A SPRING WEEK IN THE WEST HIGHLANDS. 367 



The greatest bungler may more easily catch a salmon than 

 one of these chaps make such a mistake. 



Wild and uncouth were the exclamations and com- 

 ments from a circle of Highlanders, when the salmon were 

 paraded before the inn ; and truly absurd was the edifi- 

 cation depicted in my little fellow's features, as he stared 

 from one rugged weather-beaten face to another, severally 

 delivering themselves of their Gaelic sentiments, 



The cuckoo is a bird of bad omen if heard for the first 

 time before you break your fast. So said some mountain 

 sage to my little boy, who was unfortunately in that pre- 

 dicament. You are sure to fail in whatever you under- 

 take immediately after ; in other words, have " a gowk's 

 errand." Nevertheless the unlucky gowk had brought us 

 a fragrant morning, or more likely the fine morning had 

 tempted the mal-a-propos call from the joyous bird. A 

 note from Peter Kobertson was handed to me. The sea 

 eagle had built upon the island of Loch Bah, but was shy 

 and not sitting close yet. " It is all that nasty cuckoo," 

 said my son. u Had you heard it in place of seeing the 

 swallows, you would never have hooked the salmon." 



There is often more earnest in these "saws" than 

 grown people would be willing to admit. I have known 

 a deerstalker* refuse to go out, on a fine morning for the 



* Like most Highland poachers, he had two strings to his bow, and 

 followed the lawful calling of a shoemaker, to conceal as much as pos- 

 sible his depredations on the hills. He told me he had killed thirteen 

 deer before breakfast- time. When after grouse, he never wasted powder 

 and shot upon ptarmigan, as they only fetched two shillings a brace then, 

 whereas grouse brought three and sixpence. The ptarmigan were so 



