OF all the days of this memorable summer and autumn 

 The great (1899) the last to be recorded to the credit 

 Lake Trout o f fa e eighteen hundreds none has been 

 more delicious than one I have just spent upon one 

 of the loveliest and least known of Highland lochs. 

 This loch must be nameless, because, greatly solicitous 

 though every one ought to be for the wellbeing of his 

 fellows, a man hesitates to point the way to the few 

 solitudes that are left in our land, lest some enter- 

 prising engineer should conspire with the sparse 

 inhabitants who seem to the lover of nature so 

 seldom to know when they are well off and how to 

 leave that well alone and a light railway be the 

 result. Be it enough, therefore, to indicate that this 

 little inland sea runs, sinuous and profound, for some 

 thirteen miles through the heart of a Highland deer- 

 forest one that fulfils more exactly the conventional 

 idea of forest than the bleak wastes where the red deer 

 must be usually sought, inasmuch as a goodly breadth 

 of the primeval Caledonian woodland still clothes the 

 mountain flanks on either shore. The north side, lying 



