WINTER TALKS ON SUMMER PASTIMES. 59 



NORTH.* * * And poor Stevenson, mild and brave now no more 

 with his own hands wreathed round my forehead a diadem of 

 hetherbells and called me King of the Anglers. 



SHEPHERD. Poo! That was nae day's fishin' ava, man, in com- 

 parison to ane o' mine on St. Mary's Loch. To say naething aboot 

 the count less sma' anes, twa hundred about a half a pun, ae hundred 

 about a hail pun, fifty about twa pun, five-and-twenty about f owro 

 pun, and the lave rinnin' frae half a stane up to a stane and a half, 

 except about half a dizzen, aboon a' wecht, that put Geordie Gude- 

 fallow and Huntly Gordon to their mettle to carry them pechin' to 

 Mount Benger on a han' barrow. 



NORTH. Well done, Ulysses'. 



SHEPHERD. Anither day in the Megget I caucht a cart-fu'. As it 

 gaed doon the road the kintry-f oik thocht it was a cart-fu' o' herrius 

 for they were a' preceesely ae size to an unce and though we left 

 twa dizzen at this hoose and fowre dizzen at that hoose and a 

 gross at Henderland on coontin' them at hamein the kitchin, Leezy 

 made them oot forty dizzen, and Girzzy forty -twa, aught; sae a dis- 

 pute haen arisen, and of course abet, we took the census ouer again, 

 and may these be the last words I sail ever speak, gin they didna 

 turn oot to be Fourty-Five! 



And here is where Christopher's ninety pound salmon 

 comes in: 



NORTH. The heaviest fish I ever killed was in the river Awe ninety 

 pound neat I hooked him on a Saturday afternoon and I had small 

 hopes of killing him, as I never break the Sabbath. But I am con- 

 vinced that within the hour he cams to know that ho was in the 

 hands of Christopher North, and his courage died. I gave him the 

 butt so cruelly that in two hours he began to wallop, and at the end 

 of three he lay dead at my feet, just as 



"The sfcar of Jove, so beautiful and large," 

 tipped the crest of Cruachan. 



SHEPHERD. Hoo lang? 



NORTH.- -So beautifully proportioned, that like that of St. Peter's or 

 St. Paul's you did not feel his mighty magnitude till after long con- 

 templation. Then you indeed knew that he was a sublime fish, and 

 could not but smile at the idea of any other salmon. 



TICKLER. Mr. De Quincey, now that these two old fools have got 

 upon angling 



SHEPHERD. Twa auld fules! You great, starin', Saracen-headed 

 lang-shanks ! If it M erna for bringin' Mr. North intill trouble, by haen 

 a dead man fund within his premeeses, deal tak me gin I wudna frac- 

 tur' your skull wi' ane o' the cut crystals. 



After reading this dialogue, no one will doubt that Chris- 

 topher North's .ninety pound salmon was killed with ' 'a long 

 bow" instead of a Jock Scott. 



