Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 60, No. 372, October 1846

In this witty, sepia‑tinged essay the narrator laments the fading urge to chase game across the Scottish hills, swapping rifle‑talk for the quiet rhythm of a clerk’s desk. He recalls a bygone August when the Highlands pulsed with hunters, steaming steamers packed with eager tourists, and the scent of grouse roasting in club rooms. The voice drifts between self‑deprecating confession and sharp observation, noting how the once‑burning instinct to stalk stag has softened into a cool, almost academic pastime.

The piece also sketches the weary town that empties in summer, leaving a lone lawyer to navigate suspicious porters and the idle gossip of locals. Through gentle mockery of professional ambition and the absurdities of legal life, the author paints a portrait of a society caught between tradition and modernity. The tone balances melancholy nostalgia with a dry, conversational humor that invites listeners to reflect on the cost of progress.