Eebrtiart 18, 1893] 
THE PISHING GAZETTE 
115 
that my ambition di€i dpiartveiv (always to excel) 
is dead, and besides I conld not think of beating 
the IMajor. 
SHEruEiii); You beat the Mai'or ! Yon micht 
at baggy mennons, but he could give ye a stane 
wecht eithei* at trouts or fish. He’s just a warld’s 
wonner wi’ the sweevil, a warlock wi’ the worm, 
and wi’ the flee a feenisher. It’s a pure pleesur 
to see him playin’ a pounder wi’ a single hair. 
After the first twa—three rushes are ower, he 
seems to wile them wi’ a charm awa' into the side, 
ontil the gerss or the grevvel, whare they lie in 
the sunshine as if they were asleep. His tackle 
for bricht airless days is o’ gossamere ; and at a 
wee distance aff, you think he’s fishin’ without 
any line, ava, till whirr gangs the pirn, and up 
.springs the sea trout, silver-bricht, twa yards out 
o’ the water, by a delicate jerk o’ the wrist, 
hyucked inextricably by the tongue clean ower 
the barb o’ the Kirby bend. M idge flees! 
North : I know the Major is a master in the 
art, James, but I’ll back the Professor against 
liim for a rump and dozen. 
Shepherd : You would just then, .sir, lose your 
rump. The^ Professor can fish nae better nor 
yoursel’. \ou would make a pretty pair in a 
punt at the perches; but as for the Tweed, at 
trouts or sawmon. I’ll back wee Jamie again ye 
baith, gin ye’ll only let me fish for him the bushy 
pools. 
****** 
North: . , , But heavens! My dear James! 
how in youth—and prime of manhood, too—I used 
to gallop to the glens like a deer, over a hundred 
heathery hills, to devour the dark, rolling river 
or the blue, breezy loch ! How leaped my heart 
to hear the thunder of the nearing waterfall! and 
lo ! yonder flows, at last, the long, dim, shallow, 
rippliag, hazel-banked line of music among the 
)>roomy braes, all astir with back-fins over its 
surface; and now that the feed is on, teeming with 
swift-shooting, bright-bounding, and silver- 
shining, scaly life, most beauteous to behold, at 
every soft alighting of the deceptive lure, capti¬ 
vating and irresistible even among a shower of 
natural leaf-born flies a-swarm in the air from the 
mountain woods! 
Shepherd: Ay, sir; in your younger days 
you maun hae been a verra deevil. * * * * 
What creel-fu’s you maun hae killed . 
North : A hundred and thirty in one day in 
Loch Awe, James, as I hoped to be saved—not 
one of them under-- 
Shepherd : A dizzen pun’—and twa-thirds o’ 
them aboon’t. A’ thegither a ton. If you are 
gaun to use the lang-bow, sir, pu’ the string to 
your lug, never fear the yew crackin’, and send the 
grey guse-feathered arrow first wi’ a long whiz, an’ 
then wi’ a short thud, right intil the bull’s-ee, at 
ten score, to the astonishment o’ the ghost o’ 
Robin Hood, Little John, Adam Bell, Clym o’ the 
Clough, and William o’ Cloudeslee. 
North : Poor, dear old friend, McNeil, of 
Hayfield—God rest his soul, it is in heaven—at 
ninety as lifeful as a boy of nineteen—held up his 
hands in wonder, as under a shady tree I laid the 
hundred and thirty yellow shiners on the bank at 
his feet. Major Mackay, 
‘‘A lambkin in peace, and a lion in war,” 
acknowledged me as a formidable rival now in 
angling as in leaping of yore. Auchlian—God 
bless him, the warm-hearted and the hospitable; 
long may he live and be happy among the loving 
and beloved—from that day began to respect the 
Lowlanders. And poor Stevenson, mild and brave 
—a captain in the navy, James, now no more— 
with his own hands wreathed round my forehead 
a diadem of heather bells, and called me King of 
the Anglers. 
Shepherd: Poo! That was nae day’s fishin’, 
ava, man, in comparison to ane o’ mine on St. 
Mary’s Loch. To say naething about the count¬ 
less sma’ anes, twa hunder about half a pun’, 
ae hunder about a haill pun’, fifty about twa pun’, 
fiye-and-twenty about foure pun’, and the lave 
rinnin frae half a stane up to a stane and a-half, 
except about half a dizzen aboon a’ wecht, that 
put Geordie Gudefallow and Huntley Gordon to 
their mettle to carry them pechin (panting) to 
Mount Benger on a haun-barrow. 
North : Well done, Ulysses. 
Shepherd : Anither day in the Megget I caucht 
a cartfu’. As it gaed doun the road the kintra- 
folk thocht it was a cartful o’ herrings—for they 
were a’ preceesly o’ ae size to an unce, and, 
though w'e left twa dizzen at this house, and 
four dizzen at that house, and a gross at Hender- 
land, on countin’ them at hame in the kitchen, 
Leezy made them out forty dizzen, and Girzzy 
forty-twa, aught; sae a dispute ha’in’ arisen, 
and o’ coorse a bet, we took the census ower 
again, and may these be the last words I s’allever 
speak, gin they didna turn out to be Forty-Five. 
North : The heaviest Fish I ever killed was in 
the river Awe—ninety pound neat. I hooked him 
on a Saturday afternoon, and had small hopes of 
killing him, as I never break the Sabbath; but I 
am convinced that, within the hour, he came to 
know that he was in the hands of Christopher 
North, and his courage died. I gave him the butt 
so cruelly that in two hours he began to wallop, 
and at the end of three he lay dead at my feet, 
just as 
The Starof Jove, so beautiful and large,” 
tipped the crest of Cruachan. 
Shepherd: Hoo lang? 
North : So beautifully proportioned that, like 
that of St. Peter’s or St. Paul’s, you did not 
feel his mighty magnitude till after long contem¬ 
plation. Then you indeed knew that he was a 
sublime Fish, and could not choose but smile at 
the idea of any other salmon. 
Tic kler : Mr. He Quincey, now that these two 
old fools have got upon angling— 
Shepherd: Twa auld fules ! You great starin’ 
Saracen-headed Langshanks ! If it werena for 
bringin’ Mr. North intil trouble, by ha’in’ a dead 
man fun’ within his premises, deil tak’ me gin 
I wadna fractur’ your skull wi' ane o’ the cut 
chrystals! 
Mr. North touches the spring and the bower is in 
darlcness. 
A SALMON HOOKED —A SALMON 
PLAYED—A SALMON KILLED. 
North : By the bye, James, who won the 
salmon medal this season on the Tweed ? 
Shepherd : Wha think ye could it be, ye coof, 
but mysel’ ? I beat them a’ by twa stane wecht. 
Oh, Mr. North, but it wad hae done your heart 
gude to hae daunered alang the banks wi’ me on 
the 2-'jth and seen the slauchter. At the third 
thraw the snout o’ a famous fish sookit in ma flee, 
and for some seconds keepit steadfast in a sort 
of eddy that gaed sullenly swirlin’ at the tail o’ 
yon pool. I needna name ’t; for the river had 
risen just to the proper pint and was black as 
ink, except when noo and then the sun struggled 
out frae atween the clud-chinks,. and then the 
water was purple as heather moss in the season 
of blaeberries. But that verra instant the flee 
began to bite him on the tongue, for, by a jerk o' 
the wrist, I had slichtly gi’en him the butt, and 
sunbeam never swifter shot frae heaven than 
shot that saumon-beam doun intil and out o’ the 
pool below and alang the saugh-shallows or you 
come to Juniper Bank. Clap! clap! clap! at the 
same instant played a couple o’ cushats frae an 
aik aboon my head, at the purr o’ the pirn, that 
let out, in a twinkling, a hnnner yards o’ Mr. 
Phin’s best, atrang eneuch to hand a bill or a 
rhinoceros. 
North : Incomparable tack’e. 
Shepherd: Par, far awa’ doun the flood; see 
till him, sir—see till him, loup—loup—loupin’ 
intil the air, describin’ in the spray the rinnin’ rain¬ 
bows ! Scarcely could I believe at sic a distance 
that he was the same fish. He seemed a sanmon 
diverting himsel’ without any connection in this 
warld wi’ the Shepherd. But we were linked 
thegither, sir, by the inveesible gut o’ destiny, 
and I chasteesed him in his pastime wi’ the rod of 
affliction. Windin’ up, windin’ up, faster than 
ever ye grunded coffee—I keepit closin’ in u])on 
him, till tbe whalebone was amaist perpendicular 
out ower him, as he stoppit to talc’ breath in a 
deep plum. You see the savage had gotten sulky, 
and you micht as weel hae rugged at a rock. 
Hoo I leuch! Easin’ the line ever so little, till it 
just moved slichtly like gossamer in a breath o’ 
wund, I half persuaded him that he had gotten 
aff. But na, na, ma mon, ye ken little about the 
Kirby-bends, gin ye think the peacock’s harl and 
the tinsy hae slipped frae yur jaws ! Snoovin’ 
up the stream he goes hither and thither, bat 
still keepin’ weel in the middle, and noo strecht 
and steddy as a bridegroom riding to the kirk. 
North : An original image. 
Shei'herd : Say, rather, application ! Maist 
majestic, sir, you’ll alloo, is that flicht o’ a fish 
when the line cuts the surface without commo¬ 
tion, and you micht imagine that he was sailin’ 
unseen below in the style o’ an eagle about to 
fauld his wings on the cliff. 
North: Tak tent, James. Be wary; or he 
will escape. 
Shepherd: Never fear, sir. He’ll no pit me 
aff my guard by keepin’ the croon o’ the causey 
in that gate. I ken what he’s ettlin at—and its 
naething mair nor less nor yon island. Thinks 
ho to himsel’, wi’ his tail, “gin I get abreist o’ 
the broom. I’ll roun’ the rocks, doun the rapid.s, 
and break the Shepherd,” and nae sooner thocht 
than done—but bauld in my cork jacket-. 
North : That’s a new appurtenance to your 
person, James; I thought you had alway.s 
angled in bladders. 
Shepherd : Sae I used—but last season they 
fell down to my heels and had nearly drooned 
me, sae I trust noo to my body guard. 
North : I prefer the air life preserver. 
Shepherd : If it bursts you’re gone. Bauld 
in my cork jacket, I took till the sooming, 
handin’ the rod aboon my head. 
North : Like Caisar his Commentaries. 
Shepherd : And gettin’ fittin’ on the bit 
island—there’s no a shrub on’t, you ken, aboon 
the waistband o’ my breeks. I was just in time 
to let him easy ower the Fa’ and. Heaven safe us I 
he turned up, as he played wallop, a’ side like a 
house! He land noo that he was in the hauns 
o’ his maister, and began to loss heart; for 
naething cows the better pairt o’ man, brute, fool, 
or fish, like a sense of inferiority. * * * * 
North : But we forget the fish. 
Shepherd : No, me. I'll remember him on my 
death-bed. In body the same, he was entirely 
anither fish in sowl. 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 
ack o’ his life wad hae sae graced him as the 
closin’ ane, and I was pairtly wae and pairtly 
wrathfu’ t’ see him dee soft! Yet to do him 
justice, it’s no impossible but that he may hae 
druv his snout again’ a stane and got dazed—and 
we a’ ken by experience that there is naething 
mair likely to calm 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 among 
the bit snail-bucky-shells on the sand around 
my feet, and lay there as still as if he had been 
gutted on the kitchen dresser—an enormous fish. 
North : A sumph. 
Shepherd : No sic a sumph as he looked like, 
and that you’ll think when you hear tell o’ the 
lave o’ the adventure. Bein’ rather out o’ wund 
I sits doun on a stane, and was wipin’ ma broos, 
wi’ my een fixed upon the prey, when a’ on a 
sudden, as if he had been galvaneesed, he stotted 
up intil the lift, and wi’ ae squash played 
plunge into the pool, and aw'a’ doun the eddies 
like a porpus. I thocht I should hae gane mad— 
Heaven forgie me!—and I fear I swore like a 
trooper. Loupin’ wi’ a spang frae the stane, 1 
missed ma feet, and gaed head-ower-heels intil 
the water—while amang the rushing o’ the 
element, I heard roars o’ Jauchter, as if frae the 
kelpie himsel’, but what afterwards turned out to 
be guffaws frae your friens, Boyd, Juniper Bank, 
wha had been wutnessin’ the drama frae com¬ 
mencement to catastrophe. 
North : Ha, ha, ha! James ! it must have 
been excessively droll. 
Shepherd : Bisin’ to the surface wi’ a giiller, 
I shook ma nieve at the neer-do-weels, and then 
doun the river after the sumph o’ a sanmon, 
like a verra otter. Followin’ noo the sicht and 
noo the scent, I wasna’ lang in cornin’ up wi’ 
him, for he was as deid as Dawvid, and lyin’ 
on his back, 1 protest, just like a man restin’ 
himsel’ at the soomin. I had forgotten’ the gaff, 
so I fastened ma teeth intil the shonther o’ him, 
and like a Newfoundlan’ .savin’ a chiel frae droon- 
in’, I bare him to the shore, while, to do Boyd and 
Juniper justice, the lift rang wi’ acclamations. 
North : What may have been his calibre? 
Shepherd : On putting him intil the scales at 
nicht, he just turned three stane tron. 
Tickler (stretching himself out to an incredible 
extent): Alas ! ’twas but a dream. 
Shepherd: Was ye dreamin’, sir, o’ being 
hanged ? 
