WHERE is the schoolboy who has not a strong love for bird-nesting? Or where is the "old boy" either, who, from amid the bustle and dust of a city life, does not look back on the same pursuit with feelings of the keenest pleasure?

How well we remember that long day about the middle of April, with its treacherous glimpses of sunshine, alternating with showers of sleet, when, high up in the wooded glen, where everything was bare and brown, except the mosses and the young ferns, the huge dome-shaped nest of the water ouzel was found, stuck in a cranny of rock, close by the rush of water falling into the big linn.

Or that other day on the purple moor, with its scattered rushy tarns. its stretches of green bracken, its wide view of wooded plain and distant hill, and above, the deep sky with Alpine scenery of snowy cloud, where after long searching the eggs of the golden plover and curlew were first added to the growing collection.

"Though absent long These forms of beauty have not been to us As is a landscape to a blind man's eye. But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, we have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweetFelt in the blood, and felt along the heart, And passing even into our purer mind With tranquil restoration."

But why need I further preface my description of a single day's excursion among the hills by descanting on the beauties of nature? every one of my readers must have memories of like days, whether undertaken in pursuit of sport or scenery.

I had been staying at Braemar in Aberdeenshire for several days, making excursions to the tops of the highest hills in the vicinity, searching for the summer haunts of the snow

bunting. Two days had been spent wandering over the broad rounded shoulders of Ben Muic Dhui. Two more days saw me sitting shivering in the "Barren Hollow" which lies between the lofty peak of Cairn Toul and the Braeriach cliffs; while two nights, of three other days, threw their shadows on me, as I nestled in a cranny of rock at the foot of one of the huge crags which rise a thousand feet high from the white pebbled edge of "dark Lochnagar."

One evening, tired of the long lonely unsuccessful hunt, I bethought me of an old promise my gamekeeper friend, Donald of Loch Callater, had made, that he would guide me over the Glas Maol range into a wild spot said to be frequented by the dotterel. This Glas Maol range was quite a terra incognita to me, and even if unsuccessful in finding the nest, I should see new ground, and have a companion for the day.

Allow me, before I start, to give some idea of what the dotterel is. This bird is the most beautiful of our British plovers, and one of the rarest. Two well-known naturalists published, in a recent work on the "Birds of Europe," an account of taking the nest of the dotterel ten years ago. They had a very good knowledge of the different breeding stations of the bird in Scotland, and as the result of their many excursions into its haunts, they state that not more than a dozen pairs can breed in this country.

Here and there among the hills, far from all signs of human habitation, nay, of life itself, are ghastly stretches of dreary bog: where solitude wrapped in a gray mantle of mist holds undisputed reign; spots of dreary death and desolation, wept over by the driving rain, and swept by cold and wintry blasts. In such spots as these

the summer haunts of the dotterel must be sought.

But to return. Having quickly decided to go, I threw a telescope over my shoulder, and, stick-gun in hand, set out. Two hours' hard walking brought me in sight of Donald's hut. This hut or shieling is built near the edge of a dark Highland loch, at the head of a dreary glen with high hills on all sides. Built of rough gray stones and thatched with heather, it seems part and parcel of the wild moorland on which it is built.

When I entered the kitchen, it was empty and silent, but for the loud monotonous tick of a clock which stood in one corner. The room was almost dark. A peat fire which smouldered in the huge fireplace, now and then flickered into flame, throwing out ruddy gleams of light. The light shone on the low smoke-blackened ceiling, and glanced off the polished stone floor.

On one side the rows of shining plates ranged against the wall on narrow shelves were bathed in the warm colour, and on the other the light was reflected from a small square window, through which a patch of gray sky and the dark hill side could be dimly seen.

In the centre of the room stood a wooden table, on which lay an opened book, and a half-finished stocking. This and a child's doll, lying on the floor in front of the fire, were evident signs of recent habitation.

As I stood there, admiring the play of colour in the fire-lit room, Donald's wife, who was still awake, welcomed me from a dark recess at the end of the room furthest from the fire, apologised for having retired to bed so early, and saying, as she awoke her husband, that Donald was getting up. This Donald proceeded to do, and coming out of the gloom, in a very sleepy condition, he lit a lamp and asked me to sit down. I took the proffered seat, and then asked him if he could go over the Glas Maol next day. He was afraid not, as there were

turnips to be sown. Here the wife, good body, said very quietly from her dark corner, "Don't you think, Donald, you could leave the neeps over for a day and go with Mr. Bruce?" It was settled.

Donald and I talked for about an hour by the peat fire. These Highland peasants are delightfully curious and inquisitive about what is going on outside their own little world, and are most attentive listeners. There is nothing they like better than to have a long day on the hills with a stranger, if only the stranger be communicative. They dislike going with more than one, as Donald once said to me anent a famous botanist: "I once took Dr. and a friend of his up Lochnagar; he was a bit withered-up-looking body, and took no more notice of me than a blind man does of his dog, but kept on stringing off long nebbed Latin words to his friend, about the bit mosses and plants they gathered."

When our talk was over, Donald took me to the other room where I was to sleep. This was the best room of the house, and was carpeted with soft deer skins. In one corner stood a chest of drawers, on the top of which were two large stuffed birds, and the keeper's small collection of books.

The stuffed birds were both birds of prey. One a beautiful female peregrine, or, as Donald called it, the "blue or real game hawk"; the other, an immature specimen of that rarest of British birds, miscalled the common kite. "When did you shoot the kite, Donald?" I asked. "Well, sir, I shot it one Sunday morning," replied the keeper. "I had on the breeks and was just going to kirk with the wife. I was in the house when I heard the wife cry to me, 'Man Donald, come out and see the muckle birdie!""

Donald then went on to relate how he ran out and saw the large bird hovering within thirty yards of him. It then sailed slowly round a large field and came back again within shot.

This was too much for the sportloving Donald. With a little bad Gaelic word he said, "Do you that again, and I'll give you something to carry away from Loch Callater.”

He then ran into the kitchen, and picked his loaded gun off its perch above the door. The bird repeated the same manœuvre, again came quite close, when Donald, aiming under one of its wings, brought it down quite dead. He carried the dead bird into the kitchen where he found his wife trying to read the Bible through her tears. "Eh man, Donald," said the good woman, "and could you no have let alane the birdie that was so tame kennin it was the sabbath?"

Early next morning, after having breakfasted off a delicious salmon, which Donald had caught that morning at daybreak, in the burn near the shieling, we started for the haunts of the dotterel. As we were sure to have a long and toilsome day, the good wife had amply provided each of us with a large parcel of newly-baked scones and huge slices of salmon.

Donald led the way up the steep hill side with the elastic step of a born mountaineer. I toiled after him for the first mile or two speechless and breathless, caring for nothing but to keep up with him, and listening to the loud throb of my overtaxed heart.

The path we at first pursued had been famous in time gone by as that by which the smugglers of the district had travelled to dispose of their whisky. When we reached the top of the first hill, we sat down to enable me to regain breath.

What a glorious stretch of wooded plain and lofty mountain lay spread out before us, shining in the early morning sun! In the foreground the steep hill side, clothed in brown heather and the greenest of bracken, with here and there huge boulders of granite covered with bright-coloured mosses. At our feet lay the little lake, one half of which showed like liquid silver, as the sunbeams danced

and played on the tiny rippling wavelets. The other end looked dark and dismal from the reflection of the black rocks as they rose in precipices from its margin.

In the middle distance stretched the well-wooded plain in which Braemar stands. An amber-coloured stream, fringed with hazel trees and oak copse, wound through it, while on either side were bright corn fields, with a red-roofed farmhouse at intervals.

In the distance rose the mountains, ridge beyond ridge, like huge waves, the lowest covered to their summits by silver-stemmed birches and green larch trees; those higher, with dark pines climbing their sides, and towering above all, the huge, snow-crowned, serrated peaks of Ben Muic Dhui and Cairn Toul.

The valley below us had once been thickly peopled, and we could still plainly see the grass-grown mounds marking the spots where the huts of the peasantry had stood. But now in the lonely glen, instead of the voices of children at play on the hill sides, nothing is heard but the bleating of sheep, the shepherd calling in his dog, and in the autumn the sharp report of the breechloader, as the bonny redgrouse falls, scattering its feathers over the purple heather.

But we feel less sad when we think that these vanished Highland peasants or their sons are now prosperous farmers in the "far west," removed from danger of famine and its accompanying miseries. For famine in these glens was of common occurrence. Every hill round about has its tradition or legend. For example that low hill lying over there about four miles to the north-east, is called Cairn Taggart, or the Priest's hill.

The story connected with it is, that one spring the snow remained so long that the inhabitants of the glen, pinched with famine, determined to leave in a body. On this the priest made his way through the snow to the top of Cairn Taggart, where he spent some time in prayer, and saw before

he left, like a second Elijah, on the distant horizon, signs of a coming change. On getting down again, almost dead with fatigue and benumbed with cold, he besought the people to remain one more day. They obeyed, and in a few hours the thaw began.

was

As we walked on the weather changed. A thick mist came rolling down, accompanied by a bitter cold wind, and blotted out everything. Hour after hour we tramped on. I was wondering how Donald kept the right direction, and coming at this moment to what I thought a mere patch of snow, several of which we had crossed, I carelessly stepped on to it, and was about to make another step, when suddenly my arm grasped, and I was dragged back so violently as to fall. Looking up at Donald I saw he was pale, and trembling violently. In a few seconds, when he had regained his power of articulation, he said, "That was a near shave, sir; another step and you were over the Canlochan Crags." He had gone off the right track, and the patch in front was the narrow rim of snow which clings to the top of the crags for many weeks after most of the snow round about has disappeared.

We sat down, and although I tried to speak lightly of the circumstance, it was not till the application of some brandy from my flask that Donald regained his wonted colour.

These Canlochan crags are huge precipices which form a semi-circle of about two miles in extent, and are still much frequented by eagles.

In a few minutes a glimpse of sunshine shone through the mist, and in a short time it was broken up, and sent rolling in eddying masses, reflecting the most brilliant rainbow colours, as it passed away lit up by the bright sun, and disclosing the whole line of cliffs. Suddenly a great black bird rose from the edge of the crags, in a short time another, and following on it a third. Donald whispered "the eagles." I got out the telescope and watched the huge majestic birds soar

ing round in great circles, up, up, till out of sight to the naked eye. They seemed to rise without any exertion, their broad sail-like wings slightly inclined upwards. The birds formed a most fitting adjunct to the wild scene, as they sailed slowly round in spiral flight on almost motionless pinions.

Sail on ye noble birds, may many winters bleach the rugged brow of Cairn Gorm over which you are ficating, and many wintry winds blow the light and feathery snow over these rugged Canlochan Crags, e'er the ruthless hand of man robs you of life or liberty!

As I was, with, let me hope the pardonable enthusiasm of youth, inwardly apostrophising the birds in this manner, I heard the practical Donald whisper excitedly, "Eh man, if I had only the rifle instead of this shot gun, I might get one of them. I have tried to shoot one for the last five years, ever since Mr. P—— of Liverpool offered me five guineas for a dead eagle."

Skirting the edge of the cliffs for about a mile, we struck off, and began to ascend the rough stony summit of the Glasha, which lay immediately in front of us. Near the top this hill side is covered with rough masses of gray granite, hard, angular and uncouth. The dismal gray colour of the stones, is enlivened and relieved, however, by the brilliant yellow and white lichens spreading over their surfaces, and here and there between the stones, patches of dark green moss. The only inhabitant of this dismal wilderness of stones is the Ptarmigan. What a hoarse croaking cry they have as they sit perched on some large block of granite, or fly low down along the hill side with rapid beats of their stiff white wings. One favourite amusement of the Ptarmigan is to shoot up suddenly into the air in a slanting direction, and after reaching a considerable height, to sink rapidly down again, almost perpendicularly, with outstretched wings. The male is a gallant fellow, and when

perched on a stone will allow you to approach within a few feet of him, but as soon as his mate springs up, away he goes with a complacent croak. Here we found a Ptarmigan's nest, with the female sitting on the eggs; she remained on the nest as we stood by, and allowed me to introduce one finger under her, so as to feel the eggs, before she flew off.

As it was now well on in the afternoon, and we had been toiling all day, I asked Donald if we were still far from the dotterel ground, and was relieved by being told we had only one more mile to walk.

After we had descended the other side of the Glasha, I saw at a glance that here at last was ground suitable for the dotterel. Who could paint the desolation of the scene? A thin driving mist obscured the sky and the more distant objects. In front of us ran a long ridge which rose gradually into the broad rounded summit of the Glas Maol. This ridge was not covered with stones, but with a thick layer of gray woolly moss and stunted sedge. Here and there a large, damp, black patch of peat bog. On the right hand

lay a steep stony corrie, and on the left the ridge sloped gradually down to the edge of a line of precipices. All was still and silent as the grave, but for the mournful sigh of the northeast wind as it swept gloomily over the cold, dank, dismal waste.

Here we separated in order to beat the ground, Donald keeping along the centre of the ridge, while I, every sense keenly awake, held on about fifty paces to his right. After we had proceeded in this way for some time, I was attracted by the tinkling note of a small bird coming from the edge of the corrie. Surprised at the sound, and thinking it might be the longlooked-for snow-bunting, also a lover of the desolate, I turned to the right and walked in the direction of the sound. Before I had advanced many paces, I saw a brown bird rise from the middle of a patch of stones, near the edge of the corrie, and go shuffling

off, trailing its wings on the ground as if wounded.

At my signal Donald came running up and saw the bird just as it disappeared over the edge. He at once

pronounced it to be the dotterel. After a little search I found the eggs, lying in a slight hollow, between two stones. They were rather smaller than the eggs of the lapwing, and marked with large distinct patches of dark brown on a grayish yellow ground. The nest, if nest it could be called, was a mere hollow among the stones, lined with a few pieces of the broken stalks of carex. These pieces of sedge might have been placed there by the bird, or merely there by accident, as several stunted plants grew within a few feet.

I shall not attempt to describe our enthusiasm at this moment. While I sat among the stones, Donald, forgetting his Highland sobriety of demeanour, went capering about like a mad goat, alternately congratulating me in English and himself in Gaelic.

It was the first nest of this bird he had seen, although he had been on the outlook for many years, having been repeatedly offered large bribes for the bird and eggs.

Being desirous of again seeing the bird, we ensconced ourselves near the top of a slight eminence, which overlooked the patch of stones, about fifty paces distant. After lying exactly

half an hour the dotterel suddenly appeared at some little distance on the other side of the nest.

On account of her similarity in colour to the moss-covered ground, it was impossible to make her out except when in motion. Fixing the telescope on her I followed her various manœuvres with ease. These consisted of little runs of two or three yards with lowered head and crouching body. Then a pause for a few seconds, now and then picking up a beetle or grub.

In this way she proceeded, keeping at the same distance from the nest, till she had almost completed half a circle. Then in the same manner she