134 AN ANGLER'S RAMBLES 



With hope and felicity dizzy, 

 And still a-near 

 Airy words hear, 



' Be busy, good angler, be busy ! ' 



ANGLING ABOUT EDINBURGH FORTY YEARS AGO. 



IT was out of a mere thread of water, discharging itself into 

 the Firth of Forth, hetwixt the towns of Largo and Elie, that I 

 drew my first trout. This boyish exploit, although performed 

 nearly half a century ago, I look back upon as the event of yes- 

 terday, and can realize the spot where it took place, in niy mind's 

 eye. as distinctly as if I actually occupied it. A sorry drain, 

 indeed, contrasted with Tweed and its feeders, was Cockle-Mill 

 Burn ; not in some places more than six or seven spans in width. 

 Yet, insignificant as it was, my recollections of it are associated 

 with the capture of fine plump trout, averaging half a pound 

 in weight, the run and escape of a whitling, the slaying of 

 sundry eels and flounders, not to mention shrimps and shell-craft, 

 the denizens of its shallow estuary. 



My first successful essay in angling was made with the worm, 

 under the direction of my father, an adept in bait-fishing, as it 

 was practised by the old school ; but the ambition to catch a 

 trout with the artificial fly followed, and the opportunity to 

 gratify it was not long in presenting itself. The scene of this 

 second exploit, so to term it, is as distinctly impressed on my 

 memory as the one just referred to. It lay on the Teith, close 

 to the Roman Camp, at Callander. The flies used were plain 

 brown hackles, and the fish taken simply a few parrs or salmon 

 fry. Whilst summering during the holidays in this locality, fly- 

 fishing was my constant amusement, and I soon became compe- 

 tent to deal with the spolia meliora of the river ; as for the opima, 



