ON THE COAST OF ARRAN 165 



make out the pink line of the coast and the 

 white huts of High Corrie. 



As we are crossing the old sea-level we 

 startle a fine red buck. He goes scouring across 

 the heather, and we are delighted with his 

 splendid spring and carriage. At half-past five 

 we reach the bottom wet and weary, but longing 

 for the opportunity of another day upon the 

 ridges. 



After tea we heard that a stag had been shot 

 by one of the Duke's relatives, and was lying in 

 the School-house yard. We went out to look 

 at him, and were saddened to find that it 

 was the noble fellow whom we ourselves had 

 roused. He had been shot right through the 

 breast. We felt like mourners when we saw 

 him lifted into a cart and driven off to the 

 Castle. 



Late at night there is an awful sea. The 

 tide has risen to the level of the rocks, and the 

 waves come swirling over into the road. At the 



