EARLY BURN FISHING 41 



since the winter. He seems always to dress in the 

 same sober suit of somewhat rusty black ; with an 

 expanse of white in front, not remotely resembling 

 a dress shirt. If the grey wagtail is the lady of 

 the stream, then he is the dapper little gentleman. 



I have seen him in quieter southern waters, 

 where he formed no conscious, or essential part of 

 the picture as he does now ; no artist would have 

 put him in as a finishing touch. 



The kingfisher seldom visits my burn. Its 

 surface is too troubled, its bed too stony, its 

 inhabitants too alert. To get a bare living on 

 minnows, would tax his utmost skill ; and trout are 

 impossible. 



The elvers, or young eels are in the shallows. 

 The popular idea that horses' hairs cast on the 

 water become vital, and wriggle about in this way 

 is by no means extinct. This is not true ; never- 

 theless, there is some mystery in the matter. The 

 large eels are seen going down the stream in 

 autumn, to spawn in the sea. In countless numbers, 

 the young rush up in the spring. All that happens 

 between is a blank. Assuming that those little 

 creatures were born at sea, they must have come 

 through miles of sheer poison, in which no trout 

 would have lived a moment. The mortality must 



