ORNITHOLOGICAL RAMBLES. 29 



the foot of the aforesaid incline, and crossing the bridge 

 that spans the river that takes its name from the town, 

 gallantly and merrily bowls into the ancient township 

 of Thurso. 



A motley scene is enacting upon the hill above us, 

 and flags and banners of manifold design and mottoes ; 

 orderly groups of citizens, from the chief magistrate to 

 the humblest Highland chiel ; the Freemasons with 

 their respective badges and orders of brotherhood ; the 

 Rifle corps with their bayonets fixed, and band in 

 readiness to strike up at a moment's notice ; the drum 

 and bagpipes of some Highland clan ; but, above all, 

 a tripod stand of timber carrying a heavy pulley, with 

 a windlass and a massive block of stone, proclaim the 

 object of the scene. Sir George Sinclair, Bart., of 

 Thurso Castle, is in the act of laying the foundation 

 stone of a new academy which promises to be a great 

 acquisition to the town. In the centre of a dense mass 

 I could just distinguish the bared white head of Sir 

 George, in the act of making his address ; and, after a 

 pause of a few moments, three hearty cheers, accom- 

 panied by a tattoo from the Highland drummer, denoted 

 its conclusion. A murmur of satisfaction, and three 

 verses of a hymn, and it was then most inspiriting to 

 feel the time marked by the bass drum, as the band 

 struck up the National Anthem and the loyal hearts of 

 Victoria's favoured subjects glowed with enthusiasm 

 even in this distant corner of Britain. The Pdfles 



