moorland steep with broken and graceful outlines. When
the sun shines on the red tilled land, in spring; when the smoke of
burning gorse coils up all day long into the sky, as if the Great Spirit
were taking his pipe of peace on the mountains; when the islands are
mirrored on the glassy water, then the artist rejoices, though the angler
knows that he will waste his day. As far as fishing goes, he is bound to
be "clean," as the boatmen say--to catch nothing; but the solemn peace,
and the walls and ruined towers of Queen Mary's prison, may partially
console the fisher. The accommodation is agreeable, there is a pleasant
inn--an old town-house, perhaps, of some great family, when the great
families did not rush up to London, but spent their winters in such
country towns as Dumfries and St. Andrews. The inn has a great green
garden at its doors, and if the talk is mainly of fishing, and if every
one tells of his monster trout that escaped the net, there is much worse
conversation than that.

When you reach Kinross, and, after excellent ham and eggs, begin to make
a start, the cockney element is most visible at the first. Everybody's
name is registered in a book; each pays a considerable, but not
exorbitant, fee for the society--often well worth the money--and the
assistance of boatmen. These gentlemen are also well provided with
luncheon and beer, and, on the whole, there is more pleasure in the life
of a Loch Leven boatman than in most arts, crafts, or professions. He
takes the rod when his patron is lazy; it is said that he often catches
the trout; {1} he sees a good deal of good company, and, if his basket be
heavy, who so content as he? The first thing is to row out to a good
bay, and which will prove a good bay depends on the strength and
direction of the wind. Perhaps the best fishing is farthest off, at the
end of a long row, but the best scenery is not so distant. A good deal
hangs on an early start when there are many boats out.

Loch Leven is a rather shallow loch, seldom much over fifteen feet deep,
save where a long narrow rent or geological flaw runs through the bottom.
The water is of a queer glaucous green, olive-coloured, or rather like
the tint made when you wash out a box of water-colour paints. This is
not so pretty as the black wave of Loch Awe or Loch Shin, but has a
redeeming quality in the richness of the feeding for trout. These are
fabled to average about a pound, but are probably a tri