blood, and for bootless relentings after. Soon the zest grows unsatisfied: you would fain be lulled away more thoroughly, on, on, by some strong salmonrush into deeper abysses-instead of upward to the dribbling source of minnows and tadpoles-rather outward to the frith and sea, among old former hazards and contentions. Suddenly, too, the very dragon-fly lost its charm-the paltry trout scorned me in their turn, ceasing to rise at all. What was it? Ah. I had thought as much. Thunder in the stifling air-thunder in those bronze-like tints of the mountainshoulders, and in the livid cloud beyond Ben Araidh; though his summit still showed the distincter, above a snowwhite shroud in the lower cleft.

Mist had been spreading unawares below, but the living burn rushed all the livelier down beside me, a certain clue to regain the tarn-and if I had all at once felt a slight uncertainty of recollection about our friend's road-map, my recent ascent above the obscurer atmosphere was fortunate for the moment. Composedly enough, therefore, I was about to verify my impressions by Moir's careful letter, when I was greatly annoyed to find it was no longer in my possession. Ickerson's thoughtless habits occurred to me, and a redoubled anxiety now urged the precipitate speed I at once put forth to rejoin him, down the course of the stream; impatient of every turn by which it wound, now glittering upward to a levin-flash, now sullenly plunging downward from the thunderechoes. Not for myself did I shudder then, but for him-him, Ickerson, my heedless friend, doubly dear to me in those moments of remembrance. For well did I know what was the character of a Highland "speat" from the hills. The welter and roar of its foaming outlet was along with me, neck and neck, among the mist and the wind-stirred bracken, right to the shore of that wild black tarn, sulkily splashing where dry heath had been. Heavens! Was my foreboding realized so darkly! Not a trace of him-he was gone-his very couching-place obliterated and flooded.

I shouted; a hope striking me. He had most probably underrated my experience or presence of mind. What extravagant conceptions might he not form, indeed, of my possible course of conduct-fancying me still on my way apart; yet himself never thinking of that clue which the stream had supplied me. If he were wet, he had no flask of Glenlivet to support him, as I still had; and with one more hasty gulp from it, I took the hill, dashing after him; once or twice positively sure of the traces of his great, huge-soled, heavy and soaking steps.

Over the heathery brow, down to the sheltered hollow of a fresh rivulet; for I thought his voice came up to me, stentorian, through the blast. At all events, some distance off, there was in reality the fern-thatched roof of a hut to be descried; scarce distinguishable but for a slight wreath of smoke, curling against the misty mountain-breast. I shouted, too, as I made for it. Some shepherd's shealing, of course, or hunting bothy, lodged in that secluded covert; for which he had doubtless sped in supposed chase of me! This much I could have

sworn of poor

Ickerson. Alas! Utterly still and deserted it stood; not a voice answering mine as I sprang in. Ickerson would have stayed there, hoping for help, if his foot had ever crossed the threshold. So did not I, however. The fancied smoke had been but a wreath of mist; I marked only for an instant the weird and obsolete aspect of the uncouth hermitage, manifestly built long ago, over the very cataract of a boiling torrent; at once bridge and dwelling, but for ages left solitary, like a dream of the bewildering desert. Then I turned to speed back again, at least with the certainty that Ickerson had not reached so far.

Powers above! Was I certain of anything, though? Why, as I climbed again, to return-glad to feel now the mist cleared-why did I reach the same hill-brow so slowly this time, though with all my energies on the strain; rising at last, too, amidst such a hissing storm-blast? I could see far, from ridge

to ridge of grey bent-grass, islanded in mist-along, up, through shimmering water-gully and shaded corrie. Where was I going-what was that, yonder, so slowly letting the vapour sink from it; as a gleam of watery sunlight clove in, shearing aside the upper clouds? A cairn of stones-solitary on a bare grey rocky cone, riven and rifted. I was on the mountain-shoulder itself, making hard for the top of Ben-Araidh !

A shudder for myself, it must be confessed, ran through me. For a brief space of time I dropped my head, giving way to some unmanly depression of heart. Quickly I felt, however, that after all I was not lost. I had only escaped beyond track, and those dogging thoughts were at my ear no longer. Taking out my small watch-seal compass, I carefully surveyed the point in view, studying the precise bearings, and taking fresh determination in with the act. Giving up Ickerson, well-nigh for a few minutes. forgotten, I took a new course; and steadily, but rapidly, for bare hope of life, began to plunge direct down for that spot disdained so lately-that uncouth and mysterious booth of unknown antiquity.

Staggering down for it at last in vain, slipping, sometimes reeling on, then squelching into a quagmire, I yielded in the end. I collected myself to perish. It was warm, positively warm below there, beside the marshy navel of that hollow in the valley, of which I had not before seen the least likeness. There, soft white lichens and emerald heaths, and pale coral-like fungous water-growths, were marbled and veined together, into a silent whirl of fairy moss, lovelier than any sea-shell of Singapore. I looked at it, seeing not only how beautiful, but how secret it was. A great secret it began to tell me as I sat. It was LochIt was Lochna-Diomhair, I thought, which we had so foolishly been in quest of. There was perfect welcome, and peace, and our friend Moir-so that I could have slept, but that a little black water-hen, or a dab-chick, out of a contiguous pool, emerged up suddenly, with a round bright eye, squeaking at me, and not

plopping down again. By the expression of its eye, I saw that it was Ickerson, and I clutched my rod, summoning up the last strength for vengeance; with stupid fancy, too, that I heard behind me, in the wind, voices, yelps of dogs, bloodhounds, led on by some one who had lost the trail.

As in a dream, there came to my very neck the grip of a hard hand; before I could once more stumble onward. While close at my ear there panted a hot breath, followed by a harsh voice that woke me up, but had no meaning in its yells. Was I thought deaf, because I understood it not, or because I stared at a bare-headed, red-haired savage in a rusty philabeg, with the hairiest red legs imaginable, clutching me for whom I flatter myself, nevertheless, that in ordinary circumstances I was more than a match. As the case stood, I yielded up my sole weapon with a weak attempt at scorn only. Needless were his fellowcaterans, springing and hallooing down from every quarter of the hill, at his cry of triumph. With a refinement of barbarism, a horn of some fiery cordial, flavouring of antique Pictish art, was applied to my feeble lips; to save them the pains, no doubt, of carriage to their haunt. Reviving as it was to every vital energy, I could have drained it to the bottom, heedless of their fiendish laughter, but that some one rushed up breathless, forcing it away. I looked up and saw, as a dark presentiment had told me, Ickerson himself. A train of dire suspicions poured upon my mind while I heard his explanations, while I came back to sober reality. Never had his vague political theories squared with my own practical views: had his Celtic leanings entangled him in some deeplaid plot, of which Moir and he were accomplices-I the silly victim, unless a proselyte? Nay-his genuine delight, his affectionate joy convinced me I could depend upon him yet, as he fell upon my neck like Esau, informing me how simple the facts had been. Too tutelary only, if not triumphant, that manner of statement about the sheep-drivers on the hill who had seen me, of the actual

distillers who were present, the supposition that I was the English gauger, and the safe vicinity, amidst that drenching rain, of the smuggling-bothy. There is a coolness, there is a depth about the character of Mark Ickerson, which even yet I have to fathom. He now used the Erse tongue like a truncheon: and in all he said, did those heathery-looking Kernes place implicit faith; conducting us to their den with welcome, nay resuming their operations before us, in which he even went so far as to join zealously. Indeed, for my own part, I have an impression that there is considerable vivacity in the Gaelic language, and that it has a singular power of communicating social and mirthful ideas. I now look back upon my enjoyment of its jests or lyric effusions with a feeling of surprise; except as indicative of an habitual courtesy, and of a certain aptness in me to catholic sympathies with all classes or races of men.

We were not going, however, to live perpetually in a mist, which bade fair to continue up there; neither was it desirable that Ickerson should become permanently an illicit distiller, speaking Gaelic only. Happily there was of the party a man, of course accidentally present, and by no means connected with systematic fraud against the excise, who could guide us in fog or rain, by day or night, to our destination; himself, it turned out, a Macdonochy, though rejoicing more in the cognomen of "Dochart." How or in what manner, along with this Dochart, we emerged gradually from the mist upon a wet green knoll of fern and juniper, fairly into the splendour of the west, striking down Glen-Samhach itself,-how we all three descended with augmented spirits, till the long expanse of the lake glittered upon our sight, and then the scattered smoke of huts grew visible,- it were difficult, if it had been judicious, to relate. There is to this hour something confused about that memorable short cut altogether, more especially as to its close. Only, that some one, probably Ickerson, struck up a stave of a song, German or Gaelic, in the refrain of which we

all joined, not excepting the elderly Dochart.

All at once we were close upon the schoolmaster's house, a homely enough cottage, where Moir's head-quarters had been established; at one end of the clachan, before you reach the lake. He had made himself at home as usual; and, though surprised at our despatch, of course welcomed us gladly. A pleasant, lively young fellow, Frank Moir: former college-mate of us both, though but for a term or two, ere he turned aside to commerce. And who can enjoy the Highlands like a London man born north of Tweed; or enjoy, for that matter, a tumbler or so of genuine Highland toddy, with the true peaty flavour from up some Ben-Araidh; conversing of past days and present life, to more indigenous friends? We too relished it to the utmost. The pursuers were left behind us, unable to follow. Finally, Ickerson and I, on two boxedin beds of blanket over heather-at the end next the cowshed, with the partition not up to the rafters between us and its wheezy occupants, slept the sweetest sleep of many months.

III.

AN UNLOOKED-FOR CATASTROPHE.

THAT first whole day of untroubled, silent, secluded safety, upon the sunlit waters of Loch-na-Diomhair, how indescribable was it! We heeded little the first day, how our sporting successes might be ensured; excepting Moir only, to whom nature is rather the pretext for fishing, than vice versa as with most intellectual workers, like us who followed his guidance. A boat, at any rate, was the first desire of all three; and as a boat was at the schoolmaster's command, we put it to immediate use. "This day, O Moir," says Ickerson, in his quaint way, "let Brown indulge that idle vein of his-while we revel, rather, in the exertion so congenial to us. Yesterday, he perhaps had enough of that. Nevertheless, let him take the oars to himself, that we may troll these waters as he enjoys his visions-see

what a sweep of blue loch! Yea, past the lee of the trees, yonder, what a favouring ripple of a breeze-too soon to be lost, I fear me !"

The sly pretender, he had an advantage over me yet. It was not I, but he, who inclined to inert dreaming; as we floated forth on an expanse as yet distinguishable by very little from other lakes, with no features of extraordinary beauty; but solitary, bare, spreading on wider till it folded between two promontories of wild hill. And then, with the first buoyant sense of depth-of liquid force taken hold upon by the oar in a conscious hand, to be wrestled with at least for exercise-what refreshment, what exultation at your measureless might, your endless outgoings, your inexhaustible sources, O ye abundant and joyous waters! Anywhere-anywhere with ye, for Loch-Diomhair is but a name, that in itself would soon disappoint us. And Ickerson, too, cheated of his evasive resort to the rod and its lazy pleasures, is held in emulous unison with me, by the ash-stave he has not time to lay aside; till insensibly we are trying our strength together, and our power to modulate it harmoniously, while Moir's will becomes ours, as he stands erect before us, but backward-his minnow spinning astern, his eye intent, hand ready, the ends of his somewhat sumptuous neckerchief fluttering with the swift smooth motion. A sudden jerk at last, a whirr, the running reel is tremulous with his first sea-trout of the season, which shows play in good earnest, making straight for open water through yonder reeds by the point, where no line twisted by tackle-maker's hands will bear the strain.

At that, no Yankee whaling-captain can shout more excitedly, or more unreasonably demand superhuman exertions, than Moir; when he required our double speed on the instant, to do all but overtake the fin-borne fugitive, tailpropelled for its dear life; that he might save the first tug upon his line as he shortened it quickly, with a subtile art! Yet we justified his expectations, Ickerson and I, putting forth the strenu

ousness of Mohawks upon the chase; so that down, down, in the nearer profound beneath us, our sea-trout must sound himself perforce, then, after a sullen pause, come up exhausted, to show but a few more freaks of desperation, and, turning its yellow side to the sun, yield to the insidious pole-net at last. A solid three-pounder at the least, plump, lustrous, red-spotted; the pledge, merely, of a splendid future in Loch-Diomhair. We rejoiced over it, drank over it the first quaich of that day's mountain-dew, and were thenceforth vowed to the engrossing pursuit in which Frank Moir revelled. Little matter was it then, save for this object, how magnificent the reach of open water visible, lost in distant perspective; with here and there a soft shore of copse, rising into a hill of wood; a little island dotting the liquid space on either side, the shadowy recesses of glens looking forth, purplemouthed; midway to one hand, the great shoulders and over-peering top of Ben-Araidh, supreme over all, beginning faintly to be reflected as the breeze failed. But there was one grim, grey, castellated old house, projected on a low point, which our friend denoted to us; the abode of the Macdonochy, who looked forth with jealous preservation-law upon the sport of strangers. Nearer to us, he showed, as we were glad to find, the more modest yet wealthier residence of that English merchant, Mr. St. Clair, who had purchased there of late his summer retreat: and the St. Clairs were far more liberal of their rights, although it was said the young Macdonochy had become an intimate at their lodge, aspiring greedily to the hand of its fair heiress.

Hence we turned our prow that way, and, still rowing stoutly, were fain to pass the hotter hours near shore, with oars laid by; trying for heavy pike in the sedge-fringed bay. It was in order to find a pole in the nearest fence, on which Ickerson's plaid might be spread as a sail, that he himself deliberately landed; showing, I must say, a cool heedlessness of legality, such as his recent stilllife might have tended to produce.

He came back in his leisurely style, slowly relaxing his features to a smile, as he held up a glazed card of address, which he bore in triumph, along with the paling-slab. We had, indeed, heard voices; and now found that Ickerson had fallen into sudden altercation with a groom attended by two setters. The groom looked after him as he stepped into the boat, with the timber shouldered still; and I recognised the attendant of our two fellowpassengers across Inversneyd ferry. It was not merely that he had been awed by Ickerson's stalwart dimensions: the truth was, that Ickerson, when detected by him in a felonious act, had characteristically insisted on giving his own card to the groom, whom he commanded to bear it to the party of sportsmen he saw at hand. Thereupon, the young English officer, already known to us both by sight, had come forward smiling; to waive further excuses, to make recognition of Ickerson, and give in his turn his titular piece of paste-board; apologizing, also, for his awkward constraint on the previous occasion. He had discovered that Ickerson and he had mutual acquaintances in town, with whom the former was, as usual, a favourite ; and knowing him thus by reputation beforehand, now wished the pleasure of cultivating this opportunity, so long as our friend should be in the neighbourhood. He was Captain St. Clair, Ardchonzie Lodge: at which retreat, throughout the sporting season now opened, the captain and his father would be delighted to profit by Mr. Ickerson's vicinity, with that of any friends of his who might incline to use the boats, or to shoot upon the moor.

And before Ickerson left, in short, he had blandly reciprocated these advances, sociably engaging for us all that we would use the privilege at an early day; so that the hospitality of the St. Clairs, with the facilities and amenities of Ardchonzie Lodge, might fairly be considered open to us three. The luck of Ickerson, I repeat, is something inexplicable. What a number of friends he has, without any trouble to him; and what a flow of acquaintances,

ever partial, ever discovering their mutuality, so as to increase, and be interconnected! Appearing improvident, uncalculative, unworldly-yet how does the world foster and pet him, playing, as it were, into his hands. Even his facile nature will not explain it—nor that diffuse, impersonal, lymphatic, selfunconsciousness, which makes all sorts of people fancy him theirs while they are with him. He must have some deep-seated ambition, surely, which he has marvellous powers to conceal. But at all events we returned together towards our quarters at the schoolmaster's, in the clachan of Glen-Samhach, full of Elysian prospects for many a day's rustication there. Loch-Diomhair was Utopia indeed-the very expanse we had sighed for, of Lethean novelty, of strange and deep Nepenthe, amidst a primitive race, who knew us not; a rudely-happy valley, where the spirit of nature alone could haunt us, asking none of our secrets in exchange for hers.

To

At our re-entrance to the humble lodging, as the dusk fell, my first glance caught upon an object on the table where our evening repast was to be spread. It was a letter a letter addressed in some hand I recognised, to me. me, of course, these ghastly pursuers always come, if to any; and a vague foreboding seemed to have warned me as I crossed the threshold. It had not come by post, however: it was no pursuing proof-sheet, nor dunning reminder, no unfavourable criticism, or conventional proposal. Simply, what bewildered me, till I read some words in the envelope-an inclosure of Frank Moir's letter from that spot to me, which I had read to Ickerson at Inversneyd, and supposed him to have retained. I had forgot it again till I now saw it, and saw-by the pencilled note of Dr. Trellington Blythe-what the fact had been.

I had dropped it in my haste on the little landing-pier, and it had attracted the sharp eye of Mr. M'Killop as it lay. It was Mr. M'Killop who, with a degree of inadvertence, as Dr. Blythe's note explained, had read the letter before he looked at the address