130 ANGLING SKETCHES 



old thorn-trees, remnants of the forest. It is all 

 homely and all haunted, and, if a Tweedside fisher 

 might have his desire, he would sleep the long 

 sleep in the little churchyard that lies lonely 

 above the pool of Caddon-foot, and hard by 

 Christopher North's favourite quarters at Cloven- 

 fords. 



However, while we are still on earth, Caddon- 

 foot is more attractive for her long sweep of 

 salmon-pool the home of sea-trout too than 

 precisely for her kirk-yard. There will be time 

 enough for that, and time it is to recur to the 

 sad story of the big fish and the careless angler. 

 It was about the first day of October, and we 

 had enjoyed a 'spate.' Salmon-fishing is a mere 

 child of the weather ; with rain almost anybody 

 may raise fish, without it all art is apt to be vain. 

 We had been blessed with a spate. On Wednes- 

 day the Tweed had been roaring red from bank 

 to bank. Salmon-fishing was wholly out of the 

 question, and it is to be feared that the innumer- 

 able trout-fishers, busy on every eddy, were bait- 

 ing with salmon roe, an illegal lure. On Thursday 



