88 DAYS OF DEER-STALKING. 



is worthless ; whereas, in two years more, he will be fine 

 venison. But [ would have borne all the blame at the 

 castle, in requital for your good temper in not scolding me 

 for leaving you on the crags of Ben-y-veuie. But hinds 

 and harts wait for no man ; and, moreover, I should have 

 given up a fair chance had I waited, without conferring 

 any benefit upon you." 



" Aye, food for eagles I might have been. All fair, all 

 fair ; I undertook to follow you, and could not, that's all; 

 and, to do you justice, you never looked behind. ' You have 

 a straight back, Hal, and care not who sees it.' I am con- 

 vinced that you have cloven feet, like Pan, or that fellow 

 with a worse name (whom, out of deference to you I for- 

 bear to mention), or you never could have galloped down 

 that fearful precipiece like a chamois. It made me giddy 

 at once ; my head reeled, and I was a lost man an abso- 

 lute nonentity, wounded and heart-broken." 



" And heartily glad am I that you are found again; with- 

 out bruises you intimate, I may not say, but without broken 

 bones at least I may, at any rate. But console yourself ; 

 you are not to blame, but rather your half-boots. Get the 

 proper material in future, thick shoes with nails, or Scotch 

 brogues 



' The hardy brogue, a' sewed wi' whang, 

 With London shoes can bide the bang, 

 O'er moss and muir with them to gang.' * 



* By the foot of Pharaoh,' as Captain Bobadil says, but this 

 must be amended. 



" Peter, do you see the wounded deer amongst the lot 

 which are foremost ? " 



" Na, na, he's no there ; he'll be coming up ahint." 

 " Give me the glass ; I see him plainly enough : he is 

 shot through the body, rather far behind, and cannot go 

 far. Now one of the deer is licking his wound now he 

 begins to falter now he turns aside, and sends a wistful 

 look after his companions, who are fast leaving him, happy 

 and free as the air we breathe. He is making another effort 

 to regain them poor fellow ! it may not be ; you shall never 



* Galloway's Poems. 



