JULY 183 



narrows and opened the long vista of Loch Nevis. In 

 a dark, rocky cleft scarring the green mountain, 

 gleamed a silver thread, sure token this, that in the 

 glen five hundred feet below, the river was in fishing 

 trim. There had been rain, then ; and here rain in 

 July means grilse and sea-trout for all whom it may 

 concern, and a ' happening fish ' an odd salmon or two. 



It was half-past six before we picked up our moor- 

 ings ; a boat was going ashore at once, and there was 

 time to secure a fish course for dinner on board. By 

 seven o'clock I stood beside the Cruive Pool where in 

 the old bad days the fish were intercepted in their run 

 threading the line with trembling fingers along the 

 trusty split-cane. The summer spate was well nigh 

 spent, but there was ' a drop in her ' still, and trout 

 were rising in the dark run under the alders. 



How little people understand the charm of Scottish 

 climate who defer their visit till August or September, 

 when the evenings shorten apace and grow chill ! The 

 true sweet o' the year comes in the mid-months of 

 summer, when the light lingers long in the northern 

 sky, when the deep meadow grass is full of humming 

 things and starred with pink-and- white orchis, golden 

 bog asphodel, globe-flower, and forget-me-not. The air 

 is brisk, but warm; plant growth is just at the 

 crescendo which preludes maturity and decay ; and as 

 for sea-trout fishing, nobody knows that delicate sport 

 who has not practised it in July, because it is in that 

 month only that the big fellows, from two to six 

 pounds, pass up the rivers, and may be taken in the 



