192 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



ing the channels for a November fish, with a long, six- 

 pronged leister in his hands. Latterly he patronized 

 the otter. He was wrong, but his hands were perhaps 

 feebler, his dispositions less active than formerly, and 

 he hesitated to wade, as of old, along the margin of 

 St. Mary's Loch, when, without this fatigue, he might 

 continue the capture of some scores of half-pounders 

 and a kelt or two, lank, lean, large-headed, and 

 silvery. The Shepherd was a persevering, and con- 

 sequently a successful angler ; but he never, in my 

 humble judgment, threw a nice fly ; he was ignorant 

 of the proper sweep necessary to be taken before the 

 line could be fairly projected, and he had a strange 

 affection for strong coarse gut, and large heavy hooks, 

 superfluously loaded with feathers. A flail might have 

 scanned the surface with more delicacy than his un- 

 trained tackle ! How he managed to catch fish at all, 

 was to me a marvel ; but they rose, not a doubt, to his 

 fly, and found an entrance also to his pannier. 



Methinks I once more behold him wending his 

 way back to Altrive Cottage, clad in a grayish shoot- 

 ing-jacket of light summer fabric, with his pastoral 

 plaid, forming a cross in front, and knotted on the 

 left side, so as not to interfere with the use and ex- 

 ercise of his rod arm, over which waves one of Baillie 

 Grieve's best ties worsted certainly, but still in 

 spring, and able to control the efforts of as noble 

 fish as ever swam upward from Yarrow fues. Know 

 ye not the poet by his free, firm step ? by the light 



