196 ODD HOURS WITH NATURE 



scheme of recuperation turnip -tops compete 

 indifferently with bog-myrtle. 



Most of us are the bondservants of purpose 

 even in our pleasures, and the slaying of the little 

 red bird is the purpose that takes thousands to 

 the hills. But even those who seek no more than 

 the little red bird find more than they seek 

 refreshment of blood in the strong air of the moun- 

 tains, refreshment of vision in their colour, tone in 

 a thousand unconscious impressions. Millais 

 likened Scotland in the richness of its colouring to 

 a wet pebble, and at no time does it glow with a 

 splendour greater than that of August. At all 

 seasons there are purples on the hills, but they are 

 the purples of atmosphere, which vanish in the 

 sunshine. The purple that comes upon hill and 

 moor in the second week of August is a material 

 reality whose richness is only enhanced with the 

 full light. With the moorland greens and olives 

 of rush and fern, of bog-myrtle and horsetail, 

 which make with it the perfect harmony, it forms 

 the colour impression that dominates the festival 

 of the day. The day has its sound impressions, 

 which dwell no less persistently in the memory. 

 The silence of the hills has many voices, and it 

 would be a less impressive silence than it is, were 

 it unbroken by the sad notes of curlew and plover, 

 true children of Nature's own domain such 

 domain, that is to say, as Nature is permitted in 

 a land like ours. 



For no sport, not even that of grouse-shooting, 

 is wholly favourable to the retention of the land 

 surface in the state of Nature. A careful but 



