There, on the sand, reposed the haddie boatie—a fine big boat, capable of taking a dozen or twenty men to sea. She was lying on rollers, ready to be put in the water—but, oh! what water. Great white horses lashed the shore; Neptune truly was riding fiery steeds. We were admiring the majestic crested waves breaking over the rocks when Mr. Murray said, “The hooks is baited, and ye shall catch the first haddie for luck yersel’, mem.” Should I, or should I not, disgrace myself on that turbulent water, over which the seagulls screeched and whirled and flapped their wings? By this time fifty or sixty of the villagers had arrived to help launch the boat, and my heart trembled when I remembered the one bottle of whisky brought for the Murray family to drink to the boat’s success. How far would it go amongst so many? But my cogitations were interrupted by Willie Murray exclaiming, “Will ye please to gie the name?” “Yes; what do you want it called?” “Your own name, mem, if ye will please to humble yersel’ to gie it.” “Mrs. Tweedie.” “Na, na, na, mistress, whatever, jist yer surname.” “Well, Tweedie is my surname.” “Na, na, no’ that surname. Yer other surname, mistress.” “Do you mean Ethel?” “Oi, oi, Essel—Essel.” (There is no “th” in Gaelic, and their tongues cannot frame it.) “Oi, oi, that be it, mem—Essel Tweedie, whatever,” and he took off his hat as though he hoped the wind would blow such an extraordinary name into his cranium. By this time men and women had put their shoulders to the boat, and had got her down to the water’s edge. Just as she touched the sea I threw the bottle with all my might, nearly upsetting myself in the endeavour, for, if the bottle should not shatter to atoms, these superstitious fisher-folk would think that their new boat was cursed. As she touched the water the red wine ran down her side, and I cried, “I name her Ethel Tweedie, and wish her all luck.” “May the evil eye ne’er take upon her,” called Mrs. Murray, as the red wine mingled with the crested waves. Into the water with a cheer both men and women went, right up to their waists, the waves breaking over their shoulders; but every time they got the _Ethel Tweedie_ launched, a huge wave brought her back again. “Come and drink her health before you put her into the sea,” I called. “Has anyone a glass?” “Oi, oi,” replied Mrs. Murray; and unfastening the front of her blue cotton blouse, she brought forth a wine-glass, evidently brought down in anticipation. The chief members of the party drank the health of the boat and her namesake in Gaelic, and then one lad replied, when the glass was offered to him, “I’m no’ for the tasting the dee.” Had he a cold, or why couldn’t he taste? So I offered the glass to his neighbour. “I’m no’ for the tasting the dee,” he likewise replied; and we afterwards learnt they were teetotallers, and that was their way of expressing the fact.