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Johnny's complaining that the boat was drifting back, fairly gave in. I had always relieved the old man when we had to cross the loch, or go quickly past bad fishingground, upon which occasions I used to hear Johnny taunting him. When I took the oar, Sandy always had his revenge, by "You've met your match noo, lad." Since it was impossible to fish any of the way back, I dried my lines along the shore, and determined to enjoy the lonely walk to the inn. The road for some miles was a steep mountain-track, which seemed only fitted for a flock of goats. On some parts of this dismal region the sun seldom shines, and on others scarce a ray penetrates all the winter. The whole hill was studded with ragged rocks and stones, and a more dreary path could hardly be imagined: gloomy without grandeur. Slowly we plodded to accommodate old Sandy, whose short breath effectually stopped his wild legends.

We had nearly gained the summit, from which there is a charming view of the loch, when Johnny, who had sauntered on a few paces before, stopped suddenly, and pointing to a little bing of stones-" This is the Tinkler's Cairn." "Deed, no," says Sandy, with an air of superior knowledge; "I'll show the Tinkler's Cairn." And stumping on a few paces further, "This is the very bit where the tinkler was murdered." I felt a thrill of horror. A more appropriate place for a deed of blood could not have been chosen; it looked like haunted ground, so bleak and bare and lonely, with its stern rocks of perpetual gloom. After carefully examining the little cairn of stones,

which is always reared over the spot where a dead body is found upon the mountains, I asked Sandy to relate the story, the substance of which is as follows:-A tinker and his termagant wife had long travelled the country. He was much older than his wife, who was a woman of immense muscular power, and nearly six feet high. "The puir body," said Sandy, "had little peace wi' her. A perfect she-deevil was Kirsty; I kent her weel. Mony a day after the deed was done she travelled the country, and her sons are to the fore yet." One day they left Cladich, and took their course over this mountain, in the way of their trade. From what motive is not known, but when they came to this spot, she seized a stone, murdered her wretched husband, then coolly walked on to the next shieling, where she slept, and in the morning pursued her way through the hills. A shepherd soon after discovered the poor tinker, lying stark and gory upon his cold hard bed. The woman was taken up, but dismissed for want of evidence. Life was held light in the Highlands in those days, and soon little was said or thought about the poor lost tinker or his tyrant mate.

I felt relieved to quit this dismal scene, and to descend the more sunny side of the hill. We were now threading the waving woods of Sonachan and Rock Hill, where the blithe mavis was pouring its evening melody from the topmost bough of many a tall pine or shadowy beech. I took the opportunity of explaining to Johnny that the large "stells" paid a deal o' money to Government, which they could not do if the little ones were allowed to

compete and pay nothing; that Government paid an army with this money to keep the French from coming over, and taking him where he would never see a glass of whisky more that if he objected to pay soldiers in this way, he must e'en go and be a "soger" himself for nothing, to prevent the aforesaid French inroad. This last piece of logic evidently had some effect; and I question if Johnny will long for the strong waters of "Loch Ow"," the next time he is so fortunate as to be presented with a glass from the large "stells" of Glenlivat or Glen Islay.

Arrived at Cladich, my first step was to order in the steelyard, when my fish proved 15 lb. odd, so must have been nearly sixteen when taken out of the water. I had killed in Loch Vennacher, the year before, with single gut, a clean salmon which weighed 17 lb. when brought home. This salmon did not make near so fierce a run as the Loch Awe trout with gimp. I have heard gentlemen speak slightingly of the best trout when compared with salmon; but let them have one of these Loch Awe monsters on their hooks, in as good condition as mine was, and I venture to say they will not complain of the want of mettle in the trout. I have no doubt that the salmo-ferox is superior, both in strength and spirit, to the salmo-salar. Unless the ferox is in first-rate condition, his head is very ugly, and looks much too large for his body. This was not the case with the specimen I have just described; his head is smaller, and his shoulder more round than any I have ever taken; on which account I

had him preserved by Fenton in George Street, Edinburgh.

I took the road at five next morning, to be in time for the Inverary steamboat, which left at seven; but, even at that early hour, poor Sandy, with his fragment of a hat in his hand, was waiting at the "brae-fit" to wish me a "gude journey." Having shaken him heartily by the hand, I turned my back, for a time, upon these cherished scenes of beauty, grandeur, and romance.

* I consider Tommy Fenton the best artist in the kingdom, not excepting Leadbeater of London. He comes from the Highlands, and, having seen and studied the creatures in their native haunts, is unriv alled at " positions."

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THIS first of British sports can only be enjoyed by the few Highland proprietors who still maintain their forests, and those to whom their permission is extended. Still, if the many keen sportsmen who are panting to try their rifles upon a gallant stag were thoroughly entered at deerstalking, they might find less cause to regret their privation than they now imagine. In the first place, no sport is more ruled by the weather; again, one is so dependent on the skill and tact of the stalker, in whose hands, for some time at least, you must be content to act like a mere puppet. And when the deer are driven, a single false move, or the mistaking of a signal by the hill-men employed, may spoil all. In every other kind of shooting the sportsman ought to trust to his own resources and foresight; but in deer-stalking, unless he has passed his life in the forest, and is thoroughly acquainted with every correi, crag, and knoll, he had much better trust to those who are. Without this knowledge, it is impossible for any one to tell how the wind will blow upon a given

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