168 WILD SPORTS OF THE HIGHLANDS. [cuap. xx 
being shot two or three times, I shot him dead about fifty yards 
before the hounds. During the run I saw two foxes start ; one 
of them waded quietly through the swamp towards my English 
friend, who, however, did not shoot at him, because he was afraid, 
he said, of losing a chance at the roe; but I rather suspect, that 
having been bred a fox-hunter in his own country, he had a kind 
of holy horror against killing a fox in any but the orthodox 
manner which he had been accustomed to. 
After having opened one of the bucks and rewarded the beagles 
with the entrails, liver, &c., we repaired to a cottage at hand, 
where our host for the day had provided a capital luncheon. 
Frequently when passing these swamps and rugged ground, I 
have seen roe start up from the rough heather, or feeding, knee 
deep in the water, on the rank weeds and herbage. The best 
part of this ground for wild-fowl is gradually getting drained, 
and what was (a few years since) a dreary waste of marsh and 
swamp, has now become a range of smiling corn-land. I shall 
not easily forget my old keeper’s explanation, on his first seeing 
one of his favourite spots for stalking wild-fowl turned into an 
oat-field. We had walked far, with little success, but he had 
depended on our finding the ducks in a particular spot, not being 
aware that it had been drained since his last visit to it. Having 
taken a long and sonorous pinch of snuff, according to his usual 
custom when in any dilemma, he turned to me, muttering, 
“Well, well, the whole country is spoilt with their improve- 
ments, as they ca’ them. It will no be fit for a Christian man to 
live in much longer.” He thought that oats and wheat were a 
bad exchange for his favourite ducks and geese. 
