< THE SCOTCH MAIL' 95 



ing to watch the dogs uncoupled and to give a first 

 eager and searching glance over your ground. 



In the foreground the trim figures in grey home- 

 spun of your companions and the keepers, their keen 

 and healthy faces relieved against the peat or heather, 

 the polished gun-barrels glistening in the sun, the 

 liver and the white dog taking their first scamper, the 

 sturdy custodian of the ponies and the lunch, the 

 kilted boy with the other couple of dogs, the seedling 

 birches and feathery young larches of the moor edge 

 flickering in the golden light of the August noon, to 

 the sound of the steady roar of the great fall of waters 

 at the tail of the pool behind you. 



Beyond, the colouring is gorgeous away for 

 miles the slopes and shoulders, the knowes and 

 hollows of purple and pink heather stretch to where 

 the glassy loch lies shimmering under the solemn 

 precipices of a mighty peak with an historic name. 

 Supporting him on either side are ranged the rugged 

 forms of his giant brethren a study in faint grey and 

 blue, with here and there a patch of dwindling snow 

 to tell of the bitterness of the recent storm. In this 

 glorious amphitheatre you attack your sport. The 

 white dog comes to a dead point on your side of a 

 knoll, and is beautifully backed by the liver-coloured 

 bitch, who halts on a great piece of flat rock some 



