EEMINISCENCES OF THE LEWS. 183 



glen, and Jock the other; I'll keep up the 

 burnside." Scramble, toil, climb up to the 

 head of the burn — not a bird ! How can this 

 be ? We must try the next glen. I should 

 have remembered the wind has shifted since 

 the dawn, when it was dead on this glen. Of 

 course, no woodcocks. But there's Jock 

 pointing on the plain stone flat on the top of 

 the hill above us. There he goes flicking over, 

 and a miss. There goes another, and clear, 

 too. ''You doited old man, couldn't you re- 

 collect it was soft, misty rain at daybreak ? 

 The glens are no good to-day, and the birds 

 are on the flat tops, and as wild as hawks." 

 On we go up to the stones on the hill-top, and 

 there little Jock makes a sudden turn and 

 looks into a rock. Out comes a woodcock, 

 and he's " round the corner, Sally," before you 

 have a chance, unless you blow him to pieces, 

 a process I singularly dislike. Another point, 

 and a fixed gaze of little Jock's into a snug 

 little dry gravelled parlour under a large slab 

 stone, a regular cul-de-sac, '' You can't hit 

 them to-day, master ; suppose we try and catch 

 him." And between us we produce from under 

 the stone Mr. Brown, whose neck, to save time 

 and trouble, we wring at once. Don't scream 

 out, ''You pot-hunter!" Nothing steadies 



