SEPTEMBER 185 



shores of Loch Treig ; but that is even more deserted 

 than of yore since the making of the West Highland 

 Railway. But one sees some odd things here occa- 

 sionally. Early one September morning lately (1896) 

 I was riding along Loch Ossian on my way to the hill 

 where I was to stalk. There is a shred of old wood- 

 land beside that fair lake ; the firs have all disappeared, 

 but there remain birch, rowan, and alder along a couple 

 of miles of steep hillside. It was a divine morning ; the 

 slanting rays lit up the golden spray of the birches 

 and the intense crimson of the rowan leaves, and 

 through these gleamed the pale azure of the lake. 

 Grousecocks crowed crousely beside the track ; the 

 early mists wreathed themselves fantastically around 

 Beinn-na-Lap ; it was all so lovely that I could not 

 but loiter, and the old pony picked his way as he 

 pleased along the rough path. But my reverie was 

 roughly broken by a violent shy on the part of the 

 usually sedate animal. He might well be surprised. 

 Lying beside the path, under the steep bank, was a 

 tramp in a drunken sleep. Not considering myself 

 under any obligation to disturb him, I gathered up 

 my reins and passed on, as heartlessly as any Levite, 

 speculating how the devil had managed to put whisky 

 in this poor waif's way in that wilderness, the nearest 

 public-house being at Rannoch station, fully ten rough 

 miles away. Somehow that tramp dwelt a good deal 

 in my thoughts. He had a peculiarly long nose of 

 intense fiery red; he was pretty comfortably dressed, 

 and there was the painful contrast between his unlovely 



