when the birds fell through the skill and labour of the sportsman, when the true working of the dogs in the stubbles was the reward striven for, and when at the close of the day the neighbouring farmer's wife was gratified by an addition to her larder; then indeed was the rural sport of the English gentleman worthy of the high eulogium passed upon it by the late Sir Robert Peel. But now every artificial device is resorted to, that our fields and plantations may be unnaturally thronged with game, and that a party of gentlemen placed in line duly attended by a score of beaters may blaze away by the hour as if they were defending the earthworks of Strasburg or Sedan. The rearing and fattening of game simply that my Lord this and Sirthat may afterwards record in some sporting journal how for some hours they averaged a bird killed every minute, is to reduce gentlemen to the mere rank of butchers; and the subsequent sending of a waggonload of game to the poulterer's for sale is a fitting conclusion to the transaction. Such wholesale slaughter naturally alienates the sympathy of those who would otherwise gladly yield the first chance of true sport to the landowner and his friends. Neither is this wholesale butchery without its dangers to others than its intended victims. Numerous accidents occur to the beaters who are employed in its service. I know one case in which a lad was twice shot while thus engaged. The first time he bled profusely, but was able to walk home; on the second occasion the charge entered the body so deeply that he had to be carried home on a windowshutter. When after a long illness his master again called for his attendance, we cannot be surprised that the poor fellow declined, saying Please Sir, aw've had enough on it.'

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GENUINE ENGLISH LANDLORDS.

Happily there are many honourable exceptions to what seems now the rule in England as to sport. I can bear witness that not a few landlords still remain who, taking for themselves and their friends such fishing as they can enjoy, grant leave to many a stranger to share their pleasure, and recognise the legitimate claims of the farmer's son, and also of the labourer who is wont to find in his evening's fishing a solace after the day's labour and a dainty supper for his wife and family. Such landlords are the backbone of old England; long may they live to set a bright example to all around.

WORM FISHING IN THE TWEED.

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CHAPTER IX.

Our northern borders boast of Tweed's fair flood.'-MICHAEL DRAYTON.

WORM FISHING IN THE TWEED-ROB O' THE TROWS-ROB AND THE NOBLEMAN' SWALLOW-SMOLTS 'THE RED TROUT OF THE EDENEELS AT THE WATERFALL OF NEWTON DON-THE GAMEKEEPER AND MY CARD-FISHING IN THE WHITEADDER-IN THE TILLEELS FEEDING ON INSECTS-THE ANGLER HOOKED-BAIT OF THE FLYING LOBCOLLIE DOGS IN KIRK.

In the summer of the year 1838 we made our home at the Cross Keys Hotel, Kelso, then kept by the kindly hearted Adam Yule, and took our June fishing on the Tweed and the charming little river Eden, which flows. into it about three miles below the town. Our usual plan was to commence fishing a little above Floors, and end the day at Rutherford Cauld. This stretch of water afforded fine streams well suited for our purpose, many and the scenery adjoining the Makerstoun waters is among the most picturesque which borders the river. We seldom failed to fill our baskets, and our peculiar style of worm-fishing, then little known on Tweedside, enabled us to take trout of the largest size, so large indeed, that instead of sending them home we took pride in having them kippered and hung in long lines from the kitchen ceiling of the hotel.

One afternoon, after a successful day in the Floors water, we reached the rocky Trows at Makerstoun, and

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ROB O' THE TROWS.

there I paid my accustomed visit to the old fisherman best known as 'Rob o' the Trows.' He lived very near the river, but his cottage was so closely embowered in trees that it might easily have been passed by on the banks unseen. When I returned to the waterside I found Charlie standing as if transfixed. Attracted by the dark pools and streams which here swirl fiercely among the rocks, the fancy had taken him to try his art in a deep hole really very unlikely to yield any results. No trout rewarded his venture, but he had actually succeeded in hooking a fine grilse, the first sight of which so unnerved the susceptible Charlie that he allowed it quietly to sink to the bottom of the hole with the bait in its mouth. Having satisfied himself that the hook was safely lodged, he earnestly entreated Rob's assistance, and to the rescue Rob came, bearing a pronged spear with a shaft full twenty feet long. Being of Herculean stature and proportions, he only needed a flowing beard to represent Neptune with his trident. Laying himself down upon the rock and placing his eye close to the water, he satisfied himself of the position of the fish; then gently lowering the spear till within three feet of it he struck vigorously, and the trembling vibration of the shaft told us that the stroke had gone home. A minute later he laid upon the rock a grilse of about six pounds weight, and gravely drawing out a ponderous flask he proffered us each a dram.

Rob never killed a fish without taking a dram. It was a solemn performance with him, a kind of thank offering. The mention of this custom of my old friend's reminds me of a tale respecting him often told at the Tweedside. There was a certain noble lord who frequently fished there for salmon, but who had acquired an ill name for his many selfish acts. This nobleman

ROB AND THE NOBLEMAN.

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had arranged to have a day's fishing with Rob's assistance in the Makerstoun waters. Early in the morning he reached the secluded cottage and was courteously received by the fisherman, whose innate gentleness of disposition made him always courteous alike to peer and peasant. Selecting the most likely pool they began fishing, and before long his lordship killed a noble salmon. Aha Rob,' said he, that's worthy of a dram,' and straightway carried out the notion. Rob stood quietly by, expecting an invitation to share in the treat, but no, his hopes were doomed to disappointment. Rob was far too much of a gentleman to attribute the omission to anything but forgetfulness, and without any demur he re-entered the boat and began rowing. Another fish, and again his lordship exclaimed, Aha Rob, that's worth another dram!' That it is, my lord,' responded Rob, feeling sure that he should be remembered this time. But the flask was again pocketed after the nobleman had taken his solitary refreshment, and Rob took up the oars wondering what such behaviour could mean; the like had never befallen him before, the whole thing was unaccountable. Another fish was caught, another dram swallowed by his lordship, and the bottle was carefully placed in his pocket. Rob was thunderstruck. He had his own notions of honourable conduct, and they were not in harmony with what he saw practised. So he quietly rowed to the bank, stepped ashore, and chained the boat to a tree. His lordship's surprise burst forth in the words, 'What the devil are you doing that for?' to which Rob made reply, Aw's just thinking that if ye drink by yersel, ye may e'en fash by yersel.' So saying, he shouldered his oars and marched home, leaving the astonished peer to his too frequent resource-a fit of swearing.