RECOLLECTIONS OF THE AUTHOR. xvii 



myself ; never have I visited any part of the world, 

 however wanting in general amusements, without 

 being able to find continual interest and pleasure. 

 Of all our many Scotch homes, Invererne was, 

 I think, my father's favourite ; it was charmingly 

 situated, close to the river Finclhorn and the large 

 bay of that name. The wild sandhills, and the 

 equally wild stretch of coast, made an excellent 

 locality for the naturalist and sportsman. About 

 a mile and a half from the mouth of the river it 

 divides (or did so in those days), forming an 

 island in the fork, the habitat of rabbits and all 

 kinds of wild-fowl. Here an almost fatal accident 

 occurred. One day, after refusing to let my 

 brother and myself fish in the river, he took us 

 to the island ferreting. In the course of the 

 afternoon, without the least warning, we saw the 

 river " coming down," like a great brown wall, ten 

 feet high, sweeping everything before it. We had 

 barely time to reach the highest point, for in a 

 few seconds the island, barring a dozen square 

 yards on which we stood, was a seething mass of 

 water several feet deep. If we boys had been 

 fishing nothing could have saved us. My father 

 often spoke of this providential escape, as he did 



