tak' ma knife oot o' ma pocket, and cut open this beast's claw." This was done with some difficulty. "Noo gang roond on the ither side, an' ye'll fin' anither job." The man, who had no idea that Peter was grappled on both sides, quickly obeyed, muttering, "Saw I ever sic sorrows o' birds in a' ma life!" Both eagles were brought safe home, but Peter assured me that he was unable to walk for many a day.

Another story of a prisoned eagle vindicating his dignity has so much of the comic about it that we forgive the savage revenge. A raw-boned Highlandman came to Robertson's house:-"Is your faither at hame?""No," said one of his children. "Has na he a tame aigle ?" The little girl pointed out the place where it was confined. There was a hole cut at the bottom of the door, where its food was thrown in; Donald peered cautiously into the hole; quick as light, the eagle seized his nose, and it was only by a severe struggle, and the cartilage giving way, that he effected his escape. When Peter came home, he found him sitting in a doleful plight, but, having comforted him with a dram, and patched up his nose with sticking plaster, he sent him away with his curiosity quite cured about eagles.

I mention one more, to show the power of the bird when a mere nestling. Peter and two shepherds had gone to take an eaglet from the nest. The eyrie was a little way from the top of the cliff; Peter descended to it by a rope, one of the shepherds was a little above him, and the other, who had a very weak head, stipulated for a secure

berth at the top. Peter passed the eaglet to the first man, who, in like manner, gave it safely to him at the top. But, he having most likely given it a nervous twitch, it seized him fiercely. Down he fell on his back, dread of toppling over into the abyss drowning all sense of pain. Up came the other shepherd, but, when he saw the man moaning and helpless, he was seized with such an uncontrollable fit of laughter that he could give no assistance. When Peter reached the top, he drew man and eaglet upon firm ground, and then extricated the claw. As soon as he found himself upon level ground and free, he rushed at his jocose neighbour, and Peter had some difficulty to prevent a battle. It was a mortal affront to mention an eagle in this man's presence ever after.

But we have now got back to Peter's cottage. Loch Tulla lies glistering under a burning sun: I see the landlord at Inveruran slily peeping round the corner, anxious to discover whether we had returned empty-handed. My appetite also warns me that it is past nine; so, having appeased it by a subsoil of "halesome parritch," and a top-dressing of fresh eggs, "Now, landlord, out with the 'shan-dra-dam.'”*

My jolting drive to Cladich in my "chariot" was not over till towards two o'clock, but the keen air of the mountains had completely effaced the recollection of my

* The name given by a rural minister of the Kirk, who sported one of these vehicles, to a little spring-cart with a seat across for the "dames." "The minister's man could never be persuaded to attempt this learned word, and would persist, in spite of him, to call it his "chariot," as the nearest approach he could master.

B

solid breakfast. I therefore ordered a mutton-chop, and went to the shore to examine my craft. I had already bespoken the services of old Sandy M'Kenzie, "wha kens whar the big fish lie as weel as ony man on Loch Ow side." Sandy being appointed skipper, begged to be allowed to choose his own crew, which consisted of a stout, good-natured "callant" of about sixteen, yclept "Johnny," -occasionally "Jock," when Sandy was in a patronising mood. Sandy was once a strong bony man, and piqued himself upon being one of the best wrestlers in the country. Now his eye is dim and filmy, much the colour of a boiled onion, and his athletic arm is paralytic and weak as a child's. I might have had far abler men at the oar, and as knowing about the haunts of the fish; but whenever I troll Loch Awe, none but that poor, ragged, woe-begone old man shall command my boat so long as he is able to do it.

Having satisfied myself that the "cobbles" were not more leaky than they generally are, I returned to the inn. Monzie's keeper had been there to see my eagle, so I asked his leave to shoot a couple of ring-dotterels which were tippeting on a green bank close to the boats. This he at once civilly agreed to. All was now ready for the evening fishing. Johnny carried my trolling-rods; Sandy a “cogue-fu”” of live bait, and a little basket of provisions; and I my duck-gun, loaded with No. 6 for the dotterels. Poor little fellows! They looked so pretty that it was a shame to fire at them. But as I had no specimen in my collection, I could

not resist the temptation of

stringing both at a shot. One lay, but the other,

being only wing-broken, ran into the water with so light and graceful a step, it seemed as if walking on glass. The rods were soon baited, the evening was perfect for fishing, and the feroxes took well. We came over no large ones, however, and the three brought into the boat were only four, three, and two and a half pounds. We had intended to troll to the bay of old Castle Connal, eight miles down the loch, built, as Sandy says, by the Danes, but were obliged to defer it till next day. The bay which this castle commands is a famous resort of the largest size of the ferox. When we fish it, Sandy always tells a story of one of the Lochiels, who had been taken captive by a hostile clan, and confined there. His jailor had an annuity during his lifetime. The Camerons, however, found out where he was concealed, and came down in a body. As soon as the wretch saw them, he stabbed him with his penknife, having no other weapon at hand, expecting a reward for his atrocity, which, no doubt, he received.

Night overtook us before we could gain the harbour of Cladich, alias the Burn Foot, which is the only safe anchorage in case of a storm. And, indeed, it is very difficult to bring up a boat anywhere else, the coast being so shallow. The entrance to this burn is so intricate, that a man rowing in and out every day may be completely puzzled after dark. 66 Johnny," by some hieroglyphic shadowy marks of the trees upon the water, known only to himself, at last piloted us safely through, and was "Jock, my man," till we got to the inn.

The old dun eight-day clock had just "chapped" seven, when my gallant crew cleared out of harbour, and, with my rods, bait, provisions, and pea-jacket, were making for Port Sonachan Quay, where I had directed them to meet me. The morning was colder, the wind had changed from west to east-" a bad airt " for the fish. There were certain appearances also in the sky which foreboded squally weather. The best of the fishing-ground is below Port Sonachan, so I did not wish to waste time on such an unpropitious day, until we got there. I sauntered dreamily along, admiring the views as they unfolded themselves, and had sat for some time on Port Sonachan shore, listening to a chorus of cuckoos, before the measured stroke of Sandy and Johnny appeared at some distance, slowly propelling their clumsy boat. I question if I gained much time by my manoeuvre, though Sandy appeared quite satisfied with the rate of their progress. I was soon seated in the stern, with lovely baits towing behind. "No a rug," as Sandy repeatedly said; but he endeavoured, poor fellow, to keep up our spirits by telling a tale of every wood, hill, or rock, we crept slowly past. "There's the badger's rock, sir; he has never left it for the last fifty year." The grey hermit of the rock called me back to my boyish days. The "brock-holes " in the oak wood-the traps my brothers and I had purloined from the old keeper, who preferred killing vermin by the lazy method of the gun-my delight when I detected the first poor captured badger-all rose fresh before me, as in those sunny mornings of life's early spring. My