132 THE AULD 



the weathered features, expectant to find 

 some tablet to the memory of its builder, 

 some quaint design in architecture, but 

 he enters at once into the spirit of the 

 place, as one might enter some village 

 inn that was familiar. The basket is slung 

 off, the rod rests upon the wall, and, put- 

 ting himself at his ease, he seems to say : 



" I have been here before, 



But when or how I cannot tell ; 

 I know the grass beyond the door, 

 The sweet, keen smell." 



And it is enough. The "when" or "how" 

 trouble him not. The lunch is eaten, the 

 pipe smoked, and the angler is loth to 

 leave the genial atmosphere of compan- 

 ionship which ever pervades the place. 



In the peaceful seclusion of the "Auld 

 Gray Brig ' ' memories of old Izaak Wal- 

 ton's gentle manner and pleasing talk 

 irresistibly thrust themselves upon the 

 "contemplative" angler's thoughts. 



We can hear the kindly voice : " No 



