ve timeously
obeyed; and having, unblamed we hope, and blameless, carried on the
pastimes of youth into manhood, and even through the prime of manhood to
the verge of age--on that verge, after some few farewell vagaries up and
down the debatable land, we had the resolution to drop our bridle-hand,
to unloosen the spurs from our heels, and to dismount from the
stateliest and swiftest steed, Filho, that ever wafted mortal man over
moor and mountain like a storm-driven cloud.

You are sure _we are on_, Hamish? And that he will not run away? Come,
come, Surefoot, none of your funking! A better mane for holding on by we
could not imagine. Pure Shelty you say, Hamish? From his ears we should
have suspected his grandfather of having been at least a Zebra.

THE MOORS.

FLIGHT SECOND--THE COVES OF CRUACHAN.

Comma--semicolon--colon--full-point! All three scent-struck into
attitude steady as stones. That is beautiful. Ponto straight as a
rod--Piro in a slight curve--and Basta a perfect semicircle. O'Bronte!
down on your marrowbones. But there is no need, Hamish, either for hurry
or haste. On such ground, and on such a day, the birds will lie as if
they were asleep. Hamish, the flask!--not the powder-flask, you
dotterel--but the Glenlivet. 'Tis thus we always love to steady our hand
for the first shot. It gives a fine feeling to the forefinger.

Ha! the heads of the old cock and hen, like snakes, above the
heather--motionless, but with glancing eyes--and preparing for the
spring. Whirr--whirr--whirr--bang--bang--tapsilleery--tapsalteery--thud--
thud--thud! Old cock and old hen both down, Hamish. No mean omen, no
awkward augury, of the day's sport. Now for the orphan family--marked ye
them round

"The swelling instep of the mountain's foot?"

"Faith and she's the teevil's nainsel--that is she--at the shutin'; for
may I tine ma mull, and never pree sneeshin' mair, if she haena richt
and left murdered fowre o' the creturs!"--"Four!--why, we only covered
the old people; but if younkers will cross, 'tis their own fault that
they bite the heather."--"They're a' fowre spewin', sir, except ane--and
her head's aff--and she's jumpin' about waur nor ony o' them, wi' her
bluidy neck. I wuss she mayna tak to her wings again, and owre the
knowe. But ca' in that great toozy outlandish dowg, sir, for he's
devourin' them--see hoo he's flingin' them, first ane and then anither,
outowre his shouther, and keppin' them afore they t