the world like an army of Highland warriors, ranged as it were shoulder to shoulder. A little further to the north their fellows start up irregularly against the skyline. Their desolation witnesses to the terrible force of the tornado which devastated that and many another goodly forest during the darkness of a winter night. The natural terraces which run parallel to one another on the nearer braes are red with heather, still retaining the pride of maturity.
Swiftly as the rays of light are departing, I can just detect the touch of autumn in the dulled tone of the leaves that still cluster closely to the twigs of the roadway lime-tree. Suddenly my reverie is interrupted by the sharp crack of a farmer's gun. Instantly it travels across the water below, assuring me of the untimely sorrow which has overtaken the blue 'cushie doo' at its own roost, its favourite trysting place. It is now that my favourite, the brown hare, awakes and rises from the form in which she has found repose since early morning. She sleeps, it is true, with open eyes; but her dark irides are now lighted with intelligence. Brushing aside the handful of faded leaves which had fallen upon her soft coat, Puss proceeds to stretch her shapely limbs with all the easy grace peculiar to a wild animal. Refreshed and invigorated by her period of inaction, she proceeds to make a
