MY FIRST TWEED SALMON 49 



Next morning, in clean, quiet Kelso, I mused over 

 the intruded opinions of the gentleman in the train 

 (whom I had ticked off as a good-natured bagman), 

 and having been warned beforehand by a laconic post- 

 script, " Prospects not rosy," remembered that in 

 angling there is something needed besides endurance 

 and energy, and that when you are waiting day by 

 day for the water to fall into condition there is a sub- 

 stantial demand upon patience. However, the thought 

 must not spoil breakfast, nor did it. Then I read my 

 letters, glanced down the columns of the Scotsman, 

 lighted the first tobacco (the best of the day verily !), 

 and issued forth from the yard of the Cross Keys, hal- 

 lowed by the periodical residence of eminent salmon 

 fishers, such as Alfred Denison, who, with so many of 

 the familiar sportsmen of his day, has gone hence, 

 leaving pleasant memories behind. 



The stony square of the town is in front of you ; 

 Forrest's shop is next door as you stand in the gateway 

 of the old inn, and after a glance at the sky and at the 

 weathercock on the top of the market house you look 

 in there. A local fisherman was coming out, and in 

 reply to the inevitable question as to the state of the 

 river, he said, " Weel, she's awa' again." Pithy and 

 characteristic, and full of information was this. It was 

 a verdict You may fish, but shall fish in vain this 

 day. The Tweed is away again. 



Gloomily now you walk ahead, leaving your call at 

 the tackle shop for a more convenient season ; at pre- 

 sent, at any rate, time is of no account. Past the 

 interesting ruins of Kelso Abbey you proceed, and soon, 

 leaning over the parapet of Rennie's Bridge, on the 

 right-hand side, your eye straightaway seeks the 

 Tweedometer fixed against the wall of Mr. Drummond's 

 Ednam House garden. The bold black figures on the 



