OVER THE BORDER gt 
but the son had seen. ‘“T’ll get a wee bit supper 
and hae a go for yon fish,” said he, and away he 
went. In a quarter of an hour he came back, 
be-wadered, the complete angler. His rod was 
sixteen feet, the usual length for the sea-trout 
men there. An ordinary trout rod of say ten or 
ten and a half feet, is considered too short for 
these wide rivers, and is genially termed “just 
a whup.” Besides, the angler may have to do 
with a salmon, which makes him esteem a long 
rod. 
The quarter of an hour during the son’s 
absence gave me an understanding of the father’s 
pride in his soldier son, Between them, obviously, 
was sympathy, understanding. From the bridge 
we could see the angler casting, and presently 
“T’m in him!” came up to us, “ That means he 
wants me with the net,” said the father, hurrying 
off to help. The sea-trout, a fish of about 11b., 
was soon landed. It is somewhat of an event 
for an onlooker on a bridge to see a decent fish 
landed below, from a well-threshed river. Many 
spectators who pass without witnessing anything 
more exciting than constant casting, must some- 
times wonder if fish ever are caught. 
A few miles lower down the Esk, on the 
Duke of Buccleuch’s private reach, one day a 
few years ago a passer-by over a certain bridge 
on the Canonbie-Langholm road, at the right 
time, would have had some excitement, for— 
according toa graphic description given me one 
Sunday afternoon by a Scot on this bridge—the 
