A MONTH AT STRATH MAACOE 217 



As this was thought to be the best plan, we therefore, leaving 

 our two friends side by side, started at once for home. 



As we had to go fourteen miles in the dark, tumbles were 

 numerous, while the rate of progress was so slow that it was 

 not till the clock in the hall of our lodge was striking midnight 

 that we reached our destination pretty well "baked." Over a 

 hasty mouthful of supper, Patcham confided to me he did not 

 after all think so much of deer-stalking, for, said he, " I shall 

 never get over missing those first two stags to-day, and then 

 haunching the last one ! " 



We ought to have been at the Castle with our host this 

 evening, but our non-appearance was unavoidable. 



8th. — This morning we started for Strathmaacoe, meeting 

 Tom and Lewes coming into the forest for their three days, 

 so after explaining the reason of our delay, we continued our 

 drive. On arriving at the house, we passed the remainder of 

 the day in resting. 



9th. — Rain fell in torrents, forcing us to stay at home, and 

 Patcham, to my disgust, monopolised the smoking - room 

 writing table nearly all the morning. My turn, however, came 

 at last, for in turning over the leaves of the blotting-book 

 I discovered the following very feeble poetical effusion, but 

 to my joy it was signed " T. Surrey," so therefore I 

 publish it on purpose to annoy him, and in the belief that 

 it will more than make us quits for his trick with the fox's 

 brush. 



A Stalk in Strathmaacoe 



At start two miles uphill you go. 

 Hot tea with toast makes puff and blow ! 

 And then, although you're boiling hot, 

 Down you sit in an east-wind spot. 

 Shivering hands pull out the glasses 

 To search the corrie, all the passes. 

 Then three miles off, a stag you spy. 

 So for him you're bound to try. 

 The first mile's done at racing pace. 

 And then you struggle up a place 



