io8 AN ANGLER'S RAMBLES 



Where nature works, 

 And beauty lurks 

 In all her craft enshrined. 



IV. 



There captive to her will, 



Yet, 'mid our fetters free, 

 We seek by singing rill 

 The green and shady tree, 

 And chant our lay 

 To flower and fay, 

 Or list the linnet's glee. 



v. 



Thus glides the golden hour 



Until the chimes to toil 

 Recall from brook and bower ; 

 Then, laden with our spoil, 

 With beating heart 

 We kindly part, 

 And leave the haunted soil. 



In an excursion taken along with my friend Wilson, I revisited, 

 in 1832, some of the rivers and lakes fished by me in the previous 

 year. The Teith, Lochs Vennacher and Achray, were severally 

 dipped into. The Teith, I may remark, is one of those rivers 

 of which a great deal might be made as a breeding stream for 

 salmon. It is in reality, when compared with its recipient the 

 Forth, although not possessing the same depth and extent of 

 tideway, the larger and more direct stream. The salmon, on 

 attaining the point of junction, show a decided preference for its 



