either grudged nor wearied to stand for hours, still as
the heron by the stream, hardly in hope, but satisfied with the
possibility, that a deer might pass by us in the desert. Steadiest and
strongest is self-fed passion springing in spite of circumstance. When
blows the warm showery south-west wind, the trouts turn up their yellow
sides at every dropping of the fly on the curling water--and the angler
is soon sated with the perpetual play. But once--twice--thrice--during a
long blustering day--the sullen plunge of a salmon is sufficient for
that day's joy. Still, therefore, still as a cairn that stands for ever
on the hill, or rather as the shadow on a dial, that though it moves is
never seen to move, day after day were we on our station in the Great
Glen. A loud, wild, wrathful, and savage cry from some huge animal made
our heart leap to our mouth, and bathed our forehead in sweat. We looked
up--and a red-deer--a stag of ten--the king of the forest--stood with
all his antlers, snuffing the wind, but yet blind to our figure
overshadowed by a rock. The rifle-ball pierced his heart--and leaping up
far higher than our head, he tumbled in terrific death, and lay
stone-still before our starting eyes amid the rustling of the
strong-bented heather! There we stood surveying him for a long
triumphing hour. Ghastly were his glazed eyes--and ghastlier his long
bloody tongue, bitten through at the very root in agony. The branches of
his antlers pierced the sward like swords. His bulk seemed mightier in
death even than when it was crowned with that kingly head, snuffing the
north wind. In other two hours we were down at Moor-edge and up again,
with an eager train, to the head of the Great Glen, coming and going a
distance of a dozen long miles. A hay-waggon forced its way through the
bogs and over the braes--and on our return into the inhabited country,
we were met by shoals of peasants, men, women, and children, huzzaing
over the Prey; for not for many years--never since the funeral of the
old lord--had the antlers of a red-deer been seen by them trailing along
the heather.

Fifty years and more--and oh! my weary soul! half a century took a long
time to die away in gloom and in glory, in pain and pleasure, in storms
through which were afraid to fly even the spirit's most eagle-winged
raptures, in calms that rocked all her feelings like azure-plumed
halcyons to rest--though now to look back upon it, what seems it all but
a transito