138 DAYS OF DEER-STALKING. 



will not sing your coronach at an earlier age. It is a cus- 

 tom, I believe, which all the old foresters have observed. 

 I was near hearing poor gallant Macintyre sini? his : you 

 may remember when he was lying ill at Forest Lodge, and 

 I had my quarters there, how, in the midst of his fever, he 

 would rave about the deer ; how his spirit was ever on the 

 hills, whilst his body was lying on a sick bed ; how wildly 

 he talked of Ben-y-gloe, Craig-chrochie, Glen Croinie, and 

 all the glens and mountains that had so often echoed to the 

 crack of his rifle ; you may bear in mind how near he then 

 was to the grave of his fathers. It chanced I did him some 

 little common act of kindness, such as no one but an honest- 

 hearted Highlander would have thought about for a moment. 

 He wished, he said, he might get well, that he might have 

 the pleasure of taking me into the deer how fine he would 

 do it ! These were the last words I ever heard from his 

 mouth, and surely they were kind ones. Poor fellow ! on 

 that day I sent him down to Blair, in an easy carriage, to 

 be nearer the doctor : he lived but a short space afterwards. 

 Long before this, however, he was aware that his life was 

 ebbing; for when Mr. Landseer painted his portrait, he 

 looked at it sorrowfully, and said, ' An' if that's like Macin- 

 tyre, he's no long for this world.' Too truly did he pro- 

 phesy, peace be with him. 



" And now we will see if we can kill a hart in honour of 

 his memory ; and we will pour over the best libations of 

 right Loch Rannoch, the fumes whereof will be grateful to 

 his shade." 



Peter Fraser (touching his cap), " That would be shamef u' 

 waste, yer honour ; Macintyre himsel' aye poured it intill 

 his weem, and I'm thinking his ghaist would like to see us 

 pit it in the same gait, and not gie it to a dead beastie, who 

 will no ken whether it be lowland stuff or richt Loch Ran- 

 noch." (Then laying his arm upon Tortoise), " Hist, hist, 

 sir ; some fashious body has disturbit the moor. Look to 

 yon deer ; they are coming ower from the east by the green 

 knowes, and ganging on slowly to Crag Urrard. What shall 

 we do ? We maun lie doun on the heather, for we are lockit 

 in, and canna win forrat a fut the noo. The banks of the 

 Banavie are steep, and the pass to Crag Urrard is narrow ; 



