106 FISH AISTD FISIIIXG iis* SCOTLAND. 



our steps, we reached the village or hamlet of Galashiels. That 

 we were on foot I need scarcely say. Your anglers who mount 

 on horses and ride to the Gala in post-chaises or hy rail are 

 artificial things, called citizens inhabitants of cities. They are 

 usually bad anglers in the direct ratio of the value of their angling 

 gear. I have tested it over and over again. Some one told me 

 they once met Charles Bell Sir Charles as he was afterwards 

 nicknamed fishing in this very water, the Gala. He had come 

 in a post-chaise to Noble House, and when seen by my friend, 

 resembled nothing on earth beneath, nor in heaven above. He 

 was clothed in waterproof, from the crown of his head to the 

 sole of his foot. Had he been made of sugar, which no one ever 

 thought him to be, he could not more have dreaded the touch of 

 water. Poor Sir Charles ! he was no angler, but, by the lone 

 river side and on the heaths of his native land, he hoped to 

 escape, if only for a day, the beaten path, the common high road, 

 moral and physical, to shake off for an hour the harness of social 

 life. 



The village of Galashiels, when I first saw it, consisted of a 

 church and manse, a sort of inn, or rather public-house, and of 

 some half-a-dozen thatched houses or huts. No one was moving 

 about ; it seemed deserted and crumbling into ruins. A coarsely 

 made salmon fishing-rod or two placed over the doorway of one 

 of these low, thatched cottages, told us that there lived a brother 

 angler. We were right. Our fishing-rods and basket bespoke 

 our purpose, and told the simple, honest-hearted inmate who we 

 were. I could not well make out what business he exercised ; 

 but of this I am sure, he was a noble angler angler of a higher 

 order, for he chiefly aimed at the salmon. We were at home at 

 once. I distinctly recollect that he was a bachelor ; but, be this 

 as it may, it was resolved that, for eight days at least, we should 

 fish the Gala. Tweed also was at hand, and a short walk enabled 

 us to reach its banks at that part and near that house which 

 another of Scotland's great minds has immortalized. But at the 

 time I now speak of Sir Walter Scott had not written "Waverley," 

 nor the " Monastery," nor even the " Lady of the Lake" (would 

 that he had never written it !) and the town of Galashiels 

 was a hamlet such as I have described. 



