AND ANGLING SONGS. 1/7 



IV. 



Then we '11 seek the Holy Well, 

 Or when eve glides up the dell, 

 And the cushat all unseen 

 Coos among the larch-wood green, 

 Stealing soft 

 Along the croft, 

 We '11 beat the shady water, 



Till to rest, with arm opprest, 

 Night turns us from the slaughter. 



A portion of the year 1834, extending over nearly two months, 

 was spent by me on the banks of the Devon, in Clackmannan- 

 shire. In its uppermost pertinents, the Devon is as delectable a 

 little stream for the angler who is not too ambitious to swear by, 

 as any which runs through the dominions of our gracious Sove- 

 reign ; nor, even in the lower part of its course, which is directed 

 through a mineral district, has it become totally denuded of 

 attractions. As a feeder of the river Forth, it is one of those 

 waters from which, were salmon reform carried on with due 

 energy, a considerable addition to the present market supply 

 might be obtained. It presents capacities, at least up to a 

 certain point, for producing fish ; and although it can never pre- 

 tend to an equality with Teith, yet as a lateral stream it is of 

 some importance. In most of our salmon rivers little respect 

 has as yet been paid to the lateral streams, especially to those 

 which enter near the mouth of the main supply. Were proper 

 inquiry made into their bearings in this respect, it would be 

 found that they are of wonderful service, particularly in the 

 raising of sea-trout. Take, for instance, the Earn in its con- 

 nexion with the Tay ; and the Whitadder, Till, and Teviot, the 

 furthest down tributaries of Tweed, in their connexion with that 

 river. It is an undisputed fact that the minor species of salmon, 



M 



