106 THE SPIRIT OF GLENCROE. 



well-known inscription, reminding the weary wayfarer 

 to " rest and be thankful," does not hold out many in- 

 ducements for fishing. The trout, although well fed, 

 and of a very uncommon colour, are not large ; and it is 

 most probable that the "lochan," but for its situation, 

 would have been seldom visited by me. After loitering 

 up the glen, where was nothing to relieve the dreariness 

 of the scene but the plaided shepherd, accompanied by 

 his uncouth half wild-looking dog, I generally spent an 

 hour or two in filling my creel, and then slowly retraced 

 my steps. The lochan was immediately under one of 

 the most stupendous precipices in the pass, round the 

 base of which the angler must try his casts. 



In desolate regions like this, where the silence is only 

 interrupted by the hoarse croak of the raven, or some 

 other equally wild inhabitant of the mountains, the 

 slightest sound, which otherwise might pass unheeded, 

 will often arrest the attention. Such was the case with 

 me on my first excursion to Lochan Rest. While screw- 

 ing together my fishing-rod, I heard a low and peculiar 

 whistle from the precipice above. Fancying it might be 

 some shepherd, I took little notice; but as the same 

 strange call was repeated at intervals during the whole 

 time I was fishing, my curiosity was somewhat excited ; 

 I strained my eyes along the crags in every direction, 

 but nothing was to be seen. 



A few days after I again slung my fishing-basket on 

 my shoulder for Lochan Rest, and I must confess that 





