AND ANGLING SONGS. 235 



IV. 

 We love the angler's quiet lot 



His meditative art 

 The fancies in the hour of thought 



That bud out from his heart. 

 All other things we '11 cast behind, 



Let strife of place alone, 

 And flinging care unto the wind, 



We '11 angle angle on ! 



With my visit to Elleray in 1831, it will not be out of place 

 to consort a few jottings relative to another, extending over five 

 or six weeks, which I paid to Thirlstane House, on the banks of 

 the Ettrick, in 1834. The noble proprietor of Thirlstane, Lord 

 Napier, was at that time in his minority, and the trustees, in the 

 exercise of their discretionary powers, had let the house and 

 shootings to Professor Wilson, with whose family I had received 

 a kind invitation to pass a week or two. The recollection of 

 this visit, prolonged until the middle of October, I cherish with 

 fondness, but it is only in its association with sport that I feel at 

 liberty to dwell upon it. 



The entries made in my angling diary, in that respect, are 

 certainly not very numerous. To the Ettrick and its feeders, 

 far advanced as the season was, it appears that, in company with 

 my friend, the Professor's eldest son, I now and then devoted 

 portion of a forenoon. This only happened, however, when the 

 weather was adverse in the extreme to the pursuit of the feathered 

 tribe, to indulge in which we had at command an extent of ter- 

 ritory, independent of the Thirlstane estates, such as scarcely 

 made it necessary to pass twice in the fortnight over the same 

 beat. I may mention, by the way, that the Ettrick and its 

 supplies, during September, are not, in respect to the condition 

 of their trout, to be judged of by the Tweed, or even the Yarrow. 



