144 ANGLING. 



Abrupt and sheer the mountains sink 

 At once upon the level brink ; 

 And just # trace of silver sand 

 Marks where the waters meet the land, 

 Eor in the mirror bright and blue 

 Each hill's huge outline you may view, 

 Shaggy with heath but lonely bare ; 

 Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake is there, 

 Save where of land yon slender line 

 Bears 'thwart the lake the scattered pine. 

 Yet even tin's nakedness has power, 

 And aids the feelings of the hour ; 

 Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, 

 Where living thing concealed might lie. 

 There's nothing left to fancy's guess : 

 You see that all is loneliness. 

 And silence aids : though the steep hills 

 Send to the lake a thousand rills, 

 In summer-tide so soft they weep 

 The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 

 Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, 

 So stilly is the solitude." 



The Teviot is a large river, and runs through almost the entire 

 extent of Roxburghshire. It is a line fishing stream, and it has 

 many tributaries, such as the Allan, the Slitrig. the Jed, and the 

 Kale, in which there is an abundance of trout. The Teviot enters 

 the Tweed about a mile above the town of Kelso. 



Prom Kelso to Berwick, a distance of about twenty miles, and 

 which can now be traversed by railway, there are many splendid 

 fishing stations, where both salmon and trout can be readily 

 captured with the fly. The most important feeder to the chief 

 river, within this distance, is the river Whitadder, which enters it 

 about five miles west of Berwick. This is a much frequented 

 river by North of England anglers, who find an abundance of sport 

 in its waters during the whole of the fishing season. The trout 

 are^numerous, though not of very good quality ; and there is a fair 

 sprinkling of salmon during the angling months. 



We shall now take our leave of this most interesting river, with 

 the insertion of the following beautiful lines, written by a lady, 

 and published in "Blackwood's Magazine," about twenty years 

 ago : 



" Roll on, bright Tweed, roll on, 



And let thy waters be 

 A tribute to the many waves 

 Of dark and heaving sea ! 

 Many clear, winding streams 

 On thy broad bosom meet, 



