THE BLUE HARE- POACHING- HAWKING 97 



the view cannot but be a lovely one. Perchance we 

 may find ourselves in Perthshire, on a low range of 

 hills where the heather struggles in patches to within 

 a hundred yards of the summit, which is crowned by 

 rough broken rocks that seem like a rude cairn erected 

 by the hands of the Titans of olden days. On the one 

 hand Schehallion rears its noble outline, crowned with 

 the early snowfall of the declining autumn, and seamed 

 as to his sides with great streaks of glistening splendour 

 as the sun gleams upon the masses of snow lodged in 

 the hollows that run downwards from the summit. 



On the other side lies the huge dark mass of Ben 

 Lawers, along whose base runs the silver streak of Loch 

 Tay, melting away into the distance at the foot of 

 noble Ben More. In the distance peak after peak rears 

 its head, till far, far away a white cloud of more pro- 

 nounced outline than usual attracts our eye, and we are 

 told that Ben Nevis itself is, for once in a way, within 

 our ken. To the north and east stretches an imposing 

 range of noble hills, which we can recognise as the 

 Grampians. They seem to have collected more snow 

 than the other peaks, and our attendant gillie points 

 out a streak or two, now prominent indeed, but which 

 he tells us are ever visible throughout the whole sum- 

 mer. Between us and the Grampians we can detect 

 another silver streak, which indicates the course of 



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