CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING JACKET 



bloom, though fair, is faded — and at set of sun, the 

 dews shall find it in decay, and fall unfelt on its 

 petals. Ere Sabbath came, the orphan child was dead. 

 Methinks we see now her little funeral. Her birth had 

 been the humblest of the humble; and though all in 

 life had loved her, it was thought best that none 

 should be asked to the funeral of her and her father, 

 but two or three friends; the old clergyman himself 

 walked at the head of the father's coffin — we at the 

 head of the daughter's — for this was granted unto 

 our exceeding love; — and thus passed away for ever 

 the Blind Beauty of the Moor! 



Yet sometimes to a more desperate passion than 

 had ever before driven us over the wilds, did we de- 

 liver up ourselves entire, and pursue our pastime like 

 one doomed to be a wild huntsman under some spell 

 of magic. Let us, ere we go away from these high 

 haunts and be no more seen — let us away far up 

 the Great Glen, beyond the Echo-cliff, and with our 

 rifle — 't was once the rifle of Emilius Godfrey — let us 

 stalk the red-deer. In that chase or forest the antlers 

 lay not thick, as now they lie on the Athole Braes; 

 they were still a rare sight — and often and often had 

 Godfrey and we gone up and down the Glen, without 

 a single glimpse of buck or doe rising up from among 

 the heather. But as the true angler will try every cast 

 on the river, miles up and down, if he has reason to 

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