FLIGHT OF GROUSE. 



Sutra- Mains is on the high road between Blackshiels 

 and Lauderdale. I doubt if there is a part of Scot- 

 land that suffers in winter from the fury of the north- 

 east gales more than this particular locality. It is no 

 uncommon thing for farmers and cotters here to be 

 veritably "snowed up.*' As the traveller journeys 

 along this highway, he will observe what at first he 

 takes for telegraph poles, but on closer inspection 

 they prove not to be so. " What are they ? " he 

 naturally inquires, and the answer he will receive, if 

 his companion be a resident of these parts, is that 

 " they are to mark out the track when the heavy 

 snows of winter hide it." 



This is as dreary a "march " of country, and as steep 

 a one, as ever four-horse coach had to tackle. For 

 miles there is not a bit of shelter ; and I'll be bound, 

 ere now, many and many a pedestrian has cursed his 

 luck, because he has had to travel it, when his face 

 was turned northward, and he got the frigid, tearing, 

 ranting blasts full in his teeth. 



What a tremendous difference the seasons make to 

 this locality. In early autumn it is as fair a spot as 

 one would wish to look upon ; at his feet lies Wood- 

 cote Park, its grey and weather-beaten Gothic peaks 

 showing themselves through a dense surrounding of 

 thickly-interwoven plantations of elm, and birch, and 

 beech, while many and many a copse of golden 

 blossoming whins proclaim the home of frisky 



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