As softly as the dews that wet Or hang on the rim of its vernal leaf, So softly, the light footfall presses As if she were child to holier creatures I saw her after-when and where? In the crowded street, by the midnight glare Of lamps, that fell on a thing of sadness; Shame had buried all her gladness. Yet outward she was fair,-too fair That witching and voluptuous air!— Too strangely mark'd with bitter mirth, That yielded to the sudden birth Of a wild, remorseful start, And told the ruin of a heart! A MIDNIGHT SKETCH. THE night is cauld, the fire is out, That broken pane has loot the blast The sea is souchin' deep and loud, The moon is strugglin' through the lift, Hark! how the kirkbell's drowsy boom Comes knelling through the mirky gloom, An' now 'tis hush'd;-hark! there again, It rings aboon the wind an' rain. High ower the craigs wi' deafenin' dash, Lord of the sea! amid the stoure Yea, strong in confidence, I'll cower Beneath thy mighty arm of power; And hope the comin' morn will smile Awa' the wrathful night's turmoil. LINES ON SAILING PAST CASTLE TOWARD. THE Scenery stealeth like a quiet dream A PAMPHLET on the (political) power of the press, is announced by W. Jerdan. The Life and Correspondence (embracing nearly sixty years) of the late Mr Roscoe, are, we learn, in preparation for the press, by some of the members of his family. The author of "Sydenham" is about to publish a sequel to that story under the title of " Alice Paulet." The second volume of St John's "Lives of celebrated Travellers," forming the eleventh part of the National Library, will be published the first of September. Cooper's "Last of the Mohi cans," forming the sixth number of the Standard Novels, will be issued immediately. Cooper (the American) has a Venetian story in the press, to be called "The Bravo!" less hand of time, and the equally ruthless hand of modern Vandalism; and to report on their state to the government, which affords the sums necessary for their preservation if crown pro Pierce Egan announces "Reminiscences of Elliston." pose if they belong to corporations or individuals. The inspector- LONDON. Our monthlies contain about the usual infusion of good, bad, and indifferent. The New Monthly has an excellent and extremely just sketch entitled, "Stanley in Ireland." There is also a story of the "Plague at Constantinople," from the same pen that lately laid bare to us all the dreary horrors of " Quaran. tine." Next in merit are "My Aunt's Bequest," and "Scenes near the Five Waters." A delicately engraved portrait of the author of "Tremaine," adorns the number.-If the portrait of Lord John Russell in Fraser's is not a likeness, it ought to be. "Ensign O'. Donaghue's First Love" is good, and so is the second of Galt's "American Traditions."-The Englishman has laid itself upon the right tack now, and will go snoringly through the high seas, The number of articles contained in the present number by men of acknowledged talent-by Elia, the author of Atherton, Knowles, Pringle, Hunt, Banim, Clare, Mrs Norton, and the author of Scenes in Poland-is too great to admit of our specifying all. Nor is it necessary-for what chiefly pleases us in the present number is the decided resumption of its original De Foeish character, which it seemed inclined to lay aside. We foresee that we shall BELGIUM.-The Revolution in Belgium has, like that in France, often differ with the Englishman, but in all fairness and friendli been a most calamitous event for literature, whatever may be its. ness. Elia is excellent-himself as in the olden time. The omis sion of the engraved illustrations is judicious. Moxon and Ken- ultimate political benefit. Very few works of any importance have appeared since its commencement.-As may easily be supnedy against the field!-The Metropolitan contains a sensible article on the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, and a posed, several books have been written on the events of the continuation of James Montgomery's twaddle, entitled, " A Re-Revolution. There are two of them which deserve to be mentrospect of Literature." A more persevering string of old wife. tioned, rather on account of the authors than of the works themselves. The first of them, Les Quatres Journées de Bruxelles, isms and schoolboyisms it has never fallen to our lot to read. "Will the line lengthen to the crack of doom?" The "Anec. (1 vol. 8vo,) is written by the famous general, Van Halen, who dotes of Abernethy" are excellent; so is "The life of a Sailor," has been denounced in the Memoirs of Marshal Suchet, as guilty and "The Pacha of many tales."-La Belle Assemblée! dulcet of forgery, treason, and desertion, in Spain. This same person, after having been commander-in-chief of all the troops of Belgium, halcyon vision! what were this world without thee? But cousin was a second time accused of treason, and tried judicially. The Janet has just called for thee, and we are not in the habit of resecond work, entitled, Précis des Opérations Militaires pendant viewing without reading. les Quatre Memorables Journées de Septembre, is written by a species of Gil Blas, whose adventures would afford materials for a romance of some interest. Educated for the military service, he abandoned it for a paltry situation in the civil service at Ostend, urged by motives which it is not quite convenient to disclose. whale happening to be stranded on that coast, he contrived to purchase it, without any one knowing where the money came from; he then set up a carriage with two horses, kept several servants, and made a prodigious noise in both East and West mined on making a tour with his whale; he proceeded to Paris, Flanders. Soon afterwards, his resources failing him, he deterwhere he gained a great deal of money, got into debt, obtained the decoration of the Legion of Honour-God knows how, and was preparing to travel over the rest of France, when the Revolution broke out in Belgium. Professionally an adventurer, and naturally enterprising, he returned to his own country, was named captain of artillery, soon afterwards rose to the rank of major, and ended also by being accused of high treason, and tried by a court-martial.-Mr Moke, of whose character and talents as a novelist we have spoken in a former number, (No. XIIL Art. XV.) with the praise which we thought they deserved, is about to publish a new historical romance, under the title of Herman, ou les Cherusques, descriptive of the manners and customs of those courageous but barbarous tribes which overturned the Western Empire. The same author has also in the press an important work (from which the romance we have just mentioned is an offshoot, like M. Sismondi's Julia Sévéra, from his History of France) on the History of the Franks, the first volume of which will soon appear.-A Life of Charles the Good, Earl of Flanders, translated from the Latin of Gualbertus, a monkish chronicler of the middle ages, whose work has been hitherto buried in the immense collection of the Bollandists, has just appeared at Bruges. It contains some important and valuable materials for the history of the Belgic communes.—Foreign Quarterly Review. LIVERPOOL. The judges have not yet decided in favour of any of the competitors for the execution of Huskisson's monument. -At the late meeting of the Floral and Horticultural Society, the display of carnations was most sumptuous. The Harmonic band was in attendance, and the company numerous and splendid. Mr Stanfield, author of the Oral System of teaching English grammar, delivered an excellent lecture, explanatory of his views, at the opening of his course in the Mechanics' Institute.-A Mr Sampson has opened a Mechanical and Picturesque Theatre of Arts at the Liverpool Theatre.-A meeting was held on Monday last at the King's Arms, to take into consideration the best measures for ensuring the speedy erection of a monument to Roscoe. Bernard Barton has dedicated the following sonnet to his me mory: "Friend of my Parents! and what stronger claim To honour and to love than this had won, Needs not my humble tribute to its fame, Not to award such, now thy course hath run, Parnassus' hill, how thy inspiring praise Might yet bear fruit to live in after days?" PARIS (From a Correspondent.)-The gold medal, given by the "Institut de France," division " Inscriptions and Belles Lettres," has been awarded to General Ainslie, for his "Illustrations of the Anglo-French Coinage." The French papers, great adepts in typographical error, have done what in them lies to rob the general of his fair fame, by printing "Ainsworth" instead of Ainslie.-The Guizot administration created an "Inspector-General of Historical Monuments," before its-resignation; and the office has been bestowed upon M. Ludovic Vilet, an active young man, about 30 years of age, extremely well informed, a zealous antiquarian, and competent in every respect to carry the intentions of government into execution. His superintendence extends itself over all remains of antiquity, as well Celtic, Gallic, Roman, as those of the middle ages, ecclesiastical or baronial. It is his duty to take charge of, and protect them from the ruth. A GEORGIA AND THE RUSSIAN PROVINCES BEYOND CAUCASUS.-Ever since the peace with Persia, the Russian government has made sedulous investigation into the condition of its new provinces upon the frontiers of Iran, as well with a political as a scientific view. The persons appointed to the survey have had many difficulties to encounter-severe climate, want of roads, savage hordes who live by plunder, and, though last not least, the CHOLERA MORBUS. By the unremitting endeavours, however, of Sawiliesky, Governor of Georgia, voluminous and important materials have been collected relative to the manners and morals of the inhabitants, the nature of the soil and productions in the provinces of Armenia, Georgia, Shirvan, and Daghestan, extending over and lying around the base of the mountain range of Caucasus, and reaching from the Black Sea to the Caspian. When the survey has been com. pleted, the various notices are to be condensed and arranged into a systematic statistical account of these provinces. This work will prove a valuable accession to ethnography. By a letter from a medical officer at the mineral baths of Caucasus, we learn that the cholera routed and dispersed the patients, who, however, gained little by their flight, for the enemy, having reached the Don and Tscherkask before them, encountered them there. Owing, it is supposed, to the pure mountain air, the ravages of the cholera lasted at the Caucasian baths a much shorter period, and the average number of deaths was much less, than elsewhere. Higher up the mountains, its fatal character was yet further modified. The baths are now fitted up with all the luxu ries to be met with in the most thickly-peopled countries, and yet they are situated in a wild uncultivated district, surrounded by predatory hordes, who must be kept at a distance by the continual presence of a military force. China. SOUTHERN RUSSIA.-Lake Baikal is situated about the 52d degree of northern latitude, in the Russian territory near the frontiers of The Enicei carries its superfluous waters to the Arctic Ocean. The lake is situated in the government of Irkoutsk. Upon the river Seleuga, which falls into the lake, is situated the last Russian station, Kijäctita, where the officers of the customs are posted. It is at this town that the Russian mission--which is sent every four years to Pekin, partly with the view of extending the knowledge of Christianity, and partly to collect information respecting China-is received into the protection of the Celestial Empire. Here, too, there is a periodical exchange of criminals, who have made their escape from the one into the other territory. During the summer, natives of China, to the amount of seven hundred, reside constantly in Kijäctita. A great number of Russians, trading to China, have their permanent residence there. The Chinese give themselves immense pains to acquire the Russian language; but, owing to the wide difference between the character of that language and their own, perhaps also to the carelessness of their instructors, they make little progress. None of the Russians trouble their heads with the Chinese. The existence of the inhabitants of the district watered by the Selenga and its tributaries, depends mainly upon the trout-fishing. They live upon the produce, and dispose of great quantities through the whole government of Irkoutsk. They rear also considerable herds of cattle. Baron Schilling, according to the latest accounts, was residing in the district, immersed in the study of such books of the Mongols and inhabitants of Thibet as he could procure. The mission dispatched to Pekin last year-the best selected that has yet left Russia-are engaged to further his researches. Hyacinth, who belonged at one time to the mission, has published, in the Russian language, a book of travels through Mongolia, Thibet, and China, which contains a stock of valuable information, and the united labours of his successors and Baron Schilling promise a yet richer harvest. LA VESTALE. At the period when this opera was to be performed at Paris, it created a violent commotion among the performers: they thought not of Jouy the poet, it was the composer who turned their heads; and they all struggled for the best parts in what was thought the chef-d'œuvre of Spontini. There had already been wasted six days of debate in the coulisses: no one could be heard in the noise, and the confusion threatened to re. duce to ruins the temple of Polyhymnia. Napoleon was informed of these disturbances, and choosing to ascertain the cause of such disorder, called the director, the composer, and the leader into his cabinet, where, in the presence of some ladies whom he had summoned to this grave council (among them Mdlle. Stephanie, his adopted daughter, and Mdlle. La Pagerie, both of whom he married to persons of rank), he himself examined the score, then regulated the distribution of the characters, explained how he would have the piece got up, particularly the triumph of Licinius, the appearance of the grand priest after the solemn oath at the altar, and the clap of thunder which in the third act announces the approbation of the gods; and so well he arranged all these matters, removing every difficulty, that he secured to the Parisians the enjoyment of a spectacle of which he at a glance foresaw the certain popularity. "Napoleon," the journalist continues, "never felt any thing derogatory to him which related to the happiness of a people whom he loved, and for whose glory he was preparing." That is to say, he was very willing to amuse their minds, and prevent them from feeling too sensibly the evils which his ambition was inflicting on them.-Harmonicon, for August. Theatrical Gossip.-The English Opera continues to prosper. Collins has approved himself a clever artist: why should he and his friends continue to excite suspicions of quackery, by persisting to call him the English Paganini ?—The proprietors of Vauxhall have this season confined the attractions to the walks in the open air. This is felt to be a great improvement, the visitors being no longer crowded in a hot narrow space. The chief won. ders are:-Joel, the Altonian siffleur, a human mocking-bird; Michael Boai, the melodious chin-chopper; cosmoramas; and fire and water works. Fazio of Covent Garden is on a visit to Sadler's Wells; and the Youthful Queen at the Pavilion in the city.— Buckstone returns to the Adelphi.-It is asserted, but upon very indifferent authority, that Mr A. Lee and Mrs Waylett are to take the Queen's Theatre.-Young Kean has a theatre in the Hamp. ton road; Mr H. and Miss B. Kemble have one in Kensington. -The Surrey is to be conducted by the son of its late manager.— Penley has closed the Newcastle, and opened the Windsor Theatre. The Shields' circuit is without a head-Mitchell, the manager, being in jail.-Neville, late of the Manchester Minor, is similarly situated.-Kean is manager at Richmond, where a Miss Williams has made a first appearance as a singer with great applause.— Fawcitt is manager at Margate.-Smith of Norwich, and Fisher in Norfolk, are almost the only theatrical leaders unaffected by the times.-Miss Jarman is performing at Liverpool-with what success we need not say. Miss Louisa has been received there with much and deserved applause as Donna Elvira in Masaniello, No one who has heard her and as Eudiga in Charles XII sing "Beautiful War!" will be surprised at this. Sinclair is said to have lost both in power and execution.-Our own Adelphi fills regularly at half price, and deserves even more encouragement than it receives. Mr Yates may however refrain from puffing himself in his own play-bills-that won't go down here.-Besides, what right has he to take the trade of criticism out of our hands. -Our readers will rejoice to learn that Murray mends apace. TO CORRESPONDENTS. A NUMBER of Reviews are unavoidably postponed. "The Marriage," declined." Hebrew Melody," do." Retrospection," under consideration.-"The Feelings that so Kindly Soothed," is sweet, but scarcely polished enough. [No. 143, August 6, 1831.] ADVERTISEMENTS, Connected with Literature, Science, and the Arts. LEOPOLD, KING OF THE BELGIANS. THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY, Part XXVIII., containing a Portrait and Memoir of LEOPOLD THE FIRST, engraved by J. THOMSON, from the original Painting by Sir THOMAS LAWRENCE, at Marlborough House.-The Part also contains Portraits of SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE and ADMIRAL LORD HOWE. "Those who wish to possess themselves of a series of Portraits of the illustrious characters whose names are distinguished in the political or the scientific records of our country-who have raised its dignity and improved its intellectual character-may have that wish abundantly gratified by adding this very superior work to their respective libraries. The Portraits are truly splendid, each embodying in itself the very spirit of the original paintings of which they form such faithful copies."-Herald. SIR WALTER SCOTT, THE EARL OF ALBEMARLE,-and LORD 'LYNEDOCH,after the Paintings by Sir THOMAS LAWRENCE, are the Portraits in Part XXVII.-of which the Literary Gazette observes:-" Such a production is alone sufficient to make the fortune of a Number. The roman tic and military career of the gallant Graham,' is a good contrast to the literary life of the great Poet." London: FISHER, SON, and Co., Newgate Street. THE SUBSCRIBERS respectfully remind the Professional Gentlemen and Merchants of Edinburgh and Glasgow, that they do not warrant any Ink as of their manufacture which is not in scaled Bottles or Jars, with Labels bearing a fac-simile of their signature. They find it necessary to repeat this caution, as the celebrity of their inks has led to a too common practice of offering ink for sale as theirs, which has not been bottled on their premises. No difficulty need attend the procuring of any of the kinds genuine, as the dealers are supplied in Edinburgh by Messrs James Dickson and Co., Messrs Cowan and Co.; and in Glasgow, by Mr John Lumsden, as well as by other respectable wholesale houses. D. MORISON, JUN. and Co. Perth, July 1831. TALES OF THE SOUTHERN MOORS. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY. THAT we should live to pass the 12th of August in town! We could not have been worse off had we been in Parliament. By the way, this Reform bill-even Sir Charles Wetherell must allow—will render essential service to grouse, blackcock, and ptarmigan. And yet, if the news just brought us by stragglers from Dunkeld and the Pass of Killiecrankie be true, these feathered bipeds have already suffered more severely from the hands of the poacher, than they would have done from those of any noble licentiate of the art opposed to that of healing. But to our story. "We would fain beguile the thing we are, by seeming what we are not." We would be off in fancy, if not in reality, to the heather-clad hill tops. There is a triumphant pride in tracking our game athwart them, that renders the after-sports of the year tame and commonplace. Partridge-shooting! Name it not. Puzzling about paddocks, under the shelter of trim hedges fit occupation for dignified parsons, fat and wheezy as a dowager's lapdog-stands much upon a par with giving chase to the poultry within the purlieus of a barn-yard. It is something to thread the sere and rustling woods of October to inhale the breeze already rendered sharp and sweet by the young frosts-but, after all, the pheasant is a heavy and an easy shot. Cocking is right subtle shooting-it is to the more robust sorts what the delicacies of the dialectician are to a plump knock-medown reasoner like Cobbett-yet is killing woodcocks much akin to eating them, an occasional dainty too minikin for daily use. We would conjure up while sitting in this our study, what time the gale, tinkling through the surrounding poplars, varies their dark green by exposing the hoary substratum of their leaves, the remembrance of some happy days among the mountains. The North Highlands are today a flight beyond us, with their endless hill sides and ravines, their myriads of grouse, their stately red-deer, showing their tall antlers over the far mountain ridge between us and the horizon, their mists and whisky stills -foggy clouders of the brain. "We bridle in our struggling muse," and soar no higher than one of those moorland districts of the south of Scotland, where the bent and heather contend for mastery in the near vicinity of arable land—the domain of the blackcock, and the few grouse which that bigger and bolder warrior permits to linger in his haunts. The night preceding the dawn of the 12th is not oppressed with deep slumber. We stretch ourselves on the couch, so anxious lest we should sleep too long, that we start up in terror before we have time to begin a dream. The livelong night is spent, struggling in the incoherency of a half-slumbrous state, loaded with the nightmare of an undefined dread; between a wish to sleep and a craving to keep awake. We mumble and tumble, and toss, and are cross, and grow feverish, and start as soon as the thinning gloom allows Price 6d. us to discern the shadows of furniture, from our uneasy bed, unrefreshed, and with unsteady hands. The immersion of head and hands in the cool water somewhat braces us. The remains, however, of our tremulousness, and the dim uncertain lights mar the operations of the razor-our chin presents an alternation of deep gashes, and bristling unmown patches. Our first care is to see to the dogs-our next to do justice to the huge breakfast-toast, plain and buttered-oat cakes-ham, fried and cold-fresh herring, kipper, and trout-butter, cheese, and eggs-tea (more properly an infusion of ash leaves) and whisky, under which the table groans. We are not hungry, but we know that unless we take care, we soon shall be, and stow in each for half-a-dozen. Thus it happened with a company of three, who started before sunrise from a little village lying under the hulking shadow of Cairnsmuir, on the 12th of August, 18—. Our ponies breasted the steep braes, and spurned behind them the huge stones which encumbered the path, as easily as they had on the previous day spun along the level road. A grey canopy was spread high above usnot clinging to the hill tops. The grass was wet-not with dewdrops, but as if it had been immersed in the river and replaced with the glistening fluid attaching alike to every atom of its surface. The leaves and branches of the trees clothing the steep banks of the ravine up which we were clambering, and the cobwebs nestling in the old feal-dikes, were covered with watery globules. By the time we issued from the glen, and looked abroad over earth and sea, from the free breast of the hills, the sun was above the horizon; but his presence could only be detected, by an occasional silvery gleam through the edge of the longitudinal marbly clouds which o'erspread the sky, or some straggling ray which found a path, through a rent diverging from us, down to the face of the waters, crisped by the early breeze. Allowing our ponies to breathe for a moment, we looked round on the richly varied scene which lay stretched in its cool tints before us-headland and bay-brown moor and woodland-rocky coast and sandy beach-and far away over the waters the Isle of Man showing blue and dim in the distance. We then clapped spurs to the willing animals, and away we cantered through the heather to the spot where the day's work was to commence. The cavalry were then intrusted to a little, idle, nimble-footed and long-winded rascal-as precious a block to hew a poacher out of as heart could wish-who had kept up with us all the way on foot, with strict injunctions to see the others snugly accommodated at the farm-house in the glen beneath us, and afterwards find his way with the sumpter horse in good time to the place where we had resolved to take luncheon. Our guns were now loaded, and our percussion caps carefully and firmly applied-the dogs, enfranchised from their couples, bounded, and wheeled, and barked around us each sportsman, after a short pause, took off his several way-we, from our innate aspiring nature, preferring to keep along the high ridge on which we then were, and to stretch away into the interior. We re mained for some time after our companions had left us, watching their progress as they descended the hill in opposite directions. Each with his good double-barrel held horizontally in his depending hand, marched stoutly onward, his dogs puzzling and snuffling before him through the heather tufts, round which hung masses of long dried bent. Far down in the meadows which formed the bottom of the glen, rural labour was at work. At times the light breeze bore up to our ear the sound of the sharpening scythe, the shouts of the herds, and the bark of their collies, or the whistle and reproving voice of our sportsmen. The clouds grew gradually thinner, and larger spaces of the blue sky momentarily appeared. The streams glittered, and every thing began to look lighter and livelier in the sunlight. We stood wrapt in a pleasing abstraction, the but of our fowlingpiece rested on the ground, our two dogs motionless save for a slight panting, their tongues hanging from the side of their mouths, their eyes fixed intently upon us. At this moment, the sound of a shot rung up the hill side, we saw the smoke wreathe up from Henry's barrel, our canine attendants gave a short impatient bark, followed by a long tremulous whine. We threw our Joe Manton across our left arm, and waving with our right, Sancho and Dido dashed forward along the hill. There is an elasticity in heather that propels the foot-passenger onwards he knows not how. We trode proudly forward, our good dogs fetching long circles through the heath before us. We soon found, however, that the birds affected the valley this morning, for we heard our friends blazing away long before any thing but two passing crows had met our gaze. At last, just as we reached the shoulder of the hill Dido made a dead point. She was near a few blocks of granite lying on the bluff end of the ridge, her neck was curved round, her nostrils inhaling with tremulous delight the tainted gale, her fan-like tail was stretched stiffly towards us, the off forepaw was suspended in the air. Motionless she stood as one of the stones before her. There was a short stretch of black bog, studded with little knolls of heath, between our position and hers. With the thumb of our right hand on the dag, and the forefinger touching the trigger, our left supporting the extremity of the stock, the gun lying in a horizontal position, we sprung swiftly and silently from one knoll to another, and soon found ourselves by Dido's side. Still she stood motionless. Our heart beat high. We urged her onward with a push from our knee. She crouched stealthily forward a few paces, and again checked. We repeated the admonition, and she once more moved forward- -more rapidly, but noiselessly as ever, her belly almost touching the ground. Up it sprung, a patriarch of the moors, as we knew by his triumphant crow, and the whistle of his wings as he turned and darted down the wind. We fired, and he fell heavily to the ground. With the most hypocritical pretence of indifference we ordered Dido to" down charge," and proceeded to reload. Had it not been that the dignity of manhood was upon us, and that we owed a good example to our four-footed servitor, how gladly would we have run up to our prize! We restrained ourselves, however, arranging every thing more slowly and sedulously than is our wont, enjoying our self-command. At last we gave the word "seek dead," and Dido sprang forward. He was a glorious bird, of resplendent plumage, which the length of the shot had saved even from being ruffled. But where has Sancho been all this time? We dared not whistle lest he should have pointed, and he was nowhere to be seen. After casting our eyes fruitlessly in every direction, we peered round the blocks of granite already mentioned, and there sure enough stood the old hero. How long he had been brought to a stand we cannot guess, but he seemed heartily tired of his position. Heavily and languidly he crawled onward, and uprose a blackcock, big and heavy as the side of a barn. The But fowlingpiece came to our shoulder without any volition on our part. It is impossible that we should have contemplated aiming at a blackcock before the twentieth. the instrument once there it required no slight effort to bring it down undischarged. We know not how the struggle between conscience and inclination might have ended, had the debate not been cut short by the contemplated booty getting out of shot. We took down the gun even then with considerable reluctance, and regard this act of self-denial as up to the present hour the most virtuous action of our lives. What was now to be done? For more than an hour had the two lucky dogs down the way been carrying destruction into the heart of whole packs—at least if their deeds in any way corresponded to the noise they were making-and here were we, master as yet of only one poor bird. We resolved to descend from our altitudes. We were by this time near the head of the glen along which we had hitherto walked-just where its bottom rose, and the hills forming its sides at the same time receded and subsided, thus forming a capacious basin, the whole surface of which was a rich intermixture of deep browns and yellows, with here and there a small pool of water looking blue beneath the sky. Henry was pushing up the other side, pounding away like a hero; and as he (occasionally) missed, the birds were driven towards us. We had, moreover, got among the pools, and the crack of our fowlingpiece now became distinguishable. We held up the opposite sides, driving alternately the terrified game to each other. Flushed with slaughter, we hurried onward, looking less carefully to our feet than before, when unexpectedly dash we went over head and ears into a peat-hag, like some huge ged, when the passenger starts him from the shallows upon which he has been basking. Emerging, we shook our ears like a mouse in a bowl, and looked woefully at our gun, which, as Cæsar did his Commentaries, we had borne aloft through the danger. The very dogs seemed to enjoy the joke, for they came snuffing up to us, and then bounded away, careering in long and giddy circles-till Dido emulated our example, which seemed to cool her a little. Hal stood on an eminence at some distance, with arms akimbo, looking a personified laugh. There was no help for it, but to laugh too; so, stretching ourselves on the glowing heather to dry, we proceeded to draw the shot from both barrels, and to sponge them with some dry tow. By the time we had reloaded and rose to proceed, the earth had hardened over the surface of our vestments, and we looked not unlike a walking peat-stack, or a hog in armour. Our companion was out of sight. The breeze had died away. The reflected glare of the mid-day sun from the warm surface of the hollow, concentrated upon us with a suffocating glow. The strap of our swelling bag cut the shoulder to the bone. The dogs trailed languidly at our heels, with drooping heads and outstretched tongues, lapping eagerly at each puddle we passed. The scared birds whirred away, long before we came within shot. We deluged our inside with black water, soft as noyau, though not so sweet, slightly tempered with whisky from our flask, but all in vain. In that crater of sunbeams, neither sport nor comfort were to be found -our only chance was in pushing for its upper edge. A different scene here presented itself. A long track of level morass, black as Erebus, stretched out to the horizon. Through this a broad black brook, with innumerable circular patches of blue, seemingly oleaginous scum on its surface, soaked its noiseless way. The range which we had all the morning been gradually ascending, rose considerably above the level of this moor, and we stood upon the top of the abrupt declivity which sunk down to it. At oblique angles with the heights on which we stood, came down some of the spurs of the giant Cairnsmuir, both together forming a wall to fence the dark level from the sea blasts. The two mountain ridges |