Terrier lines.  They are smaller than the average Scottie, more “foxy” in general conformation—­straight limbed, rather long, rather low, and active in body, with a broad forehead, light muzzle and underjaw, and a bright, small intelligent eye.  Colonel Malcolm, of Poltalloch, who is recognised as the great authority on the breed, lays stress upon the quality of the coat.  “The outer coat,” he says, “should be very soft on the forehead and get gradually harder towards the haunches, but the harsh coat beloved of the show bench is all nonsense, and is the easiest thing in the world to ‘fake,’ as anyone can try who will dip his own hair into the now fashionable ‘anturic’ baths.  The outer coat should be distinctly long, but not long in the ‘fancy’ or show sense.  Still, it should be long enough to hang as a thatch over the soft, woolly real coat of the animal and keep it dry so that a good shake or two will throw off most of the water; while the under coat should be so thick and naturally oily that the dog can swim through a fair-sized river and not get wet, or be able to sit out through a drenching rain guarding something of his master’s and be none the worse.  This under coat I, at least, have never seen a judge look for, but for the working terrier it is most important.  The size of the dog is perhaps best indicated by weight.  The dog should not weigh more than 18 lb., nor the bitch more than 16 lb.

“There is among judges, I find—­with all respect I say it—­an undue regard for weight and what is called strength, also for grooming, which means brushing or plucking out all the long hair to gratify the judge.  One might as well judge of Sandow’s strength, not by his performances, but by the kind of wax he puts on his moustache!

“The West Highland Terrier of the old sort—­I do not, of course, speak of bench dogs—­earned their living following fox, badger, or otter wherever these went underground, between, over, or under rocks that no man could get at to move, and some of such size that a hundred men could not move them. (And oh! the beauty of their note when they came across the right scent!) I want my readers to understand this, and not to think of a Highland fox-cairn as if it were an English fox-earth dug in sand; nor of badger work as if it were a question of locating the badger and then digging him out.  No; the badger makes his home amongst rocks, the small ones perhaps two or three tons in weight, and probably he has his ‘hinner end’ against one of three or four hundred tons—­no digging him out—­and, moreover, the passages between the rocks must be taken as they are; no scratching them a little wider.  So if your dog’s ribs are a trifle too big he may crush one or two through the narrow slit and then stick.  He will never be able to pull himself back—­at least, until starvation has so reduced him that he will probably be unable, if set free, to win (as we say in Scotland) his way back to the open.