ii2 Summer 



the havoc I had made among the trout, and even 

 (Heaven forgive me !) the salmon. I do not claim 

 to possess any extraordinary inventive powers on 

 account of such tales ; on the contrary, observation 

 has taught me that among anglers the gift is quite 

 common. 



With me, fishing was a very simple process. But 

 before I describe it let me enter a much-needed 

 protest against Sir Walter Scott's reference to my 

 favourite river as 'the deep and sullen Till.' In the 

 neighbourhood of Flodden Hill it does happen to flow 

 in the midst of green haughs and how beautiful they 

 are in June when the silvery hue of the daisies is 

 broken only by the gold of buttercups in the centre 

 and the blue of speedwells lining the river-brink ! and 

 its slow pace is still further retarded by several mill- 

 dams ; but travel either up or down you will find it 

 streaming gaily past rock and boulder, or clasping in 

 its great arms a buxom island clothed with long grass 

 and fern out of which trees of various kinds are pro- 

 jected. If I do not inform my readers which part I 

 admire most, it is for good and sufficient reasons. It 

 is enough to say that it is one of the most romantic 

 portions of the river. On the one bank a great wood 

 stretches away for miles overshadowing a cool and 

 shaded walk, and the outermost trees wave their 

 branches over the river ; on the other is a steep and 

 broken incline, with gorse and bracken enough on it 

 to form a tolerably good fox-cover. Past the wood 



