CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING JACKET 



education. In the moorland parish — God bless it — in 

 which we had the inestimable advantage of passing 

 our boyhood — there were a good many falcons — of 

 course the kite or glead — the buzzard — the sparrow- 

 hawk — the marsh harrier — that imp the merlin — 

 and, rare bird and beautiful! there, on a cliff which, 

 alas! a crutched man must climb no more, did the 

 Peregrine build her nest. You must not wonder at 

 this, for the parish was an extensive one even for 

 Scotland — half Highland half Lowland — and had not 

 only "muirs and mosses many o,^"* but numerous hills, 

 not a few mountains, some most extraordinary cliffs, 

 considerable store of woods, and one, indeed, that 

 might well be called The Forest. 



Lift up thy rock-crowned forehead through thy own 

 sweet stormy skies, Auld Scotland! and as sternly and 

 grimly thou look'st far over the hushed or howling 

 seas, remember thee — till all thy moors and mosses 

 quake at thy heart, as if swallowing up an invad- 

 ing army — a fate that oft befell thy foes of yore — re- 

 member thee, in mist-shrouded dream, and cloud-born 

 vision, of the long line of kings, and heroes, and 

 sages, and bards, whose hallowed bones sleep in pine- 

 darkened tombs among the mountain heather, by the 

 side of rivers, and lochs, and arms of ocean — their 

 spirits yet seen in lofty superstition, sailing or sit- 

 ting on the swift or settled tempest. Lift up thy rock- 

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