48 ON THE GRAMPIAN HILLS. 



After luncheon the rain came on in heavy showers, 

 and the heather became so wet that birds would not lie, 

 even if it cleared, and nothing remained to be done but 

 to wend our way homewards. 



As I sit writing in the Manse, the sun shining 

 brightly, I cannot but note the beauty of the scene. 

 Prior to the occupation of this comfortable abode by 

 the newly- ordained minister, my friends were for- 

 tunate enough to secure it for a few weeks from the 

 incoming tenant, a gentleman of culture and refine- 

 ment, as shown by his well-stored library of choice 

 books of inestimable value, if only as a means of 

 killing time in such winters as the last, when the road 

 was blocked by snow for many weeks. Seen under 

 those circumstances, the prospect from the window I 

 am now sitting at must have been widely different from 

 the smiling aspect the place now assumes. Placed in 

 a sheltered spot, a steep bit of hill being immediately 

 at the back, and facing a south aspect, a long view is 

 obtained of the valley, the high hills, and the swift- 

 flowing Shee. At this period of the year the oats in 

 front of the Manse are perfectly green, showing no 

 signs of coming into ear at present. Haymaking is 

 progressing in a highly dilettante style. Up the snow- 

 white walls of the minister's house a tropaeolum of a 

 delicate carmine hue climbs ; several rose-trees are in 

 full, profuse bloom, one being of a specially beautiful 

 description; a laburnum is also to be seen in full 

 blossom; whilst green gooseberries and currants are 

 to be gathered in the garden. This contrasts greatly 

 with what we experience in England, where most of 

 the foregoing flowers and fruits are long since over. 



