CHAP, xxvi.] THE MUCKLE HART OF BENMORE. 201 



my sober Donald exhibiting curious antics on the top of a tub. 

 These might have been the productions of a disturbed brain ; 

 but there is no doubt that when daylight awoke me, the smug- 

 glers and Donald were all quiet and asleep, far past my efforts to 

 rouse them, with the exception of one who was still able to tend 

 the fire under the large black pot. 



Friday. From the state in which my trusty companion was, 

 with his head in a heap of ashes, I saw it would serve no purpose 

 to awake him, even if I were able to do so. It was quite clear 

 that he could be good for nothing all day. I therefore secured 

 some breakfast and provisions for the day (part of them oatcake, 

 which I baked for myself), tied up Bran to wait Donald's resto- 

 ration, and departed with my rifle alone. The morning wag 

 bright and beautiful, the mountain-streams overflowing with last 

 night's rain. I was now thrown on my own resources, and my 

 own knowledge of the country, which, to say the truth, was far 

 from minute or exact. " Benna-skiach " was my object to-day, 

 and the corries which lay beyond it, where at this season the 

 large harts were said to resort. My way at first was dreary 

 enough, over a long slope of boggy ground, enlivened, however, 

 by a few traces of deer having crossed, though none of my 

 " chace." I at length passed the slope, and soon topped the 

 ridge, and was repaid for my labour by a view so beautiful, that 

 I sat down to gaze at it, though anxious to get forward. Look- 

 ing down into the valley before me, the foreground was a con- 

 fusion of rocks of most fantastic shape, shelving rapidly to the 

 edge of a small blue lake, the opposite shore of which was a 

 beacli of white pebbles, and beyond, a stretch of the greenest 

 pasture, dotted with dropping white-stemmed birches. This 

 little level was hemmed in on all sides by mountains, ridge above 

 ridge, the lowest closely covered with purple heath, the next 

 more green and broken by ravines, and the highest ending in 

 sharp serrated peaks tipped with snow. Nothing moved within 

 range of my vision, and nothing was to be seen that bespoke life 

 but a solitary heron standing on one leg in the shallow water 

 at the upper end of the lake. From hence I took in a good 

 ratine, but could see no deer. While I lay above the lake, the 

 day suddenly changed, and heavy wreaths of mist came down 

 the mountain-sides in rapid succession. They reached me soon, 



P 



