THE RED-DEER IN SUMMER 



THERE is no creature in this country which em- 

 bodies so perfectly the romance of wild nature as 

 the red -deer of the Highland hills. Its whole shape 

 and bearing are romantic, and its action stands for 

 the very poetry of motion. Its character, built up 

 by a race of writers in prose and verse, is in 

 harmony with its superbly picturesque figure. A 

 denizen of the wild, its lithe and throbbing frame 

 is filled with a passion of independence, and it 

 hates man and all his ways. If you would see 

 it you must seek it with pain and stealth in the 

 remotest recesses of the mountains. 



These are prevailing conceptions. In my own 

 mind the wild, romantic, aloof red -deer has long, 

 I must confess, held a place as something of a 

 humbug. My disillusion began many years ago 

 when visiting a Highland sheep farm in winter. 

 I found the shepherd pronouncing himself " sair 

 bothered " with the deer when he laid out food 

 for his particular charges. And when I accom- 

 panied him, there they were, sure enough, hanging 

 on his rear and actually requiring some little 

 demonstration to drive them away. The poor 

 creatures were hungry, snowed out of pasture, and 

 their instinctive fear of man did not stand much 



