12 SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR'S LIFE. 



skipping and coquetting on the river shallows, or in 

 listening to the snatch of the red-breast's pleasant 

 or plaintive carol on the apple tree, than in the 

 survey of all the abbeys of Domesday book. " The 

 monks (with him) were dead and buried, and let 

 them lie, without bringing them on the stage of 

 life, where they had done so little to deserve man- 

 kind's respect." Carious to say he did not care at 

 all for the writings of Sir Walter Scott. With 

 some who knew him little, this may be set down to 

 an absence of true imaginative culture, but the fact 

 was, it arose out of a quaint peculiarity of mind. 

 He looked on the Waverley literature as " old piper 

 stories," " dwarf and witch tales," and monstrous 

 caricatures, of Scottish mariners. He never threw 

 himself in Scott's way, though living in the same 

 locality. When he sauntered to the top of the 

 village cliff to look riverward, and sniff the western 

 breeze, the object in the landscape which the resting 

 place of the minstrel formed, would catch his eye 

 and yet excite no passing sigh. 



The following work will have suggested that fish- 

 ing was one of his greatest sources of recreation. In 

 the course of years it passed from recreation almost 

 to regular occupation. The Tweed, the stately 

 stream, in its scenic associations and bright remem- 



