GROUSE. Ill 



"THE TWELFTH." 



But " the twelfth " is the white letter day of the heather 

 trudger. He may enjoy it "in the ranks" of a noisy but 

 well meaning party of lowlanders or alone. On a recent 

 occasion various circumstances prevent us, however, from 

 doing conventional justice to the occasion by a big muster 



of guns and a proper day's shooting myself and J , 



equally enthusiastic, determined to try our fortune alone 

 since we could get no one else to join us. 



Be the party big or small, the weather is always a matter 

 of the first importance. Fortunately it was fine and bright 

 when we turned out at seven a.m. on the morning of the 

 12th. The sun was just rising behind the hills on which the 

 old Scotch house was built, and throwing clear blue shadows 

 of pine-clad summits half way up the opposite side of the 

 valley, where the land was long heather and patches of 

 coarse grasses, broken up by thin mountain torrents and 

 veined by grey stone dykes. This was promising enough, 

 but from some cause perhaps the purity of the air the 

 sky in the Highlands is almost always blue and clear at 

 isuiirise, a state of things which early rising but inexperienced 

 .southerners take to be a sure token of a lovely day. Un- 

 fortunately the promise is often broken. This time, however, 

 .a fair sky was accompanied by a strong hoar frost covering 

 the grass in the shadows of the trees with a beautiful 

 powdering of white crystals, and glittering as it melted into 

 dew-drops in the fast-increasing warmth. 



I roused up the other " gun " who was to accompany me, 

 and by 7.30 we were hard at work at breakfast, dividing 

 our time between the hot coffee and many good things, 

 and getting into our " war-paint." We agreed not to 

 trouble ourselves with any dogs, and when I suggested that 



a keeper should come with us, J , who is rather a 



Philistine in such matters, said, " Oh, bother keepers ; let's 



