ABERDEENSHIRE. 109 



day after day. He was delighted with his sport 

 and with his takes. A friend of mine and few 

 better in the knowledge of clean salmon was 

 invited to dine with this gentleman, and, on being 

 introduced to him, accosted him thus, 



Friend. Well, sir, I doubt you hinna had 

 muckle sport. 



Gent. O, excellent, capital sport ; I have 

 killed nine or ten salmon. 



Friend. Are they clean ? 



Gent. O, so beautiful and silvery, that I have 

 sent five or six to my friends in England as 

 presents. 



Friend. Guid be here ! or, I'm a weaver ! I 

 should like to have seen them. I have fished 

 till I'm sick, but can take nothing but foul kelts. 



Gent. O, I can gratify you in that, and 

 forthwith took him to where they lay on ice 

 there they are, said he, as he held the light. 



Friend. Knapping his box, and taking a 

 plentiful pinch of snuff, In the name of 'Fresh 

 cod!' these are all as foul as the Man of Sin 

 with such presents he had persecuted his friends, 

 not knowing better. 



This reminds me of the great quantities of 

 foul fish that were, for many seasons, sent from 



