, recalled me to
the last chance. I followed the retreating stag with my rifle,
passed it before his shoulder, whiz went the two-ounce ball, and
he rolled over headlong in the heath, on the other side of the
knoll, which the next stretch would have placed between us. I
looked to the hill above: the whole herd was streaming up the
long green hollow in its west shoulder headed 'by the mighty
of the desert.' They rounded and passed the brow, and sloped
upward on the other side, till the forest of heads appeared
bristling along the sky-line of the summit. In a few moments
afterwards, as the sun was going down upon Scùr-na-Lapaich, and
the far western hills of Loch Duaich, the terrible wide-forked
tree came out in the clear eastern sky on the top of the hill,
and, crowding after, at least two hundred heads--crossing, and
charging, and mingling--their polished points flashing in the
parting sunbeams, and from many a horn, the long steamers of the
moss fluttering and flying like the pennons and bannerolles of
lances. The herd continued to file along the ridge of the hill,
and wheeling below the crest, countermarched along the sky-line,
till their heads and horns slowly decreased against the light."

With such a book as this before us, we could go on alternately commenting and extracting until we had broken the back of the Number. Even now we are dying to pilfer the account of the late Glengarry's course with "Black Dulochan," and the no less exciting history of the three day's ruse with a roebuck. But abstinence is a virtue which is forced upon us in the present instance, rather from the lack of space than from any exercise of voluntary discretion; and we shall now leave the deer without further molestation for a season, hoping soon to encounter them in person with our rifle somewhere about the skirts of Cairn-Gorm.

This is, we have no hesitation in saying, the best work on deer-stalking which has yet been written; and the amount of information which it contains regarding the habits of the stag and roe, combined with the vivid pictures of which we have made such ample use, cannot fail to render it popular. In an antiquarian point of view, it is also highly interesting; for it embodies a large amount of traditionary lore, sketches of the clans, and fragments of Highland song, of much superior merit to those which have hitherto come into our hands. The disquisitions, too, upon the disappearance of some animals once indigenous to Scotland--such as the wolf, the elk, the wild bull, and the beaver--exhibit a great amount of research, and supply a gap which has long been wanted in the page of natural history.

One word to the authors--though we fear our words must travel a long way before they can reach them in a foreign land. Why should they not recast and add to their second volume, so as to make it a single and unrivalled work upon the noblest sports of the Highlands? If it has proved so fascinating, as in truth we have felt it, in the more cumbrous shape of notes, how much better would it be if issued, not as an appendage to the poems, but in a distinct and articulate form? Perpend upon this, John Sobieski and Charles Edward, at your leisure; and let us add, that we trust some of your more gloomy anticipations may fall short of reality; that the walks of Eilean-Agais, that little Eden of the north, may again be gladdened by your presence; and that the sound of your hunting-horns may once more be heard in the woods of Tarnaway, and on the hills near the sources of the Findhorn.

THE BURIED FLOWER.

In the silence of my chamber,
When the night is still and deep,
And the drowsy heave of ocean
Mutters in its charmèd sleep,

Oft I hear the angel voices
That have thrill'd me long ago,--
Voices of my lost companions,
Lying deep beneath the snow.

O, the garden I remember,
In the gay and sunny spring,
When our laughter made the thickets
And the arching alleys ring!

O the merry burst of gladness!
O the soft and tender tone!
O the whisper never utter'd
Save to one fond ear alone!

O the light of life that sparkled
In those bright and bounteous eyes!
O the blush of happy beauty,
Tell-tale of the heart's surprise!

O the radiant light that girdled
Field and forest, land and sea,
When we all were young together,
And the earth was new to me!

Where are now the flowers we tended?
Wither'd, broken, branch and stem;
Where are now the hopes we cherish'd?
Scatter'd to the winds with them.

For ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones!
Nursed in hope and rear'd in love,
Looking fondly ever upward
To the clear blue heaven above:

Smiling on the sun that cheer'd us,
Rising lightly from the rain,
Never folding up your freshness
Save to give it forth again:

Never shaken, save by accents
From a tongue that was not free,
As the modest blossom trembles
At the wooing of the bee.

O! 'tis sad to lie and reckon
All the days of faded youth,
All the vows that we believed in,
All the words we spoke in truth.

Sever'd--were it sever'd only
By an idle thought of strife,
Such as time might knit together;
Not the broken chord of life!

O my heart! that once so truly
Kept another's time and tune,
Heart, that kindled in the spring-tide,
Look around thee in the noon.

Where are they who gave the impulse
To thy earliest thought and flow?
Look around the ruin'd garden--
All are wither'd, dropp'd, or low!

Seek the birth-place of the lily,
Dearer to the boyish dream
Than the golden cups of Eden,
Floating on its slumbrous stream;

Never more shalt thou behold her--
She, the noblest, fairest, best:
She that rose in fullest beauty,
Like a queen, above the rest.

Only still I keep her image
As a thought that cannot die,
He who raised the shade of Helen
Had no greater power than I.

O! I fling my spirit backward,
And I pass o'er years of pain;
All I loved is rising round me,
All the lost returns again.

Blow, for ever blow, ye breezes,
Warmly as ye did before!
Bloom again, ye happy gardens,
With the radiant tints of yore!

Warble out in spray and thicket,
All ye choristers unseen,
Let the leafy woodland echo
With an anthem to its queen!

Lo! she cometh in her beauty,
Stately with a Juno grace,
Raven locks, Madonna-braided
O'er her sweet and blushing face:

Eyes of deepest violet, beaming
With the love that knows not shame,--
Lips, that thrill my inmost being
With the utterance of a name.

And I bend the knee before her,
As a captive ought to bow,--
Pray thee, listen to my pleading,
Sovereign of my soul art thou!

O my dear and gentle lady,
Let me show thee all my pain,
Ere the words that late were prison'd
Sink into my heart again.

Love, they say, is very fearful
Ere its curtain be withdrawn,
Trembling at the thought of error
As the shadows scare the fawn.

Love hath bound me to thee, lady,
Since the well-remember'd day
When I first beheld thee coming
In the light of lustrous May.

Not a word I dared to utter--
More than he who, long ago,
Saw the heavenly shapes descending
Over Ida's slopes of snow:

When a low and solemn music
Floated through the listening grove,
And the throstle's song was silenced,
And the doling of the dove:

When immortal beauty open'd
All its grace to mortal sight,
And the awe of worship blended
With the throbbing of delight.

As the shepherd stood before them
Trembling in the Phrygian dell,
Even so my soul and being
Own'd the magic of the spell;

And I watch'd thee, ever fondly,
Watch'd thee, dearest, from afar,
With the mute and humble homage
Of the Indian to a star.