THE LAST STALK OF THE SEASON 181 
again, sir, for I found just after m-c had started 
that we had only thirteen cartridges, and very 
nearly went back to leave one of them at home." 
On our way down from the hill there kept 
ringing in my ears the familiar lines of Ruskin in 
A Joy for Ever, lines so true in the experience of 
those of us who are no longer on the threshold of 
life: 
" It is wisely appointed for us that few of the 
things we desire can be had without considerable 
intervals of time." 
My host had also shot two stags^ though he 
had not met with the wonderful luck I had had. 
No one could have been more genuinely pleased 
at my good fortune than he was. So ended for 
me the last day of the stalking season of 1913, 
which was one of the most enjoyable and lucky 
days I have ever spent in the Highlands, and will 
always be to me a red-letter day. 
