ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 29 



surface for food. Throw a long, light line, and 

 carry your flies clear of yonder bush, bringing 

 them in on this side of the rapid water, and allow- 

 ing the trailler to sink a little, while you move 

 them slowly towards you. Strike there is a fish ! 



Otter. No less than a couple, and both at your 

 beck; but they are par, small, weak and trashy. 

 Throw them in again, Bill. 



May. Why so ? Are they not somewhat, and of 

 manifest account ? They will swell the contents of 

 my creel to boot. I will e'en retain them. 



Leister. As you chose, but do not magnify their 

 dimensions alarmingly, lest the truth creep out in 

 the end. I have known some anglers who turn 

 minnows into whales by the magic of a bounce; 

 others that have the knack of multiplying one into 

 a dozen, and so forth. It is wiser, however, to be 

 honest in such matters at the first. The braggart, 

 after a stroke or two, is soon detected, and loses 

 generally all his credit at once. Did you ever hear 

 of Rory, the black liar ? 



May. A strong epithet ! 



Leister. It is a Gaelic one, given to a poor 

 wretch who lives in one of the most miserable of 

 Highland villages in the north of Scotland. This 

 man's mother was a coiner of scandalous stories for 

 the district. Her mouth was eternally foaming 

 falsehoods and exciting mischief. She ruined more 

 reputations with her tongue than an army of cold- 

 blooded villains, giving rise, besides, to petty feuds 



