s--"

"_Have_ they beds, my dear?"

"Beds are generally found to be well aired and quite clean, though of
course in the poorer and more remote districts they are--"

"Hush! pray spare my feelings, my dear John."

"Remote districts, they are not so immaculate as one would wish. Then
there are endless moors covered with game, and splendid lakes and rivers
full of fish. Just think, Mary, what a region for our dear boys to
revel in! Think of the shooting--"

"And the dreadful accidents, my dear."

"Think of the fishing--"

"And the wet feet, and the colds. Poor darling Jacky, what a prospect!"

"Think of the glorious sunrises seen from the mountain-tops before
breakfast--"

"And the falling over precipices, and broken necks and limbs, dear
John."

"Think of the shaggy ponies for our darling Lucy to ride on--"

"Ah! and to fall off."

"And the dew of early morning on the hills, and the mists rolling up
from the lakes, and the wild uncultivated beauty of all around us, and
the sketching, and walking, and driving--"

"Dreadful!"

"And bathing and boating--"

"And drowning!"

"Not to mention the--"

"Dear John, have pity on me. The _pros_ are too much for me. I cannot
stand the thought--"

"But, my dear, the _place is taken_. The thing is _fixed_," said Mr
Sudberry, with emphasis. Mrs Sudberry was a wise woman. When she was
told by her husband that a thing was _fixed_, she invariably gave in
with a good grace. Her powers of dissuasion having failed,--as they
always did fail,--she arose, kissed Mr Sudberry's forehead, assured him
that she would try to make the most of it, since it _was_ fixed, and
left the room with the comfortable feeling, of having acted the part of
a dutiful wife and a resigned martyr.

It was towards the close of a doubtful summer's evening, several weeks
after the conversation just detailed, that a heavy stage-coach, of an
old-fashioned description, toiled slowly up the ascent of one of those
wild passes, by which access is gained into the highlands of Perthshire.

The course of the vehicle had for some time lain along the banks of a
turbulent river, whose waters, when not brawling over a rocky bed in
impetuous velocity, or raging down a narrow gorge in misty spray, were
curling calmly in deep pools or caldrons, the dark surfaces of which
were speckled with foam, and occasionally broken by the leap of a yellow
trout or a silver salmon.

To an angler the stream would ha