So long as moor and loch remain—and it will be a considerable time before the one is thoroughly reclaimed, and the other thoroughly drained, in Scotland—there is little probability that any of the animals native to our country will utterly perish before the exertions of the Manchester gentry. Indeed it is worth while remarking that modern improvement, by replacing the woods, has again brought back to districts the game which for centuries had disappeared. Within our recollection, a roe-deer had never been seen by a living man south of Forth; now they are not uncommon within twelve miles of Edinburgh, and probably will soon spread to the Border, and beyond it. The roe is no great delicacy for the table—though the Germans think otherwise, and dress it with considerable skill—nor might it satisfy the requirements of an aldermanic appetite; but no one who has seen those elegant creatures bounding through a Highland wood, or stealing out at evening to feed beyond the coppice, can deny the charm which they add to the beauties of our northern landscape. We fairly confess that we never, even in the heyday and excitement of our youth, have shot a roe without experiencing a pang of regret. But roes, according to the views of Welford, must not be allowed to multiply indefinitely; and therefore we have endeavoured at times, when they became too thick, and would persevere in barking the trees, to do our duty. We shall not extract anything from Mr Colquhoun’s chapter upon roe-hunting, which we recommend to the attention of those who may shortly have occasion to try that sport; but we cannot pass over a little Highland picture in which the roe is a prominent figure. “Day was just breaking when I crossed the river Tulla, on my way to Peter Robertson’s cottage. He was standing before his door, consoling himself for his early start by a pipe of very strong tobacco. The morning was all we could wish—calm, grey, and mild. As we passed the banks of the loch, roe-deer were quietly cropping the greensward, which sloped to the water’s edge, and now and then a fine buck would raise his head, and look listlessly over his shoulder, as if wondering what business we had to be so early astir. The blackcock, surrounded by his hens, was crooning his antics on the tops of the knolls, and was answered by the redcock, with many a cheery but eccentric call, from the more distant heights. A male hen-harrier was flitting stealthily above the heather, seeking his breakfast where it could easily be found, with small chance of human company at his morning meal. Now and then an Alpine hare would canter lazily away, or raise herself upon her hind-legs to listen, moving about her inquisitive ears.” A perfect and most graphic Highland picture.