280 WILD SPORTS OF THE HIGHLANDS. [CHAP, xxxvi. 



piece to a day's wild shooting as I could have wished ; and 

 though I have very often far exceeded the number which I 

 killed that day, I do not ever remember bagging a handsomer 

 collection of animals in so short a time. Every bird, too, was in 

 beautiful plumage and condition, and when laid out, ready to be 

 packed up, made quite a picture. 



An account of a day's shooting is rather a dry affair, but I 

 have given it as showing the great variety of game which is to 

 be found in this part of the country. I had, indeed, as good a 

 chance of killing a roebuck as anything else, as I passed through 

 a piece of ground where I have repeatedly killed roe. I saw an 

 old blackcock too, but he was in a bare place, and rose out of 

 shot. 



Golden plovers and curlews collect on the low grounds in 

 immense flocks at this time of the year, previous to settling down 

 in their winter-quarters. Both these birds breed generally in 

 very high situations, and though wary in the winter, and difficult 

 to approach, yet during the summer, when crossing the moun- 

 tains, I have been absolutely annoyed by the continued clamour 

 of curlews flying and screaming within a few yards of my head, 

 and following up their persecutions for a considerable distance, 

 when it would probably be taken up by another pair with fresh 

 lungs, whose breeding-place I might be approaching. 



The golden plover has a plaintive and rather sweet note as he 

 flits rapidly round the traveller who intrudes on his domain. 

 Indeed in the spring the note of the golden plover, as he ascends 

 with rapid wheelings high above your head, is quite musical, and 

 approaches nearly to the note of a thrush or blackbird. Not 

 only the whistle of the plover, but even the harsh cry of the land- 

 rail, and the monotonous call of the cuckoo, are always grateful to 

 my ear, because, being heard only in the spring-time, they are 

 associated in my mind with the idea of the departure of winter 

 and the return of fine weather. It is often a matter of astonish- 

 ment to me how the throat of a bird so tender and delicately 

 formed as the landrail can emit such hard and grating cries, 

 which sound more as if they were produced by some iron or 

 brazen instrument than from the windpipe of a bird. The raven 

 or crow look as if they ought to be the owners of a harsh and 

 croaking voice, and a shrill note comes appropriately from the 



