them, now that there is perpetual trolling, as well as fly-fishing, so
that every fish knows the lures, the fun is mainly over. In April, no
doubt, something may still be done, and in the silver twilights of June,
when as you drift on the still surface you hear the constant sweet plash
of the rising trout, a few, and these good, may be taken. But the water
wants re-stocking, and the burns in winter need watching, in the
interests of spawning fish. It is nobody's interest, that I know of, to
take trouble and incur expense; and free fishing, by the constitution of
the universe, must end in bad fishing or in none at all. The best we can
say for it is that vast numbers of persons may, by the still waters of
these meres, enjoy the pleasures of hope. Even solitude is no longer to
be found in the scene which Scott, in "Marmion," chooses as of all places
the most solitary.

Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell,
And rear again the chaplain's cell.

But no longer does

"Your horse's hoof tread sound too rude,
So stilly is the solitude."

Stilly! with the horns and songs from omnibusses that carry tourists, and
with yells from nymphs and swains disporting themselves in the boats.
Yarrow is only the old Yarrow in winter. Ages and revolutions must pass
before the ancient peace returns; and only if the golden age is born
again, and if we revive in it, shall we find St. Mary's what St. Mary's
was lang syne--

Ah, Buddha, if thy tale be true,