164 EXTRACTS FROM HIS WORKS [ch. vn. 
his mellow song from the hill, the plover whistles 
shrill on the moor, the plaint of the lapwing comes 
from the bog beneath, and hear! Was it thunder ? 
No _ hear! From far overhead comes the 
drumming sound of the snipe, which you may 
see wheeling and diving in the upper regions of 
the air. The “ lang yellow broom ” on “ the ferny 
brae,” the white flowered parnassia in the mossy 
swamp, the golden hieracium on that greywacke 
crag, and the long clusters of the purple foxglove 
scattered along the sides of the “ scar, all seem to 
burst in beauty on your sight. It is a lovely 
world after all. Let them talk of their myrtle 
groves of the “ sweet south,” their pine forests of 
“ the stormy north,” their tangled jungles of “ the 
gorgeous east,” their primeval woods of ‘ the 
far west,” their palmy isles, their green savannahs, 
their steaming swamps, their burning deserts— 
place me among the purple heather of one of the 
Lammermoor hills, with a merlin’s nest in view, 
and I leave them to enjoy their own pleasures. 
If they please they may ride crocodiles and 
thrapple rattle-snakes, for aught I care. 
Again one of the falcons has arrived, with a 
lark in his claws. Come let us go for we have 
much to do before we reach Gifford where we are 
to breakfast. Nay, not so fast, “wait a wee”; we 
are on the Lammer Law, beside a hawk’s nest, 
and I wish to shoot that smart little fellow that 
you see hastening away to Danskin Loch. In five 
minutes he will be there, for eight miles to a 
