A PERTHSHIRE GLEN 209 



fisher in Scotland. — A mind me last summer a day 

 A was doon in the meedows by the ruver side — 

 avva' doon belaw Loch Dochart — when wha s'ould 

 cam up wi' twa etiormotts saamon on his back — 

 why ! — Wha but Don Malloch there ! — Ay ! — It was 

 just himsell." 



" Hoot awa' I Hoot awa' ! That was naething 

 at a' — naething at a' ! " 



"Naething at a'!" continued Tam, — "hear till 

 him ! Naething at a' I Why, gentlemen, it was 

 a day when the ruver was that wee — ye could 

 hardly say it was much bigger than a burrn. — A mind 

 it was mysell was just saying at the time to Jock 

 Gordon, him as was minding the sheep at Benmore 

 Farrm, 'Indeed the ruver's that low there'll be no 

 fesh caught on the water the day,' when — as A was 

 saying — wha s'ould cam up the brae at that very 

 moment with twa graand fesh, but " 



" Hoot awa, man I Hoot awa ! Twa wee bit 

 fushes ! Twa wee bit fushes ! " 



" Wee bit fushes indeed 1 " ejaculated our wily 

 ally; "what d'ye say, gentlemen, to twenty-twa and 

 twenty-sax pund ! D'ye caall thae wee bit fushes ? " 

 — "No, no" — we chorused — "Grand fish, grand 

 fish." — " Ay ! " continued Lambie, " they wad be 



