314 A YEAR OF SPORT AND NATURAL HISTORY. 



culous though it may seem, not one little bite or sup will remain 

 in half-an-hour ! No one thinks of drinking anything but whisky ; 

 indeed, it would be a farce to suggest any other fluid, and of this 

 there is a supply which, anywhere but in Scotland, might be con- 

 sidered superabundant. I much doubt, however, if any goes back 

 home again. Then, just when we are feeling a bit lazy, and the 

 pipes are in full blast, it is announced that time is up. Like their 

 masters, the dogs stretch their stiffened limbs, the keepers and 

 gillies have a final nip, and soon all are in their places for beating 

 the upper portion of the Birch Wood, back to the end where we 

 began in the morning. There is a general consensus of opinion 

 that, instead of sending guns forward, the line should be extended 

 by one making his way along the rough face above the wood and 

 another along the extreme edge thereof. For this last duty I am 

 detailed, and an enthusiastic sportsman belonging to the Clan 

 Mackenzie scrambles up the rocks and takes up his position on my 

 right. 



But once more the fun becomes general. Woodcock dart 

 swiftly among the trees, while rabbits fly for refuge among the rocks 

 on the face, and are freely slated by my neighbour and myself, 

 while an occasional rocketing pheasant gives variety to the bag. 



By the time the final beat is ended it is close on four o'clock, 

 and the light is fading fast ; but there is enough to admit of an 

 inspection of the game killed. The number of head will not bear 

 comparison with the cartridges discharged ; nevertheless, the bag 

 is not a bad one, composed, as it is, of forty-three woodcock, thirty- 

 three pheasants, two hares and eighty-four rabbits. All agree that 

 it has been a capital day's sport. 



