CH. XXXIV. BRAXY MUTTON. 229 



As we approached nearer to the shepherd's hut, the 

 hill-sides, which were covered with fine old weeping- 

 birch, presented a most beautiful appearance ; and 

 here we saw a great many blackcocks, either perched 

 on the leafless branches of the birch, or trying to 

 make a scanty meal of the juniper-berries, which 

 they contrived to get at here and there, where the 

 snow was not so deep. I shot a couple of fine 

 old birds as they flew over our heads fi-om one 

 side of the river to the other ; and Donald missed 

 several more, as shooting flying is decidedly not 

 his forte. 



Our approach had been observed from a distance, 

 and the shepherd was ready to receive us. His 

 wife, " on hospitable cares intent," hurried to and 

 fro, piling peats and fir-roots on the fire. I had got 

 wet at the spring where we killed the ducks, and my 

 trousers, higher than my knees, were as hard as 

 boards with the intense frost that had come on as 

 the evening set in. However, " Igne levatur 

 hyems" — I was soon thawed to a proper consistency, 

 and immediately began to superintend the cooking 

 of some of our game. In as short a time as pos- 

 sible a stew worthy of Meg Merrilics herself was 

 prepared ; but with true Highland taste Donald 

 preferred, or pretended to prefer, some " braxy " 

 mutton which the shepherd's wife set before him ; 



