84 SALMON FISHING IN THE TWEED 



There I stood, streaming and disconsolate, casting 

 a wistful look at the late bright inmates of my 

 basket, which were tilting down the weeds through 

 the gullet into a tremendous pool, vulgarly called 

 Hell's Cauldron. Into that same pool with the 

 ominous name had I myself very nearly passed, and 

 thus had followed my hat, which was coursing 

 about in the eddy or wheel of this fearful depth. 

 Thus vanished before my eyes my whole day's 

 sport, for dead fish immediately sink ; and it was 

 not without some skilful fishing up that my hat and 

 I renewed our acquaintance. I have before observed 

 that when I was quite an urchin I never wore a hat, 

 or any covering over my hair ; but as I grew older 

 I thought it decorous to follow the fashion. 



At another time, whilst still a puer, and only 

 possessed of one single bait-hook, to my utter con- 

 fusion I found that solitary hook had been swallowed 

 by a duck, which a mass of sedges under the bank 

 had concealed from my view. There we were, Mrs. 

 Duck and I, dashing, swashing, and swattering 

 down the stream ; the duck all the time declaring 

 his sentiments by the utterance of a fearful noise, 

 and I endeavouring by every means in my power 

 to prevent my only hook from being ravished from 

 me by my feathered opponent. In the meantime 

 a group of lasses, who were washing clothes at the 

 river side, and were friendly to the bird, set upon 

 me, first with their tongues, of the use of which 

 they seemed to be in full possession, and latterly 

 with their pails and watering pans ; in consequence 

 of which I was compelled to snap my line, and 

 turn upon my fair tormentors. But let no boy of 



