FOREST, LAKE, AND RIVER 



set in the lip of a pound-and-a-half Loch Leven 

 trout. The moment you have dreamed of for 

 years has come at last ! Be cautious, for your 

 tackle is refined to the utmost, and your iish 

 is the prince of finny diplomats ! His first rush 

 is toward the drifting boat. ** Catch the pirn ! " 

 cries the watchful oarsman, and in response you 

 reel madly on the slack, and lead your fish suc- 

 cessfully across the bow. Then, in a succession 

 of leaps that would do credit to a Salmo salar^ 

 he dashes into the eye of the northeast wind 

 behind the floating skiff. His object is thus 

 figuratively, as well as literally, to get to the wind- 

 ward of the angler. But, mindful of Dame 

 Juliana's caution, you keep him ever under the 

 graceful arch of your five-ounce, until, his last 

 mad bound from the water made, his last wintle 

 over, he lies superb in the death-glisk, amid 

 the encircling meshes of the Highland gillie's 

 landing-net. 



And now that he has so skilfully taken your 

 fish in out of the wet, untie your boatman's 

 tongue with a draught of Campbelton and Isley 

 blend, for he has " gang gizzen " with the 

 excitement, and you would fain have him " glib- 

 gabbet " for awhile in bits of folk lore. For 

 every hillside, each wood, each ruin has its tale, 



198 



