e wise boy--"off to some other game we altogether
flew." Never were there such hills for hare and hounds. There couched
many a pussy--and there Bob Howie's famous Tickler--the Grew of all
Grews--first stained his flews in the blood of the Fur. But there is no
coursing between April and October--and during the intervening months we
used to have many a hunt on foot, without dogs, after the leverets. We
all belonged to the High School indeed, and here was its playground.
Cricket we had then never heard of; but there was ample room and verge
enough for football. Our prime delight, however, was the chase. We were
all in perpetual training, and in such wind that there were no bellows
to mend after a flight of miles. We circled the Lochs. Plashing through
the marishes we strained winding up the hill-sides, till on the cairn
called a beacon that crowned the loftiest summit of the range, we stood
and waved defiance to our pursuers scattered wide and far below, for
'twas a Deer Hunt. Then we became cavaliers. We caught the long-maned
and long-tailed colts, and mounting bare-backed, with rush helmets and
segg sabres charged the nowte till the stirks were scattered, and the
lowing lord of herds himself taken captive, as he stood pawing in a nook
with his nose to the ground and eyes of fire. That was the riding-school
in which we learned to witch the world with noble horsemanship. We thus
got confirmed in that fine, easy, unconstrained, natural seat, which we
carried with us into the saddle when we were required to handle the
bridle instead of the mane. 'Tis right to hold on by the knees, but
equally so to hold on by the calves of the legs and the heels. The
modern system of turning out the toes, and sticking out the legs as if
they were cork or timber, is at once dangerous and ridiculous; hence in
our cavalry the men got unhorsed in every charge. On pony-back we used
to make the soles of our feet smack together below the belly, for
quadruped and biped were both unshod, and hoof needed no iron on that
stoneless sward. But the biggest fun of all was to "grup the auld mare,"
and ride her sextuple, the tallest boy sitting on the neck, and the
shortest on the rump with his face to the tail, and holding on by that
fundamental feature by which the urchin tooled her along as by a tiller.
How the silly foal whinnied, as with light-gathered steps he accompanied
in circles his populous parent, and seemed almost to doubt her identity,
till one b