cuap. xxvi.] THE MUCKLE HART OF BENMORE. 205 
my sober Donald exhibiting curious antics on the top of a tub. 
These might have been the productions of a disturbed brain ; 
but there is no doubt that when daylight awoke me, the smug- 
glers and Donald were all quiet and asleep, far past my efforts to 
rouse them, with the exception of one who was still able to tend 
the fire under the large black pot. 
Friday.—From the state in which my trusty companion was, 
with his head in a heap of ashes, I saw it would serve no purpose 
to awake him, even if I were able to doso. It was quite clear 
that he could be good for nothing all day. I therefore secured 
some breakfast and provisions for the day (part of them oatcake, 
which I baked for myself), tied up Bran to wait Donald’s resto- 
ration, and departed with my rifle alone. The morning was 
bright and beautiful, the mountain-streams overflowing with last 
night’s rain. J was now thrown on my own resources, and my 
own knowledge of the country, which, to say the truth, was far 
from minute or exact. ‘ Benna-skiach” was my object to-day, 
and the corries which lay beyond it, where at this season the 
large harts were said to resort. My way at first was dreary 
enough, over a long slope of boggy ground, enlivened, however, 
by a few traces of deer having crossed, though none of my 
““chace.” Tat length passed the slope, and soon topped the 
ridge, and was repaid for my labour by a view so beautiful, that 
I sat down to gaze at it, though anxious to get forward. Look- 
ing down into the valley before me, the foreground was a con- 
fusion of rocks of most fantastic shape, shelving rapidly to the 
edge of a small blue lake, the opposite shore of which was a 
beach of white pebbles, and beyond, a stretch of the greenest 
pasture, dotted with dropping white-stemmed birches. This 
little level was hemmed in on all sides by mountains, ridge above 
ridge, the lowest closely covered with purple heath, the next 
more green and broken by ravines, and the highest ending in 
sharp serrated peaks tipped with snow. Nothing moved within 
range of my vision, and nothing was to be seen that bespoke life 
but a solitary heron standing on one leg in the shallow water 
at the upper end of the lake. From hence I took in a good 
range, but could see no deer. While I lay above the lake, the 
day suddenly changed, and heavy wreaths of mist came down 
‘the mountain-sides in rapid succession. They reached me soon, 
