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during the time he was playing a salmon to compose a series of sonnets-nor to those who know his genius does the feat appear at all wonderful, as he tells us that he has occasionally been thus occupied on the shores of St Mary's Loch for several hours without any intermission or refreshment. His poetical reveries, however, when he has been angling for fishes, have sometimes been broken in upon in a singular manner by birds. He says, "it is well known to anglers, that the more familiar sorts are frequently captured with the fly." If this happen frequently to anglers who are not fishing for birds, there can be no doubt that an expert birdfisher, by taking his station on a bridge, might, in some rivers, in a few hours fill a tolerably large pannier with swallows. Ourselves once caught an owl. But not with the fly, nor the worm, nor yet with the minnow-with the live mouse. Soon as he felt himself hooked, he sailed away to Josey's Barn,'-in at a bole-and on to a balk; but after a desperate struggle, and with the aid of a terrier, we captured him on the hay-mow -had him stuffed-and he is now in the museum of our University-a venerable image-with an inscription on his pedestal recording our exploit and his fate. Mr Stoddart says "We once saw what we thought was a great curiosity, passing over our heads while angling on the Earn in Perthshire. This was a white eagle of a large size, and holding a steady flight, as if at a considerable distance from its nest." We expected-at least hoped-that our excellent friend was about to add, that he had captured him with the fly; but we believe a white eagle is as rare almost as a black swan, and as it is only "the more familiar sorts that are frequently taken with the rod, though the phenomenon rose, it was not at "the Professor." Mr Stoddart, however, "once took a snipe by this means at Meggat Foot, while in the act of throwing our line over a trout which we had just raised. Also, on the Tyne, in East-Lothian, we landed a bat, of which, at the moment, there were five or six playing about our tackle. At another time we got hold of a wild duck, which sprung up at our feet when lashing the Machony, a small stream near Muthill, in Perthshire. The bird somehow proved too strong for us, and carried away our cast of flies in a twinkling. We luckily, however, found left behind a full grown flapper 1 At Elleray.

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whereon to revenge ourselves. A friend of ours brought in, near the Water of Leith, several swallows in succession one windy afternoon, on small midge-flies, which, on passing, they darted at eagerly. On Lochranean, Spittal of Glenshee, Colonel Macdonald of Powderhall happened, while fishing from a boat, to run in among a flock of sea-gulls, and actually captured a score of them with his tackle, notwithstanding their most vigorous resistance."

We have quoted freely from this chapter, because we suspect “the art of angling, as practised in Scotland, by Thomas Tod Stoddart and his friends," is not generally understood by our subscribers in the south. Besides snipes, bats, wild ducks, flappers, swallows, sea-gulls, and "the more familiar sorts" of birds which an accomplished angler would scarcely condescend to capture if he could help it, the author of the Lunacy "sometimes chances to hook other creatures of various sorts"-and a brother of the rod, when trying a famous salmon-cast, hooked an ox. "The animal of course took to his heels, dragging after it the astonished fisher, who, in order to save his pirn-line, which was soon run out, forthwith exerted himself to keep pace with the rapid brute, although compelled at last to submit to the necessity of losing his tackle." It is easier to hook an ox than to catch him; yet we have known him led by the nose with a single hair. We have seen the Shepherd in the Tweed very bloody among trees; and we remember having ourselves hooked a haystack which a gentleman from Edinburgh, "who had come out to the shooting," had missed a few moments before with both barrels; but though it did not of " course take to its heels," we were compelled at last to submit to the necessity" of letting it escape.

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The chapter from which we have made these extracts is entitled "Recollections and Advices," and is full of amusement and of instruction. Notwithstanding the somewhat startling stories of the snipe and wild-duck, the author is far from affecting the marvellous, and "to impose silence upon vaunters, and undeceive the credulous, allows it to be known plainly, that no Scottish angler with the fly ever did, upon an entire average, manage to capture one trout, upwards of a pound weight, for every hundred falling short." True as to the Tweed-certainly not as to Loch Awe. Thirty pounds weight, he rightly says, is considered "a good day's work

on the Tweed, and few anglers are able to take so much." George Graham Bell, Esq., advocate, achieved, we are told --and we believe it—with the bait (that is, the worm), about fifty pounds in four hours-when the river was flooded and full of "snaw-broo." "The largest yellow trout taken by him on that occasion weighed five pounds." We have ourselves, with the fly, killed half a hundredweight-in the Tweed; but 'twas after a long day's work,—and though many were pounders, not one a giant. As for numbers, there are streams and lochs in the Highlands where a craftsman may kill incredible crowds. "A friend of ours, Mr John Wilson, jun., captured in the space of six or seven hours no less than fourteen score, some odds, from a small loch situated in the Caledonian Forest, near Loch Laggan; and this on a close sultry day without a breath of wind."

The advices Mr Stoddart gives to anglers are so excellent that we shall quote-and hope you will follow them-especially the last.

The best craftsmen in Scotland are, perhaps, to be found among the lower orders, despite of their clumsy rods and rough tackle. We have met with such as were loading their creels at every throw, and yet seemingly without effort or science. In fact, the best proof of a good angler is his ability to conceal his skill. An indifferent-looking fisher often proves better than one who is all method and nicety, and wishes to let you know it. Our custom, when a brother angler heaves alongside, is to act our worst, and so prevent him from spoiling the water out of spite, which he is very apt to do, for the benefit of one he considers more skilful than himself.

And here we would advise, among other things, always to give the precedence to him who seems determined to take it from you, by his rapid advances towards the pools you are engaged on; for, be assured, he is at once vulgar, ignorant, selfish, and upstart, and demands only your silent contempt. Even rustic anglers respect the rights of those before them, and consider it unlucky to pass each other, unless from necessity, or mutual understanding. Never refuse to show another the contents of your creel, should he ask you; but do not blazon them abroad to every one you meet, for vaunters gain no respect by their readiness to chagrin others. If you can help a brother angler in a difficulty, do it, whether by the gift of a few hooks, which cost you almost nothing, or by assisting to mend his rod when broken. Any such small service you will generally find well repaid. Do not grudge a mouthful of what was intended for your own refreshment, to one, although a stranger, who seems to require it as well as yourself. Be more civil to the gamekeeper than the squire, if caught in a trespass, but always put

on a good-humoured face, in order to get easily out of the scrape. When attacked by a watch-dog, give him across the head with the butt of your rod, and send a stone after him to keep him company to his kennel. Should a bull attack you, trust to your heels, or, if too late, stand steady, and jerk yourself out of the way the moment he lowers his horns; he will rush on several yards, as if blindfold, and take a couple of minutes before he repeats his charge; use these to your advantage. Never carry another man's fish, nor part with your own to adorn an empty creel: in the one case you are tempted to bounce, and in the other you act the tempter. When angling, always keep one eye upon Nature, and the other upon your hooks, and ponder while you proceed. Never fall in love with one you meet by the water-side; there are situations when every woman looks an angel.

What follows is in Tom Stoddart's most eloquent veinand as good in its own way as anything in Izaak Walton.

And, last of all, keep up the fraternity of the craft. Anglers are a more gifted and higher order of men than others, in spite of the sneers of pompous critics, or the trumpery dixit of a paradoxical poet. In their histories, there are glimpses snatched out of heaven-immortal moments dropping from Eternity upon the forehead of Time. As a gift of his calling, poetry mingles in the angler's being; yet he entreats for no memorial of his high imaginings-he compounds not with capricious Fame for her perishing honours-he breaks not the absorbing enchantment by any outcry of his, but is content to remain “ a mute, inglorious Milton," secretly perusing the epic fiction of his own heart.

Blame him not that he hoards up the pearls of his fancy-that his forehead is unbared for no honour-that he hath buried his virtues in a lowly place, and shrunk from the gaze and gathering of men—that he courts no patron smile, and covets no state preferment—that he is barely heedful of crowns and their creatures, of party struggles and party declensions-that he wills for no privilege but that of his meditative pastime, and runs not headlong among the meshes of care, in which are so intricately entangled the wealthy, the ambitious, and the powerful. He is happier in the nook of his choice, than the usher of sovereign mandates on the throne of his inheritance.

"And when he quits his humble heritage

It is with no wild strain-no violence;
But, wafted by a comely angel's breath,
He glides from Time, and on immortal sails
Weareth the rich dawn of Eternity."

Nothing can be better than the following Angler's description of the Tweed :

The Tweed, comparing it with the other Scottish rivers, is by no means rapid. The Dee, the Spey, the Lochie, and many parts of the Tay and Clyde, proceed with greater swiftness, and on the whole are

infinitely more broken and interrupted. Of all rivers, this quality belongs solely to it, namely, that it is from head to foot beautifully proportioned and justly meted out. There is an evenness and impartiality about it, which distinguish no other stream; its pools and shallows are harmoniously arranged

"It murmurs and pauses, and murmurs again."

Here we perceive no rocky shelves, no impertinent cataracts, saying to ascending fish, "Hitherto shalt thou come, and no farther; and here shall thy proud fins be stayed." Nothing of the kind. Nor is there, on the other hand, any inert tendency; no long, dead, sleeping levels, in which pike may secure themselves. The whole is planned according to an angler's taste; every inch of water accessible to the wader, without danger or interruption. Its banks also are in keeping with its other advantages-not naked and barren, neither spongy and overgrown with rushes, nor yet crowded with close and impervious wood, but mostly dry and inviting, fringed in many parts with oak, ash, elm, and beech, and in others hung over with the pleasant alder, among the roots of which is often harboured a goodly and well-grown trout, impatient for some dropping fly or incautious worm. Most to our favour, however, is its choice formation of bottom or channel, fertile in food, provided with shelter, and admirably fitted to the purpose of spawning. A medley it is of gravel and sand, interspersed with largeish stones, just capable of being removed by the hand. Now and then, it is true, these latter assume more considerable dimensions; nay, occasionally a point of rock may be discovered, yet so judiciously arranged as not at all to cause prejudice to any one stream. Clay you seldom meet with; it is a barren unprofitable substance, impervious to every species of water animalculæ : we mean not by it, the muddy refuse which is often found even in Tweed, proceeding from vegetable decomposition, and not in the least unfavourable to the support of fish, but that hard yellowish till of which the agriculturist complains, as drawing off no moisture, and harbouring no nourishment.

Another leading feature of the Tweed is, that its whole development is gradual, its extension almost imperceptible. It proceeds not, like the Tay or Lochie, from the womb of a large reservoir, supplied but scantily during its course, but commences in more modest and humble style, emergent from slender and silvery fountains, without show or vaunt, or any symbol of its progressive greatness. Yet anon it maketh considerable gains from surrounding hills, assuming a more dilated and goodly aspect; rivulet after rivulet adds to its breadth, as it widens up gently and unconsciously with the valley through which it flows; nor is each petty feeder without its use a nursery for the young fry it annually sends forth, shoal on shoal, to disport among roomier waters in the leading stream. As it descends, these resources become larger, often contending for the precedence, and yet in nowise worthy of such distinction. The Tweed itself preserves the superiority in depth and directness, as well as length of course and travel.

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