248 ANGLING LITERATURE 



Sanctum, my dear auld man ! For there we're a* brithers, 

 and keep bletherin' withouten ony sense o' propriety I 

 ax pardon o j inferiority beiu' a' on a level, and that 

 lichtsome, like the parallel roads in Glenroy, when the 

 sunshine pours upon them frae the tap o' Benevis. 

 North. But we forget the fish. 



Shep. No me. I'll remember him on my deathbed. 

 In body the same, he was entirely anither fish in sowle. 

 He had set his life on the hazard o } a die, and it had turned 

 up blanks. I began first to pity and then to despise 

 him for frae a fish o' his appearance, I expeckit that nae 

 act o' his life wou'd hae sae graced him as the closin' ane 

 and I was pairtly wae and pairtly wrathfu' to see him 

 dee soft ! Yet, to do him justice, it's no impossible but 

 that he may hae druv his snoot again a stane, and got 

 dazed and we a' ken by experience that there's naething 

 mair likely to cawm courage than a brainin' knock on the 

 head. His organ o' locality had gotten a clour, for he 

 lost a' judgment atween wat and dry, and came floatin', 

 belly upmost, in amang the bit snail-bucky-shells on the 

 san' aroond my feet, and lay there as still as if he had been 

 gutted on the kitchen dresser an enormous fish. 



North. A sumph. 



Shep. No sic a sumph as he looked like- and that you'll 

 think when you hear tell o' the lave o' the adventur. 

 Bein' rather out o' wun, I sits doon on a stane, and was 

 wipin' ma broos, wi' ma een fixed upon the prey, when a' 

 on a sudden, as if he had been galvaneezed, he stotted up 



