IN PRAISE OF THE GROUSE n 



gather in glorious harmony. To lie upon an open 

 shelf of rock, from which the sun has newly drawn 

 the early dew, to listen silently, and drink in at, leisure, 

 all unnoticed, the cries of the wild population that 

 hold their own among the pathless hills, this for the 

 naturalist is a feast of intellect. Now it is an old male 

 capercailzie whose fine bold form appears suddenly 

 upon the scene, as he speeds through the top of a 

 cluster of Scotch firs, having been rudely startled from 

 his favourite perch by some passer-by. Anon, a restless 

 curlew sweeps into the field of the binoculars, and pro- 

 ceeds to wheel in agitation above the rushy ground in 

 which her progeny are skulking, quaint little downy 

 morsels with their curious, straightened bills. A wary old 

 blackcock comes speeding along the hill in full view 

 of us, and a skein of wild duck appear circling over- 

 head, wheeling round and round at a vast height from 

 the earth. If we lingered a few minutes longer, we 

 should surely be visited by a blue merlin, or, perhaps, 

 a tercel might favour us with a morning call. Much 

 of the charm with which the hills are invested is due 

 to the delicious uncertainty as to what we mayor may 

 not meet with among the rocks and heather of the 

 lonelier glens ; and I, for one, am obliged to confess 

 that our national scenery exercises a stronger spell 

 over mv imainnation than the beauties of Switzerland 



