38 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



disasters without reckoning. Her darling Eory is 

 a born drunkard, and inherits so strongly his mother's 

 propensities, that all who dwell in the neighbourhood 

 abhor his very presence. Nature has aptly twisted 

 his shape and features so as to resemble his words. 

 He is the incarnation of falsehood, and yet, strange to 

 say, an angler ; but, mark me, a desperately bad 

 one the mere murderer of other men's sport. He 

 rakes and harrows the best pools with nets and other 

 destructive engines, in order to obtain fish, disposing 

 of these as fresh and clean when in their worst and 

 stalest condition. His braggadocio is staringly large, 

 but too commonplace to be amusing ; there are no 

 jokes in the heart of it; it is one concoction and tissue 

 of absolute and unredeemed falsehood. It has, how- 

 ever, a plot and manner, a minuteness and dramatic 

 progression about it, somewhat imposing. Eory is 

 too artful not to embellish the deception ; he gilds 

 the bolus before he asks you to swallow it. 



I once met him, and not at the time knowing my 

 man, was led to ask him concerning some hill lochs 

 which I fancied to exist in the neighbourhood of the 

 village where he lived. He mentioned the names of 

 several, and of one in particular, where he asserted he 

 had often killed trout of an enormous weight ; more- 

 over, he described its size, situation, and curiosities 

 gave me an idea of where it lay, and induced me, 

 without much ado, to go in search of it, the distance 

 being a mere trifle, and no guide required. Off I set, 



