THE SALMON. 179 



we sprung out beneath the glare of lamps upon the 

 glistening pavement, quite delighted by the novelty 

 of our previous situation, and holding up our arm 

 to aid the descent of our unlettered friend, Reader, 

 it was Sir Walter Scott ! 



We here present a few fishing lines spun by 

 that ingenious angler, Mr. Thomas Tod Stoddart. 

 They relate to a branch of the subject on which 

 we dare not enter, except " in numerous verse," as 

 no man could withstand the accusation of being 

 both a proser and a poacher. 



THE LEISTER SONG. 



Flashes the blood-red gleam 



Over the midnight slaughter, 

 Wild shadows haunt the stream, 



Dark forms glance o'er the water. 

 It is the Leisterer's cry ! 



A Salmon, ho ! oho ! 

 In scales of light, the creature bright, 



Is glimmering below. 



Murmurs the low cascade, 



The tall trees stand so saintly, 

 Under their quiet shade 



The river whispers faintly. 

 It is the Leisterer's cry ! 



The Salmon, ho ! oho ! 

 A shining path the water hath 



Behind the shape of snow. 



Glances the shining spear, 



From harmless hands unheeded ; 

 On, in its swift career, 



The dream-like fish hath speeded. 

 It is the Leisterer's cry ! 



The Salmon, ho ! oho ! 

 Along its wake the torches break, 



And waver to and fro. 



