THE AMATEUR TRAMP IN SCOTLAND 149 



braes of heather and the hills of grass, with the fleecy 

 flocks that lie huddled together on them ; the steamers 

 whistling at the wharf behind, with the unlucky passen- 

 gers embarking, who are to be doomed to supine 

 inactivity ; the brown sails of the fishing-boats scarcely 

 swelling to the light cat's-paws ; the flights of stooping 

 sea-fowl ; the low verdant islands in the middle dis- 

 tance ; the clear outlines of the rocky peaks, whose base 

 is battered by the breakers of the Atlantic. 



But your road leads to the landward, and there is 

 pleasure enough in the sights and sensations that beckon 

 you along it. The oak copses are glistening in showers 

 of fog-drops. The birds are twittering merrily to the 

 promise of the brilliant day ; now and then a hare hops 

 out upon your path, or you have a flying glance at the 

 white stern of a roe, as he bounds gracefully into the 

 thicker cover. Beyond the copses you emerge on the 

 moors, where you hear the shrill cry of the grouse- 

 cock, and the plaintive wail of the wary curlew. 

 The moors reach away from you on either side in 

 brown rolling stretches of heather, cut up here and 

 there by black peat-hags. There is not a human being 

 or a habitation, for the moment, within sight or hear- 

 ing ; your bed and the boots and your southern fellow- 

 tourists seem to be left long leagues and days behind 

 you. If ever you care for communing with yourself 

 quietly, with the mellowing lights of heaven falling 

 softly on your past and your future, now is one of those 

 rare opportunities that come too seldom in the course 

 of your pilgrimage. Ha ! what is that ? A sea-eagle. 



