No branch of sporting comes amiss to Mr Colquhoun, who is also an accomplished naturalist. Great on the lake and salmon-river, he is knowing at the “lochan” and the burn; and is aware that oftentimes as much dexterity is required for the capture of a half-pounder, as might suffice for the hooking of the lordliest fish that ever threaded the rapids of the Dee. Even the piscatory student who knows Stoddart by heart—and Tom has long been considered as quite at the summit of his craft—may obtain many a valuable wrinkle from Colquhoun, who is fertile in devices little known to the majority of practical anglers. It is the fashion of some of the brethren of the wand to speak superciliously of sea fishing, as if no sport could be obtained except in fresh water. Now we admit at once that finer fishing is required in fresh than in salt water; but there are times when the latter may be resorted to both with profit and amusement. What the _haaf_ or deep-sea fishing may be we know not; but in the lochs which indent the western shores of Scotland excellent sport may be obtained. We take leave to draw the attention of our sporting friends, who about this time of the year repair to the Highlands, to the following extract from the volume before us:— “The sea loch has a character peculiarly its own—no wooded islands, no green or pebbly margin, like its inland sister, except, perhaps, for a short time at full tide; and the dark mountain more often rises abruptly from its side in craggy and bold relief. It is a novel sight for the traveller, whom the refreshing evening breeze has tempted out of the neighbouring inn, at the landlord’s recommendation, to try his fishing luck with such a clumsy rod and tackle as he had never dreamt of before. The awkward-looking herring ‘skows,’ well matched with their black or red sails, scudding in all directions; the nasal twang of the Gaelic, as they pass the bow or stern of his boat, shooting their nets; the hardy weather-beaten face of the Highlander, always civil in his reply, and courteous in pointing out the most likely ground to the ‘stranger’—reiterating his injunctions (when his stock of English extends no further) ‘to keep on the _broo_,’ yet plainly showing that he expects the like courtesy in return, and that the least slip on your part would immediately make him change his tone,—all this can hardly fail to impress on the mind of the imaginative, that the spirit of the Highlands, though dormant, is not dead, and to carry back his fancy to the old times of clans, caterans, and claymores.