192 AUTUMNS IN ARGYLESHIRE 



the poacher when out of condition. In the 

 corner under the plantation a deep hole, now 

 dry, still bears the title of the " Pool of the 

 Coat of Mail." Tradition relates that a Mac- 

 callum, after a gallant defence of the old castle 

 of Kilmartin against a band of his hereditary 

 foes, was obliged to sally forth when they had 

 set fire to his stronghold and made it literally 

 "too hot to hold him." He succeeded in cut- 

 ting his way through his tormentors, but had 

 to jump into the pool to cool his armour, 

 which was too warm to be comfortable. Lucky 

 for him that the engineers had not then had 

 their wicked will with the stream, for now the 

 water is hardly knee-deep, and the poor man 

 would have been roasted like a lobster in its 

 shell. 



Nothing, it seems, daunts the true disciple 

 of Izaak Walton, for there, in front of us, is 

 one in a deplorable plight. He stands in the 

 road with a rod of portentous length leaning 

 against the dyke beside him. His eyes are 

 turned upwards as if appealing to Heaven ; but 

 as we draw nearer we ascertain that he is other- 

 wise occupied, and that the words proceeding 

 out of his mouth are not supplications. His 

 hook is attached to the telegraph wire over his 

 head, half way between the two posts, and, in 

 spite of violent jerks, the stout gut declines to 

 give way. His position tells its own story. 



