364 A SPRING WEEK IN THE WEST HIGHLANDS. 



A car, containing two anglers and their attendants, now 

 drove up. They had been fishing since morning at the 

 falls of the Urchay, and taken a couple of salmon one 

 nine, the other fifteen and a half pounds weight. The cap- 

 tor of the large fish was in great glee ; for the landlord told 

 me it was the " biggest" that had been caught since the 

 season began. The weather had been so dry, and our 

 time so limited, that my salmon rod and tackle had been 

 voted supernumerary. I should now have had no objection 

 to their company, especially as next day, being a festival of 

 the English church, and all the fishers Englishmen, I should 

 have had all the river to myself. 



The swallows were true prophets ; next day was mild 

 and calm, with a few clouds. After breakfast I walked to 

 the cottage of one of the old fishing-guides to borrow a rod, 

 reel, and flies. " The river is so small, and the wind in so 

 bad an airt, that unless it changes you would not get a rise," 

 says old James M'Nicol. Seeing me rather incredulous, he 

 added, " I will come down at one o'clock, and should the 

 wind change we may get a fish." The wind had been in 

 the same " airt" for the last week, and well did sly James 

 know it would not change. The truth was, both he and 

 the other old guide had been hired by the Sassenachs, and 

 dared not go out, or even lend a rod or fly, as they of 

 course wished to give the river a day's rest. I was not, 

 therefore, surprised when M'Nicol made his appearance at 

 one, with the excuse that he had to tie some small flies for 



Mr . Opposition only put me upon my mettle. I 



borrowed an old rod from the waiter, while the landlord, 



