11C DAYS AND NIGHTS OF SALMON FISHING. 



Itwas the above incident that regulated my residence, 

 in a great measure, for above twenty years of my life. 



A year had rolled on since this my first excursion 

 to the North, and I, Harry Otter, was again seated in 

 an open vehicle, enriched with fishing rods, both of 

 small and of ample dimensions; I must say exceedingly 

 ample. The stanch Arno lay at my feet; nor was I 

 deficient in a gun, such as Manton used to turn out in 

 that age of flint. My attendant, or groom, was of the 

 freshest fashion, — a youth newly hired. John, who 

 was whilom in my service, understood the arts of 

 travelling better than this man. But, alas ! John was 

 a backslider ; for when I asked him if he had any 

 objection to go to Scotland, " Pray, sir," said he, "is 

 that the country as is infested with eagles ? " I can- 

 didly confessed that there certainly were birds of that 

 description there. " Then, I am sorry, sir, but I must 

 beg leave to decline going," was his valorous reply. 



Tedious it were to recount the dawdling of a lono; 

 journey performed by the same man and the same horses. 

 I will not therefore utter such an infliction. It is quite 

 enough to say, that in the end I ensconced myself in an 

 hostel in the little town of Melrose : inn, properly so 

 called, there was none, for Melrose was then unsung. 

 It was late, and I looked forth on the tranquil scene 

 from my window. The moonbeams played upon the 

 distant hill-tops, but the lower masses slept as yet in 

 shadow ; again the pale light catched the waters of the 

 Tweed, the lapse of whose streams fell faintly on the ear, 

 like the murmuring of a sea-shell. In front rose up the 

 mouldering abbey, deep in shadow ; its pinnacles, and 



