A SPRING WEEK IN THE WEST HIGHLANDS. 365 



by some secret influence, procured three of the most 

 approved salmon flies, and engaged to send a post-boy who 

 knew the casts. 



Being thus pretty well equipped, I started about three 

 for the falls of the Urchay. My boy no contemptible 

 bait-fisher for trout begged hard to accompany me, as he 

 had never seen a salmon killed. At the tail of the lowest 

 pool I had the good hap to hook a fish. As I was far from 

 placing implicit reliance on the waiter's tackle, it took some 

 time to tame him, and when I fairly had him under my 

 thumb, where was the gaff? The beach, however, was 

 good, and the post-boy handy, so we soon extracted a very 

 fine eleven-pound salmon. The next pool was a long 

 black whirling linn, but we fished it blank ; not a break or 

 boil from top to bottom. We now came to a dangerous 

 but very good cast. It was also deep and black, full of 

 sunk rocks ; and, should I hook a fish, it would soon show 

 what the tackle was made of. At the very spot where I 

 expected, up he came, and now was the tug of war : the 

 fish fighting for the rocks, and I doing my best to keep 

 him clear of them, knowing that if he effected his pur- 

 pose there was every chance of being cut. My tackle 

 proved excellent; I fairly foiled him, and at last wore 

 him away from the perilous rocks. The post-boy's hands 

 again acted gaff, and brought to bank a noble fifteen 

 pounder. 



I was now quite satisfied, and despatched the ready- 

 handed son of the whip for our car, which was put up 

 opposite the place where I killed the first fish. At the 



