ovely
isles that lie like lilies on the AEgean. Plutarch tried to console
these exiles, by showing them how fortunate they were, far from the
bustle of the Forum, the vices, the tortures, the noise and smoke of
Rome, happy, if they chose, in their gardens, with the blue waters
breaking on the rocks, and, as he is careful to add, _with plenty of
fishing_. Mr. Mahaffy calls this "rhetorical consolation," and the
exiles may have been of his mind. But the exiles would have been wise to
listen to Plutarch, and, had I enjoyed the luck of Mary Stuart, when Loch
Leven was not overfished, when the trout were uneducated, never would I
have plunged into politics again. She might have been very happy, with
Ronsard's latest poems, with Italian romances, with a boat on the loch,
and some Rizzio to sing to her on the still summer days. From her Castle
she would hear how the politicians were squabbling, lying, raising a man
to divinity and stoning him next day, cutting each other's heads off,
swearing and forswearing themselves, conspiring and caballing. _Suave
mari_, and the peace of Loch Leven and the island hermitage would have
been the sweeter for the din outside. A woman, a Queen, a Stuart, could
not attain, and perhaps ought not to have attained, this epicureanism.
Mary Stuart had her chance, and missed it; perhaps, after all, her
shrewish female gaoler made the passionless life impossible.

These, at Loch Leven, are natural reflections. The place has a charm of
its own, especially if you make up your mind not to be disappointed, not
to troll, and not to envy the more fortunate anglers who shout to you the
number of their victories across the wave. Even at Loch Leven we may be
contemplative, may be quiet, and go a-fishing. {2}

THE BLOODY DOCTOR. (A BAD DAY ON CLEARBURN)

Thou askest me, my brother, how first and where I met the Bloody Doctor?
The tale is weird, so weird that to a soul less proved than thine I
scarce dare speak of the adventure.

* * * * *

This, perhaps, would be the right way of beginning a story (not that it
is a story exactly), with the title forced on me by the name and nature
of the hero. But I do not think I could keep up the style without a lady-
collaborator; besides, I have used the term "weird" twice already, and
thus played away the trumps of modern picturesque diction. To return to
our Doctor: many a bad day have I had on Clearburn Loch, and never a good
one. But one thing d