CLEAR WATERS 



can there find weekly, if not daily, proof of it, and 

 account for what to him no doubt would appear an 

 insoluble problem, as best he may. 



Now, there is a delightful little stream, to wit, the 

 Eye, that I used frequently to fish in youth. It 

 twists in and out of the Great Northern main line for 

 many miles, where the latter leaves the sea-coast of 

 Berwickshire and dives through the skirts of Lammer- 

 muir on its way to the flat plain of Lothian and the 

 Scottish capital. Every third person who goes to 

 Scotland, otherwise almost every third person one 

 knows, keeps close company with the little river for 

 about a quarter of an hour. But I have never in my 

 life met a southerner who ever took note of it, and 

 mighty few who have ever so much as heard of the 

 Lammermuirs, unless vaguely as the scene of a famous 

 opera and a great novel. This, however, is purely by 

 the way, and not concerned with the modest but 

 beautiful little stream here alluded to. I was talking 

 to a local sportsman on its banks only the other day 

 as a fast train, loaded with Highland-bound tourists 

 and sportsmen, roared by us towards Dunbar and 

 Edinburgh, and expressing a hope that it was as good 

 as it was in the days of yore. 



' Oh, aye, it 's a gran' wee river yet ; but maybe ye 

 havena heerd we 've formed an association ? ' 



* It 's no longer free water then,' said I. 



* Well, it 's nae exactly free ; we 've got the associa- 

 tion, ye ken.' 



* What is the subscription ? ' 



* A shullin' a year, jest.' 



* Is that enough to keep a watcher ? ' 



