f fish, while not a tail was ever seen to twinkle in
the spacious waters of Loch Broom. Abundance on one side of the Minch,
destitution (for no earthly or apparent reason) on the other! After
mature consideration, the dwellers by Loch Broom came to the conclusion
that the anomaly could only be explained by the malignant operation of
the Lews witches. Query: How best neutralise the spells of these partial
harridans? A remedy, both unique and effective, was at length devised. A
silver herring was made and given into the hands of a sturdy crew, who
set sail with it over the water to Lewis. On arriving there, the men
partook of an adequate amount of refreshment, let down the silver fish
(attached to a cord) among the jostling shoals in one of the lochs, and
then, with the metallic animal trailing in the sea behind them, they
turned the prow of the boat in the direction of home. The ruse was
successful beyond all belief: glimmering clouds of phosphorence followed
through the seas below in the wake of the boat and its silver lure.
Under the stars of night, in all the rapture of excitement and success,
the Loch Broom fishers led the droves of herring right up to the
farthest reach of their loch. The metallic herring was then allowed to
sink to the bottom: there it remains, and so long as it is there, an
abundant harvest of the deep will be the portion of the resourceful
toilers of these shores. Perhaps I ought to mention that the famous boat
which did the feat was painted black on one side and red on the other. I
am not sufficiently versed in the niceties of _grammarye_ to be able to
render a reason for this piebald device.

Of late years, as I have been told, the prosperity of Ullapool is not as
high as it was. Can it be that the Lews witches are at their old tricks
again? Or has the silver herring been borne, by the wash of retreating
surges, out into the Hebridean deep. Every visitor who walks through the
sea-facing, white-washed little town, must be struck by the silence of
the streets and the utter lack of business animation.

TAISCH.

The most interesting place in the island of Skye is, beyond question,
the neighbourhood of Dunvegan. It was of surly, superstitious,
loyal-hearted Samuel Johnson that I chiefly thought when I leapt out of
the trap that landed me at the Hotel of Dunvegan, for I had just been
reading his famous _Journey_, with its diverting remarks on
second-sight. It would not, I confess, have surprised