212 EIED LIFE IN ENGLAND. 



That boatman was a poacher, whatever he may have 

 thought of himself ; and perhaps it may be as well after this 

 instance of treacherous ingenuity, to turn to an honester 

 theme and outline a rough day's sport on the Scotch border 

 fells and sea-shore, looking for our game honestly, and 

 bringing it to bay with " straight powder " and in open day- 

 light, in all the "pride and circumstance " of straightforward 

 sports-craft ! 



WINTER SHOOTING IN THE HIGHLANDS. 



" Eight o'clock, sir ! " says my faithful henchman, coming 

 into my room with the hot water, adding, in answer to my 

 sleepy inquiries, that " it's a fine morning, but freezing hard." 

 Of the latter fact I have an instinctive perception in spite of 

 the snugness of my retreat ; that sort of feeling which warns 

 one how unpleasant it will be to get up when the operation 

 becomes absolutely necessary and can be put off no longer. 

 On this occasion the subject seemed to require special con- 

 sideration, the pros and cons of immediate rising being 

 weighed with much deliberation. To begin with, the 

 advantage of staying where I was appeared too obvious for 

 a doubt. On the other hand, the first gong had sounded 

 twenty minutes ago, so breakfast must be ready ; possibly my 

 hostess was already down, and, assisted by her three delightful 

 daughters, presiding behind the silvery bulwarks of steaming 

 coffee-pots and urns. I even fancied I could catch a faint 

 whiff of all sorts of good provender on its way from the 

 kitchen regions, and this fact was conclusive. Without 

 venturing to think more on the subject, I muttered a once, 

 twice, and away, and found myself safely standing on the 

 floor. To draw up the blinds was the first operation, and 

 there lay as wonderful a stretch of ice-bound country as any 

 I have ever come across. The wild highlands of the 

 western Scottish coast, and such it was that lay before me, 



