288 AN ANGLER'S SEASON 



And bonnie the September time, 



Calm sparklin in the sun, 

 When through the stubble, tipped wi rime, 



The perky paitricks run. 



When doon the hillside creeps the snow 



And snell has grown the air 

 'Tisfine to leave the plains and go 



To seek the mountain hare. 



And finer still if luck attend 



Your footsteps up the wind 

 A nd into easy range should send 



A muckle hart or hind ! 



Aye : thafs a grand ; but whafs the gun 



Compared wi rod and reel 

 When from the North Sea comes a run 



O* salmon and o peel ? 



Peter's voice, light, confident, defiantly 

 joyous, instantly caught us as with a 

 charm, and held us so. The first chorus 

 was by no means shy ; the last was a roar 

 of immeasurable glee. 



