From Fox's Earth 



morning, had to dodge the falling tree, whose 

 bole the chisel rodent teeth had cut through in 

 the night. Not for four hundred years has the 

 Tweed witnessed anything of the kind. 



Unchecked by the beaver dam, current and 

 pool were left between the salmon and the otter. 

 Happy days of untrammelled play, out of which 

 so much that is interesting is evolved. What 

 rushes of gallant fish breasted the current or lit 

 the pool with their silver sheen, the otter notwith- 

 standing. 



There would be a boat to cross the pool, to 

 where game was, or retainers dwelt. The name 

 may date back thus far. The boat would remain 

 as the village grew and the castle crumbled. 

 The patch of wood by the higher pool may be a 

 remnant of the forest, under whose noontide 

 shadow the deer sheltered, and whose boles the 

 beaver chiselled that the trees might fall across 

 the stream. 



Below Traquair, the Tweed has its sharpest 

 bend. It runs straight into the hillside. The 

 road is perched a hundred feet above the stream. 

 I have seen big fish taken under Flora Hill old 

 fish too, as though the patriarchs of the stream in 

 their weariness sought refuge from the current. 



Into the pool a tributary trickles in summer 

 and rushes in winter. It issues from a bare, wild 

 glen ; but bare as it is and wild, I have pleasant 

 visions of it. The "baa" of a sheep brings the 



no 



