,;: :v;-i,-i, -"' ALBERT R. MANN LIBRARY New York State Colleges of Agriculture and Home Economics at Cornell University THE GIFT OF WlLLARD A. KIGGINS Cornell University Library SH 609.F84 Riverside rambles of an Edinburgh angler 3 1924 003 439 167 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924003439167 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER Riverside Rambles EDINBURGH ANGLER DUNCAN FRASER FIRST PRESIDENT OF THE EDINBURGH SATURDAY ANGLING CLUB 3ffu6(rafe6 fig Zom gicott, M.($.$.M. SELKIRK: GEORGE LEWIS & SON MDCCCXCV All Rights reserved THE FOUOWING SKETCHES ARE INSCRIBED TO THE MEMBERS OF THE EDINBURGH SATURDAY ANGLING CLUB BY THEIR SINCERE FRIEND AND FIRST PRESIDENT INTRODUCTORY. Many attempts have been made to account for the love of angling, which is such a powerful factor in some lives, but all in vain ; for this love manifests itself in such varied forms, and upon such a variety of objects, that we are forced to admit that what we term angling is really a composite thing, and cannot be easily defined — appealing, as it does, to so many opposite tastes and emotions. Thus, one man loves to saunter by silent glens and lonely hills, because he is of a contemplative mind, and, as Burns says — "The muse, nae poet ever fand her Till by himsel' he learned tae wander Adoun some trotting burn's meander." viii INTRODUCTORY. Another man finds his recreation in the atmos- phere of storied scenes. "The battle mound, the Border tower," feed his heart with aspirations and emotions such as nothing else can do. A third has his artistic sense gratified by the picturesque blending of crag and wood, by varied landscape and changing sky. But, over and above all, there is a constant craving in the heart of man for the restorative, recuperative spirit of nature. As Browning sings — "O to be in England, now that spring is there!" We often think that if dwellers in cities could only gratify the craving that comes upon them at certain times, by setting off to the country for a few days of recreation by moor and stream, there would be less of the depression and nerve trouble that is such a sad feature in these pessimistic times. In beginning our rambles, it is necessary that we should get into sympathy with those who are followers of the gentle art ; and nothing will do this more effectively than an examina- INTRODUCTORY. ix tion of the impulses that prompt and guide their actions. With genial Stoddart, who sang the halcyon days of trout-fishing, we invoke the aid of nature in our quest : — "Sing, sweet thrushes; forth and sing! Meet the morn upon the lea: Are the emeralds of spring On the angler's trysting-tree ? Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me, Are there buds on our willow tree ? Buds and birds on the trysting-tree?" Two of the following sketches were first printed in the Weekly Scotsman, and two in the Southern Reporter. For permission to reprint them I sin- cerely thank the respective editors. D. F. CONTENTS. i. PAGE An Angler's First Bay, i A Memory (verse), 6 II. Ovbr the Hills to Yarrow; . . 9 III. Fishing in St Mary's Loch, .... 33 IV. The Postmistress of Cappercleuch, ... 47 Lux in Tenebris (verse), 53 V. The Schoolmaster op Cappercleuch, . . 57 xii CONTENTS. VI. PAGE A Day on Loch Deven, 65 "Aye keep your Flees on the Water" (verse), 72 VII. Dark Loch Skene, 75 VIII. Round the Lamp at the Gordon Arms, . . 87 John Veitch — in Memoriam, .... 89 Fishing Incidents, .... 90 A Competition Episode (verse), . . 97 Solitude in Yarrow (verse), . 114 IX. Among the Sources of the Clyde, . . . 119 The Angler's Hope (verse), . . 135 X. Meggat and her Tributaries, . . 139 In Meggat (verse), .... 150 XI. On the Ettrick, 155 Adieu ! (verse), 165 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE Round the Lamp, . . Frontispiece Traquair House, To face 12 Fishing in St Mary's Loch, . . ,, 40 Dark Loch Skene, ... „ 80 Tushie^aw Bridge, . - ,, no Ettrick Pen, . . . ,,' 160- RIVERSIDE RAMBLES OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. i. AN ANGLER'S FIRST DAY. The angler's longing for his favourite pastime usually manifests itself in symptoms of excessive restlessness. The time of the year when these are most evident is about the beginning of April — glorious, soul-reviving spring ! A whiff of west wind has been unexpectedly met with in Princes Street — and from that moment the craving for a glimpse of the country becomes almost intolerable. If you saw such an individual as I have in my mind at present, in the quiet of his own home, you would A 2 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES fail to recognise him as the same staid citizen so favourably known tq the community for his gravity at kirk and market. The tokens of a coming change are at first of a mild nature. There is the usual surreptitious fingering and fumbling amongst favourite rods and reels — a dusting of covers and an eager examina- tion of hollow butts. Soon, however, becoming more bold under their potent inspiration, he dis- inters the fly-book from its corner in the drawer sacred to such bric-a-brac, and then, speedily throwing off all pretence and disguise, he stands revealed in his true character — a confirmed, irre- claimable, enthusiastic angler ! When the pipe is not in his mouth a song is ; and in fancy he is away again among the hills, "where the burnies rin doun to the sea." The lark is mounting with exulting song to the blue vault of heaven, the fronds of the reviving brackens are shooting out verdant sprouts from their brown parent stems; and down in the sheltered hollows, facing the south, the darling flower of spring-time, the bonnie yellow primrose, OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 3 is found braving the snell winds in the glens and by the burn side. Unhappily such mental pictures are difficult to preserve amid the sights and sounds of city life ; so the postman's ring, or the tax-collector's knock, are quite sufficient to bring our friend back to earth again, talking prose. But if you would see the angler at his best before the season opens, you must drop in upon him unexpectedly some evening and find him alone. Mark Antony was not more pathetic over the dagger cuts in Caesar's robe, than the veteran fisher becomes over favourite flies and their deeds. This fly, now on the retired list, recalls the never- to-be-forgotten tussle with the king of the nutwood pool. That " phantom " brings vividly back the memorable spring-time when he hooked a "kelt" of a roving disposition, which, not content with leading him into the pool waist-deep, succeeded in giving a run for a mile seawards, and then, with two or three mighty lunges, bade our friend farewell ! When the spell of old memories is thus upon 4 •-. RIVERSIDE RAMBLES the angler you must listen; it were cruel to deprive him of the only solace left, for the time when dreams become realities has not yet come. In well meant but decidedly uncertain tones he occasionally gets vent to his feelings in some such strain as — " I wish I were where Gadie rins, At the back o' Benachie." Another safety-valve for his enthusiasm is found in reading books or in viewing pictures which treat of the art he loves so well. Hence, when the spring exhibition of the Scottish Academy opens on the Mound he will be found gloating over such pictures as "A quiet pool on the Tweed," or "The burn in spate," or " Caught at last." These in a measure help the enthusiast to bear the interval of inactivity and suspense, until, by and by, after the lapse of some weeks, he is seen one fine spring morning wending his way to the Waverley; en route for the first day of the season on the Tweed. Who can fitly describe in cold and measured OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 5 words the throbbing joy of a " first day ? " Even when no longer able to wield rod or wade water, the veteran angler will thrill with ex- citement as he recalls the sensations of his early years. For a while present-day things are for- gotten, and in fancy he dwells again with familiar forms, whose genial presence stamped his early days as a sportsman with sunlit experiences. Ruskin, speaking somewhere about the 'Waverley Novels,' remarks that he had read them again and again, and always with delight, his only regret being, that he could never hope to experience anew the peculiar feeling of joy which the anticipation of their first perusal brought. In like manner the angler looks upon the novice with feelings that are almost pathetic, for in the youth before him he sees himself as he was when all the world was young — when the sky was cloudless, and when the keenest bliss he knew in life arose from the eager anticipation of a long " first day." RIVERSIDE RAMBLES. A MEMORY. A first day on the Tweed ! recall it not, For all around will stale and sombre grow ; A first day on the Tweed ! what joy it brought, When life was young, and hope's rose tints did glow. The music of the river worked a spell entrancing Around the hearts of lingerers by its shore; The ripples on the waves in sunlight dancing, Memory can ne'er efface till life is o'er. The thrill of spring's return, 'mid song of glad birds, Made pulses throb, and eyes with gladness burn ; The verdant banks, with gowans glinting heavenwards, Smiled, as if in joy to herald our return. Unchanged all seemed to fond imagination Since last we trod the gem-bespangled lea; The cuckoo and the lapwing swelled the diapason Which grateful nature sent aloft from field and tree. We carried in our hearts a song that morning Which echoed back from vale and stream and brae; Would that our lives, fell fortune's buffets scorning, Could keep the faith we sang in life's first day ! OVER THE .HILLS TO YARROW ' When first descending from the moorlands, I saw the stream of Yarrow glide Along a bare and open valley, The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide." — Wordsworth. II. OVER THE HILLS TO, YARROW. After a long period of confinement in a city, 'mid carking cares and jading occupations, what can be more healthful to the body or more in- vigorating to the mind than a short holiday spent among scenes of beauty, and in the pursuit of a sport so absorbing as angling? The delightful barbarism of breakfasting without your newspaper is as refreshing in its way as is the indifference of the dwellers in the valley to those things which to you seem all-important. Angling is only a means to an end in the estimation of all true lovers of the "gentle art." You never meet with a keen fisher, but you : find io RIVERSIDE RAMBLES him also a passionate lover of nature. The hoary mountain, the silent glen, the lark's song, or the wild bird's note, all create in his breast a rush of feeling too deep for words. Nowhere in the south is this feeling more nourished than on Tweedside ; and it was with the keenest anticipations that, a few years ago, we settled near Peebles for a short holiday. Lovely Tweed ! Who can adequately sing its praise ? Beautiful alike when issuing from its mountain source, as when, with majestic volume, it rolls past Norham's ancient walls, to find a home in the bosom of the moaning, surging sea. But not alone for scenery and beauty is the Tweed favourably known. Does not the kingly salmon cleave its waters in search of the rest he, alas ! never may enjoy ? And as for yellow trout, is not every bend and pool in the river known, not for its fame in Border story, but as the spot where yon memorable basket was got, or as the place where " the largest trout ever seen " made off with your hitherto invincible tackle? There may be streams, particularly in the north, where OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. n you get bigger baskets and bigger fish ; but for all those nameless, indescribable qualities that go to make up the poetic, artistic side of an angler's pastime, the Tweed is almost without a rival. I had been settled in my spring quarters for some time, when I had the pleasure of a visit from a young student friend, who intended joining me in my sport for a few days. It was to him that I made the proposal one day that we should start for a long walk next morning over the hills, by Traquair Kirk and Glenlude, to Yarrow. The proposal was gladly taken up, and, accordingly, next morning about four o'clock, when the sun was struggling to pierce through the veil that hid his golden splendour, we set out on our long walk. "The lark sent down her revelry; The blackbird and the speckled thrush 'Good morrow' gave, from brake and bush." All was bright and promising, and our hearts beat in unison with the general gladness. The district we traversed is so familiar in song and story that 12 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES it seems almost impertinent to describe our route. Yet, how many are there amongst us who are so engrossed with their studies or their business, that they have no time to become acquainted with scenes of national interest even though these lie at the very door. There are places of absorbing interest that can be easily reached from town in the course of a Saturday afternoon, and yet there are many in- telligent people who know as little about them as we did of the "unexplored territory" on the maps of our school days. . The first place that caught our eye was old Traquair House. Quaint, moss-grown, and de- cayed it looks ; yet we have seen it gay enough at times, when the last of the old race used on gala days to entertain children from the neighbouring town. We turned a little off our road in order to see the old iron gate that has never been opened since "the '45." No wonder that it is rusty and ruinous, and that the huge Bradwardine bears on each side of it seem by their fierceness to be resenting such long neglect ! There is now a new gate and lodge, but, though neat enough according OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 13 to modern ideas, they seem as much out of keeping with their surroundings as an oleograph in a German frame would be in a collection of the old masters. Crossing the Quair by the old bridge, we could not deny ourselves the indulgence, so dear to us in our school days, of lying half over the parapet, and watching, with the same old feeling of interest and delight, the glinting movements of the bonnie trout in the water below. Looking Tweedwards, we had a fine view of the old house and its out- lying ground. Traquair House is said to be the oldest inhabited residence in Scotland ; and, if appearance counts for anything, this statement may well be true. Gazing at its crow-step gables, its narrow windows, its stone terrace, and its "harled" walls, you feel as if it would be the most natural thing in the world for you to hear the merry ring of a hunting horn, and were to see the gate thrown open to allow a gay caval- cade to pass out to the hawking among the hills and moors around. Burton was on the outlook for the " Bush aboon Traquair," but instead of gratifying his curiosity I 14 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES began crooning the picturesque lines of Professor Shairp on this celebrated spot — lines which Dr John Brown first gave to the public in his delight- ful booklet, ' Minchmoor,' — " Will ye gang wi' me and fare To the bush aboon Traquair ? Ow'r the high Minchmuir we'll up and awa', This bonny simmer noon, While the sun shines fair aboon, And the licht sklents saftly doon on holm and ha'." The poet chimes on in this way through many stanzas as full of music as the murmur of the Quair itself, until, in the last verse, the key changes — " Now the birks to dust may rot, Names o' luvers be forgot, Nae lads and lasses there ony mair convene ; But the blythe lilt o' yon air Keeps the bush aboon Traquair, And the luve that ance was there, aye fresh and green." Was it not far better' in such circumstances to leave Burton with his ideal ? OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 15 "We have a vision of our own, Ah, why should we undo it ? " Before reaching Traquair kirk, a road strikes off on our right, which a finger-post somewhat vaguely informs us leads " To The Glen," the estate of Sir Charles Tennant. This place, as we discovered, is chiefly interesting from the fact that forty years ago what is now a beautifully wooded estate was barren moorland. We did not feel tempted to turn aside, however, but jogged quietly along, enjoying that most delightful of all experi- ences — a first glimpse of the country in spring. How fresh everything looks as it awakes from the winter's sleep! All nature, animate and inanimate, seems to be throbbing with returning life ; the very streams are singing in undertones, as if they were rehearsing their part for the universal chorus of summer. It may be that what we see is but the reflex of what we feel, yet who would pause at such a time to analyse his sensations ? Far wiser is it to give ourselves up to the enjoyment 1 6 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES of the moment, for surely this is what a holiday is meant for. After passing Traquair kirk the road becomes very steep, and continues so for fully two miles ere it reaches the top of the hill, whence we get our first view of "the dowie dens o' Yarrow.'' As Burton seemed to have struck up a strong friend- ship with a shepherd, and was as intent upon the details of sheep-farming as if he were about to settle in New Zealand, I was left to my own thoughts — an arrangement to which I had no ob- jection, as every spot of ground around us brought back memories of the past. From most tourists this part of the road calls forth little enthusiasm. "O the dreary, dreary moorland" would doubtless be their description of it, but far different is it to me at present, for other days and other companions are with me. I hear the sound of merry laughter, and see the glance of bright eyes, which now, alas ! will cheer this path no more. There was music in the air in those days such as we never hear now, and even the wild bird's song seemed to have a truer, mellower note. OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 17 I was roused from my reverie by Burton shout- ing, " Why, have you gone to sleep that you have allowed so many larks to rise without speaking about them ? " " That's because we are going to the land where larks are as common as sparrows in a city," I replied. " Did Hogg not write verses to the skylark ? " my friend asked. " Yes, his ' Bird of the wilderness ' has much in it that is both tender and true, but all such verses must make way for Shelley's beautiful ode — " ' Hail to thee, blythe spirit ! Bird thou never -wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest, Like a cloud of fire The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.' " " Ah," said Burton, " I must look up Shelley when I get back to town." 18 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES Attention was now drawn to the " Lea Pen," as it appears when you look back upon the road you have travelled, and take your last glimpse of sweet Tweeddale and St Ronan's. My com- panion's remarks thereon brought to mind some of the conversations we used to share in when a coach ran regularly between Innerleithen and the Lochs. It was no ordinary privilege to travel by this coach, for it was driven by no less a personage than the " Provost " him- self. James Lennie was Chief Commissioner of Innerleithen, yet in spite of the giddy height to which he had risen, the Provost had no pride to tarnish his fame. Many a time have we crossed the hill unaccompanied by any other passenger, but this made no difference to our genial friend, as there seemed to be no thoughts of a pecuniary sort in his venture. He loved to drive, and the whole transaction took the form of a hobby ; indeed, to all appearance, he was usually happiest when the coach was nearly empty. I don't wonder at my old friend being fond of his occu- pation — of all the aids to conversation, there is OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 19 nothing to be compared to travelling by a stage coach. Even martinets soften under such influ- ences, as I can testify from my last coach experi- ence. One of my fellow-passengers was a little military -looking man, who, as we afterwards learned, had seen some service in the West Indies. For a long time he had been very quiet, but he seemed to be intently watching the various features of interest which a changing road ever brings. Suddenly a bird rose from the stream on our right, and with slow, measured beat winged its way down the valley. " What's that?" eagerly asked our observant friend. "A heron," was the reply, certainly not a vara avis in this district. Shortly after a corbie passed us. "What is that?" was again asked. "A hoodie crow." " Bless my heart,'.' he ejaculated ; " to think that this morning I was in Edinburgh, and now I am in the land of hoodie crows and herons ! " We were not long in reaching the summit of the hill, and it was with feelings almost of palpitating anxiety that we set our faces steadily 20 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES to the front, eager to get the first glimpse of Yarrow. With the exception of Glenlude farm- house, which we had just passed, lying in the glen on the other side of the burn on our right, there is no habitation near, and the eye has nothing to rest upon but grassy hills, with here and there a dark ravine, which is brightened at other seasons by fern and foxglove. It is a perfect riever's road, and you almost expect to meet a drove of stolen cattle at every turn. A bend in the path, however, soon dis- closes something much more desirable, for stretch- ing away beneath us lie the famous haughs of Yarrow. Burton at once began — "And is this — Yarrow? — This the stream Of which my fancy cherished. So faithfully, a waking dream ? " But I suggested that it were better to wait for first impressions of our own, for by using the language of others, beautiful and satisfying though it be, we dim our receptive, as well as check our OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 21 perceptive, powers — shutting ourselves off, as it were, from those potent first influences which leave the most indelible impression on the mind. Burton took my prosing in good part, and re- plied, "Well, it is quite sufficient reward for my early rising to have entered the atmos- phere of enchantment that seems to hover over Yarrow." And so we kept on our. way in silence. En- chantment ! That's the word, I thought. Surely years ago Michael Scott laid on the valley a wizard's spell, so that men coming from far should be subdued by it, and, going hence, should be compelled to bring others to the same shrine, that they in turn should be enslaved ; until, as the ages rolled on, Yarrow — unknown, peaceful. Yarrow ! — should indeed become a very Mecca of the poets ! In our mood the silence of the hills was congenial. No sound of busy life was heard, no agricultural activity was seen; and you were fain to fall back, after all, to the utterances of others for fit expres- sion of your feelings. Dr John Brown's beautiful 22 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES address to the stream comes first to your mind — "What stream was ever so besung ! " But the well-known lines of Wordsworth fall more glibly from your lips — " Oh that some minstrel's harp were near, To utter notes of gladness; And chase the stillness from the air, That fills my heart with sadness." But instead of the minstrel's harp, the lark's song was heard suddenly overhead, in strains of wel- come to the risen sun. Mount Benger farm-house was now passed, and we stayed on the summit of the hill for a while, to more fully realise the scene. There is always an intense fascination about the spot where stood the mighty ones now dead. Westminster Abbey can hold us spell-bound, though all the other sights of London clamour ever so imperiously for admiration. Greyfriars' churchyard will draw the stranger to its monuments and tombs with mag- OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 23 netic thrall, though the noise of a great city is heard in ceaseless hum outside its time-stained walls. So now, standing on Mount Benger and gazing on historic scenes, our mind instinctively recalls the personality of those who similarly stood and gazed in bygone years. A vivid picture comes before you of brave men who rode down this path in eager haste, at the sight of the gleaming bale-fire that signalled to them from yonder tower in days of feudal pomp and power. Another scene is pictured in your mind. It is a notable band of patriots, painters, and poets that stands around ; and your heart glows, as you think of their love and admiration for the land and the legends you love so well. Still another scene. But there is no saying how long this mood might have lasted had not my companion sensibly reminded me of the fact that no amount of poetic rapture would ever fill our basket, so once more jogging along, we soon arrived at the Gordon Arms. This is a charming inn, under the hospitable management of Mr and Mrs Beattie, and, standing as it does where four 24 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES roads meet, it gives an unlimited choice of fishing in every direction. We rested here only for a few minutes, and then continued our walk up the valley of the Yarrow to St Mary's Loch and the river Meggat. We were now on classic ground, every mile of which was redolent of Border song and story. On our left flowed the river, gliding under bank and brae with subdued musical murmur ; beyond lay Altrive farm, where Hogg lived in the last years of his experience as a farmer, dispensing a generous hospitality which wellnigh impoverished him. Soon we crossed Douglas burn, noted for its many trout, but still more widely famed for its storied tragedy. Rounding a bend in the hill, Dryhope Tower comes in view, where dwelt Mary Scott, the " Flower of Yarrow," and a short distance farther on was seen a dark spot on the hillside, which proved to be the old churchyard where stood in ancient times the far-famed St Mary's Chapel. Our path still lay by the margin of the beautiful loch, so fascinating to poets and travellers ; but as we hope some day to speak of St Mary's in OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 25 detail, it is sufficient to say that I found her then, what I had often considered her before, the queen of lochs for tranquil beauty. Before we reached the river Meggat, which was the stream we hoped to fish, we had to pass a tiny church and a still more tiny post-office at a place called Cappercleuch. There was also a school and a schoolmaster, of whom, as the writers say, " more anon." Viewing this quiet nook, I could not help say- ing— " If there's peace to be found in the world, The heart that is humble might seek for it here." But there was Meggat bridge at last ! and flowing beneath were the dark waters from which we were to have an answer to the vexed question — whether there was more pleasure in the pursuit than in the possession of an object ? With the eagerness that only a fisher can under- stand or be expected to sympathise with, our rods were put together, our flies mounted, and, "o'er a' the ills o' life victorious," we hastened to make 26 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES our first cast for the season on Meggat. It is a grand sensation having your first fish "on." You begin the capture by making a short cast from the bank where you stand; then you slip down into the water, and wading out a yard or so, still letting out line, you fix your eye upon a deep flow at the far side, where the grassy bank almost touches the water. Casting far and sure, your tail fly just misses the edge of this bank, and with a natural motion alights on the water ; there is a moment's suspense, and then the very faintest dimple breaks the surface, then a slight jerk is followed by a strain upon the line, which now goes cutting through the deep water to the music of the reel. Hold up the point of your rod! let there be no straining, no flurry, no impatience to land your fish too soon; but with gentle though firm hand humour his every movement, until you succeed in leading him to where the water runs shallower, when with landing net or steady hand you lay your prize upon the grass. From the stone bridge over Meggat down to where the stream enters the loch there are some capital OF AN. EDINBURGH ANGLER. 27 places for a roving fish to lie. Burton was not aware of this; and so, not long after our start, I heard him shouting excitedly. Reeling my line up quickly, I hastened to his assistance, for I saw, even from a distance, that he had something " on." The captive was struggling bravely, in spite of rather cavalier treatment from my friend ; for he, instead of ' playing the fish cautiously, was trying to drag it ashore by sheer force. It was easy to see that it was a fine large trout, for the water was being lashed into foam by its resist- ance, and I saw that something would happen shortly. Something did happen ; for, just . when I came forward, the rod unbent and the line dangled in the air. The gut had snapped ! " Hard lines, Burton," I said. " I wish they had been harder," said he. How that trout did grow during the day ! At first, a modest " pound- and-a-half" was set down as its probable weight, but, whenever it was afterwards mentioned, it became heavier and heavier, until I had to point out that every disappointment has its compensa- tion ; for if the giant had been landed it would 28 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES have made our basket too heavy for the home- ward journey ! After this incident, we proceeded up the stream to the linns above Henderland, where many grand trout stay all the year round. The wind was still rather cold for them rising freely, but we managed to get one or two plump fellows, in spite of the earliness of the season. The trout of this stream will hold their own for colour or gameness with the best streams in the south, and in most of the Selkirk competitions the knowing anglers take care to be up betimes and away to Meggat. I will not dwell upon our further success this day. It was really very fair, and in these degenerate times would even be called good. The shadows were lengthening on the hillsides long before we expected to see them, and as we had seventeen miles to walk ere we reached the point we started from in the morning, we had suddenly to stop. Indifference to the changing moods of nature cannot, as a rule, be charged against anglers. At anyrate, he would have been a dull OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 29 man who failed to be impressed by the picture spread out before him this bright spring after- noon in the uplands of Meggat. Northward, especially, the scene was very striking. Gathering from all points, and deepening as they gathered, were purple-coloured clouds, which, as they hung over Cramalt " Clock," brought singularly near to you the furrowed lines of glistering snow that lay so deep and so hard in the hollows on the higher slopes of the hill. The return journey was by the same route as we travelled in the morning, but in the light of the setting sun the loch and the hills were seen in additional beauty, — all was loveliness and peace, and the tinkling of the silver rills that trickled down the hillsides seemed a fit accompaniment to the chorus that rose on every hand to heaven from adoring nature. When we arrived at Traquair the scene had changed, and the moon was shining calmly on the hills and plains, bathing all in silvery light. The voices of nature, too, were abroad — those strange mysterious sounds and cries that we never 3 o RIVERSIDE RAMBLES. hear save at night by the sea waves, or by the river, or on the lonely hillside. For an addition to our company we had a little sociable stream that panted and gurgled by our side, as if loath to be left behind. He seemed a very twin brother to the one mentioned by Coleridge — "That to the sleeping woods, All night, singeth a quiet tune." But on ! and soon the glistening waters of Tweed lay on our right, while in the distance a twinkling light from a cottage window spake of an expected arrival, and gave assurance of a hearty welcome home. FISHING IN ST MARY'S LOCH ' Oh, loved and lone St Mary's ! Thou indeed Art rich in solemn sad sweet memories ! " — Annie S. Swan. III. FISHING IN ST MARY'S LOCH. ' ' The Lake ! oh, let not that be made A thing of pipes and sluices ; Let something live for beauty's sake, Unmixed with baser uses. Still let it live in fancy's heart A haunt for happy fairies, And make no wretched reservoir Of lovely lone St Mary's." — J. B. S.'s ' Appeal from Yarrow.' We wonder what Scott or Wordsworth would have said on hearing that some irreverent folk in Edinburgh were clamouring to get this far- famed loch converted into a commonplace water- tank. We know what a modern poet like J. B. Selkirk has said, and said to good purpose, but we dare not fancy what the late Professor Veitch c 34 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES would have said if a gang of navvies had been seen coming up the Yarrow. Interlopers may rest assured of this, that should infatuation ever lead them so far astray as to make another attempt to ruin this locality by destroying s its brightest gem, there are more than " twenty thousand Border men will know the reason why." In describing the fishing to be had in St Mary's Loch, it may be well first to give the reader some idea of its location and surroundings. It lies in the westmost part of Selkirkshire, about forty-five miles from Edinburgh. Calmly resting in a valley hemmed in by imposing hills, it gives a feeling of tranquillity and restfulness at first sight which subsequent acquaintance with it, even when the storm -king rides upon its breast, does not wholly eradicate. Roughly speaking, the loch is about three and a half miles long, from the point where the Yarrow flows out to the bridge at " Tibbie Shiel's " cottage. Its broadest part is from the bay below the kirkyard over to Bowerhope farm, and does not exceed a mile. OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 35 The road from Selkirk to Moffat winds along its west side, and, excepting at Rodono, there is an almost total absence of trees. Access to the loch is easy to be had. You can have the choice of four routes at least. Thus, train from Edin- burgh to Moffat, then take the coach by the Grey Mare's Tail and Birkhill ; or, train to Selkirk, and travel by coach for nineteen miles up the valley of the Yarrow, by Bowhill and the " Dowie Dens ; " or go the circular tour, up Ettrick and down Yarrow, with Bob Scott as prince of guides ; or, train to Innerleithen, and thence by coach via Traquair to the head of the loch. Bob Scott is a character, and has much of the pawky humour which cheered the soul of good Dean Ramsay. There are always' sayings of Bob's floating round St Mary's. The latest is this : — A Cockney tourist was on the coach one day lately, and as "Watch Law" came into view, he raised his eye- .glass and languidly surveyed some cattle grazing near the top. " I should think these creatures would get very little herbage up there," he re- marked. Bob answered, as usual, like a flash, 36 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES and with delightful irrelevancy, " But, losh, man, look at the view they're gettin'!" Bob is strong in conundrums. You have not long left the railway station on your trip up the valley before you hear a voice shouting, apropos of nothing in particular, " Why is Scotland the most slave-dealing country in the world ? " This voice is Bob's, and this is his way of breaking the ice, before the coach company have been rightly shaken into their places. Various are the attempts made to satisfactorily answer Bob's query; all of them, however, being short of the required one, he at last, in compliance with the request of the lady on the box-seat, solves the mystery thus : — " Because you can buy a Scots- man for a penny, and thousands of them are sold every day ! " This essay being hailed as it deserved, the ice soon begins to thaw, and query and rejoinder become general, till Bob remembers his duty as courier, and you hear him begin again : — " This is where the battle of Philiphaugh was focht," etc., etc. OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 37 When the late Professor Blackie spent a season at Kirkstead, at the east end of St Mary's Loch, he made the acquaintance of Bob, and greatly enjoyed his quick wit and racy humour. Our popular friend usually has the laugh on his side, but the genial Professor more than once turned the tables upon him. As a mark of esteem the Professor gave Bob the present of a book, on which he had written an inscription in Greek. This mysterious inscription sorely puzzled Bob, and he produced the book on all occasions when he had a passenger whom he thought, from his appearance, might give him a translation of the characters. But it was of no use ; and at last, to satisfy his curiosity, as well as that of his friends, he "applied to the donor of the book for a translation. The end of their interview must be told in Bob's vernacular: — "'Professor,' I said, ' I wad like t' ken the meenin' o't.' But, losh, man, he turns on me, an' shouts ' What ! ye dinna ken Greek ? Tak' it t' yer minister, an' if he canna tell 'e, send him t' me ! ' " On another occasion the Professor again scored. 38 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES The Road Trustees had built a new bridge over Kirkstead Burn, near where it flows into the Loch, at the head of the Yarrow. This bridge was completed just about the end of the coach- ing season, and one day as the " Flower of Yarrow " came speeding up the glen, with Bob in charge, in all his glory, the Professor was seen standing near the burn with something in his hand. The coach was stopped on a signal from him, and he intimated that he was about to perform the ceremony of opening the new bridge. The "something" in his hand turned out to be a bottle filled with a very suggestive liquid. Gravely sprinkling some of this liquid on the bridge, he poured a further supply into a vessel and handed it up to Bob. Accepting this with thanks, our friend quaffed it expectantly. A curious expression played upon his face for a moment, as he realised he had been hoaxed — it was water from the burn ! The chief tributary of the loch is the river Meggat, famous in the ' Noctes,' but still more famous in the memory of every south country OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 39 angler. This romantic stream rises in the west, near the source of the Talla, and, after a course of about seven miles, falls into the loch about two miles from the point where the Yarrow flows out. In its short course the Meggat receives no fewer than ten tributaries, some of them streams of no mean 1 order. Winterhope Burn, for example, is larger than the main stream where the junction takes place, while the Cramalt and the Glengaber are burns of considerable volume. These are all good streams for trout, but we wish some of those people who desire the water for domestic purposes could see them when they are even only slightly flooded. At such a time the sediment imparts a distinct "body" to them, and they bear out what a worthy of the district truly remarked to the writer on one occasion : — " Tak' the water, mon, tak' the water; it will baith be meat and drink to you when it wins to Edinbro'." Kirkstead Burn is the only other stream which falls into the loch worthy of mention, although the Summerhope, when in flood, is not to be despised. #> RIVERSIDE RAMBLES The Loch of the Lowes lies at the head of St Mary's, and is only separated from it by a narrow isthmus. It is barely a mile long, and is con- nected to its larger neighbour by a little stream which , flows from it directly opposite Hogg's Monument. There can be no doubt that at one time the lochs were one sheet of water, but the debris iiom Crosscleuch Burn has in the course of ages made the division. The same process of silting up may be seen. going on at the mouth of th,e Meggat, • and ages hence the angler of that day . may find a barrier extending right across the middle of the loch. For fishing purposes St Mary's is what may be called an "early" loch. Long before the "march brown" has been seen on the Tweed or the Clyde, an imitation of it, in conjunction with the ":Greenwell," may be used with deadly effect amongst, the finny tribes of this region. We have been, told by one of, the best fishers of this district .that , occasionally, in a mild season, he has taken a; good , basket . out of , the,, loch in February. Personally, we have never fished it before the OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 41 end of April, at which season it is almost at its best. Usually there are two kinds of trout in the loch. One is a silvery fish, rather white in the flesh ; the other is of a yellow hue, pink in the flesh, and more lively. In the autumn there is a third fish to be got, which, were we fishing the Annan or the Nith, we would call a herling. It runs from four to six ounces in weight, and leaps out of the water several times after it is hooked. It would be interesting to learn to what order this fish really belongs. The local fishers, when appealed to, simply say, " Oh, juist a loch troot ; " but as it cuts up a beautiful pink, and the silvery trout of the loch, as we have already said, are white in the flesh, there must be a distinct differ- ence in their classification. Our own idea is that it is a young sea trout, but where it passed its smolt stage is at present a mystery. In the end of autumn many sea trout and bull trout find their way to the loch, and on to its remotest tributary. They have made the long run of not less than eighty miles from the sea, 42 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES to deposit their spawn in the shallow gravelly beds of these mountain streams. It would be rash to hazard a guess as to what percentage of them are ever allowed to return to their native element. Formerly there were few boats on the loch, but at the time of our last visit we counted no fewer than ten, which belong to farms and houses in the neighbourhood. Regarding modes of fishing, we may say that, although there is a certain feeling of luxury in fishing from a boat, with the water lapping at the keel as it quietly drifts across some favourite bay; or, still more, when you sit and allow a "phantom" or an "angel" to troll behind you, while another fellow minds the oars, yet we prefer to fish St Mary's from the shore. This can be done either with or without waders; besides, from frequent experience both by shore and by boat, we conclude the shore fishing to be the most likely to fill the basket. We rather think this was the opinion of both Stewart and Stoddart. Local tradition has it that there are many large trout in the depths of St Mary's Loch, but they are seldom seen ; and the largest ones we can OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 43 really authenticate weighed from four up to six pounds. Such fish ate only caught at rare intervals, and it must be admitted that the aver- age size of the trout here is rather small. Three to a pound or so, and seven pounds in all, may be considered a good day's take by any one who fishes for sport. One thing that makes a holiday in the vicinity of St Mary's Loch so enjoyable is the unfailing courtesy and primitive ways of the people of the district. Most of them, whether farmers, or shep- herds, or gamekeepers, are the representatives of families who for generations have dwelt there, and whose names are household words, interwoven as they are with every incident and tradition of the place. Then, again, all honour to the lairds whose lands lie adjacent to the loch and its tributaries for the facilities they give the angler when pursu- ing his favourite pastime. It is often invidious to mention names, but in this connection the thanks of every true, sportsman should be awarded to the Duke of Buccleuch, the Earl of Wemyss, Lord 44 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES. Napier of Ettrick, and the Laird of Rodono. Such action is the more worthy of our apprecia- tion, continuing as it does at a time when, un- fortunately, the tendency of others in a like position is towards a selfish exclusiveness. Surely it is a pleasure in these busy times to know that there still remains a district in our land where, by burn, river, and loch, through many a witchin' glen and many a peaceful vale, the jaded toiler may wander as he wills, till the noise of the city has given place to the hum of Nature's great diapason, and an exquisite peace settles on his soul ! Quoting again from "J. B. S.," we say to all who would ruthlessly lay hands on St Mary's Loch — "Oh, touch it not ; but let it be As Nature has arrayed it, As softening time has sanctified, And poet's fancy made it. A vale where world-weary feet May come to rest or roam in, Where pilgrim long has found so much, And we have found a. home in." THE POSTMISTRESS OF CAPPER- CLEUCH " Couthy, kindly, frank and free, Pawky, helpfu', bauld and slee; Liked by a' the south countree, Was Auld Capper Nell." IV. THE POSTMISTRESS OF CAPPER- CLEUCH. Another Forest worthy has been taken from us, and the news that " Auld Nell" is dead will cause a feeling of sadness to many, both far and near, whose lot it may have been either to live in the district or to visit, as a passer-by, the Capper Post Office. Since the death of Tibbie Shiel, no one on the loch side was better known than Nell. Gnarled and browned by the winds that blow o'er Bowerhope Law, she bore the weight of ninety- one years with astonishing elasticity and vigour. In integrity and industry she was a grand type of her class, and Her Majesty's Postmaster-General had no worthier servant than she who had charge of the humble post office at the head of Yarrow. 48 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES Mrs Ross — better known as Nell — was the widow of James Ross, a Waterloo veteran, who, after his discharge from the army, settled at Yarrowfeus as a district tailor. They did not remain there very long, and fifty years have passed since they went up to Capperleuch to keep the gate which then separated Henderland from Kirkstead farm. For this humble office they got a free house, and as they were always willing to oblige by taking care of parcels from the carrier for the folk who lived up the glens, they soon became popular in the district. There was no post office at the Loch then, and the dwellers among the hills had just to content themselves with having their letters brought on from Selkirk or Moffat by the weekly carrier or a chance passer - by. Sometimes funeral letters would arrive days after the time fixed for the interment ; and letters from dealers making an appointment with a farmer to meet at a certain place would remain basking in the window of a wayside cottage for days after the event should have come off. As further showing the state of the Loch district before the advent of OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 49 Nell as postmistress, we may mention an incident told us not long ago by a daughter of Tibbie Shiel. The late Mr Alexander Russel, editor of the Scotsman, being, as she said, "a rale guid fisher,'' was very fond of spending a few days among the trout streams of St Mary's Loch. On one occasion when he was having a holiday here the carrier was told to call at Moffat for his letters. In due time that worthy put in an appearance, and it is easy to picture the sensation he made when, in a tone of amazement, he ex- claimed — "There were mair letters an' papers yonder for ae man than ever I saw in my life ; but, faith ! I just filled my mooth-pock, an' that's suirely eneuch for onybody.'' Such incidents led to Nell being installed at the Capper or Copper Cleuch, in full charge of a real post office, where there is a daily dispatch and arrival to and from Selkirk. Besides serving the public well, Nell was a great favourite with tourists, and on coach days her striking head-gear caused many a smile, and got her many a cheer from the passers-by. Indeed, it is difficult to know how " Bob Scott " D 5 o RIVERSIDE RAMBLES will get along without her well-known figure to give point to his stories about "the general post office round the corner." Nell left for Caddon- water in April 1893, and so was spared the sight of the telegraph - posts which have been erected since, now rearing their gaunt heads along the loch side. We saw her the day before she left, and though striving hard to hide her feelings a the prospect of leaving the spot where she had spent so many of her days, she was sorely cast down. And little wonder ! under a rugged exterior there was a heart in full touch with every memory that clings around the district. To have seen and spoken with Scott, Hogg, Wilson, Russel, Chambers, and all the other famous men who loved St Mary's, was an ex- perience which had left a deep impression upon our old friend. Excusing her somewhat broken good-bye, by muttering something about being " sair troubled wi' a hoarseness th' day," and with a kindly shake of her hand, the old body turned sorrowfully away. In cases of sickness, Nell was considered a "rale skeely body," and, OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 51 no doctor being obtainable within many miles' distance, her prescriptions and advice were eagerly sought for. On Sundays she was a picture — clad in decent black, with a large bonnet of fashion fifty years ago. She was seldom absent from the little church which stands on the knoll overlooking the Capper bay. She invariably carried a big Bible in her hand, and on it was laid a neatly folded white pocket - handkerchief, while placed between the leaves was a stalk of the indispensable strong - smelling "speerimint." The last time we saw Nell at church she sat alone in a seat on the right of the pulpit. When the "ladle" was taken round, somehow Nell was missed that day. It is difficult to describe her look of amazement at such an oversight ; and no sooner was the service over than she marched up to the " desk," and, with an emphatic click, she deposited her penny on the book-board before the astonished eyes of her worthy friend and neighbour, the pre- centor. Nell took a great interest in the doings of the anglers who came to the district, and could tell of their latest success, or the reverse, 52 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES with surprising nicety. The deeds of ordinary fishers were passed over by the admission that they were doing " gey weel ; " but the common- place doings of her favourites came in for special mention, and reached the summit of commenda- tion when, in answer to a casual enquiry, she was quick to reply that they were catching " sackfu's." Ah, well ! peace be to her memory ; another link with bygone days is broken. Yet it can - be truly said that Yarrow kirkyard holds none who served their day and generation more faithfully than did Nell of the Capper Cleuch. OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 53 LUX IN TENEBRIS. To A. M. Ten years have passed since that quiet autumn night We climbed the hill together, to the old churchyard: The loch lay still and lone, dreaming in gloaming light ; The massive hills, time's sentinels, stood frowningly on guard. No sound was in the air, save eerie scream of wild bird, As, startled from his heathery nest, he skyward flew ; No living form was seen, no fitful breezes stirred, While deeper and more ominous the mystic shadows grew. One twinkling light from lonely farm-house smiled, Bright token of a warmer glow in hearts within ; Far in the west the sun was lost, 'mid dark clouds piled, Like cliffs of doubt, shrouding the soul in shadows dim. We spoke of those who said — " Our times were made for work ; " How, " Naught that rested could be heaven sent :" That " Evil did in poet's contemplation lurk ; " "True joy was only found, when strife with victory blent." Communing thus, we reached God's Acre on the lone hillside, Where knights and humble shepherds quietly slumbered: Visions of Yarrow's Flower, and Douglas' ill-starred bride Flashed through our minds, e'en while life's plan we ponder'd. 54 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES. Far through the haze the loch-born stream did loom, And to our ears a. plaintive voice seem'd ever calling ; As if a spirit in the wave bewailed the doom Of banishment from lone St Mary's haunts enthralling. Suddenly, from over lofty Bowerhope hill, all radiant The moon burst through the clouds with dazzling gleam; Transforming shrouded peaks, which erstwhile had lain dor- mant, To sentient creatures, clad in silver sheen ! The river caught the impress of the transformation, And changed from doleful plaint to strains of hope and joy. The ruined towers, the farm beneath the dark plantation, Like hospices, stood bold and clear, against the sky. Across the loch a shimmering pathway streamed, And rippled to the heather 'neath our feet; Flown was the mist ! revealing that, which blindly we had deemed Lifeless,' to be our favourite haunts so sweet ! And thus we learned the truth, that darkness is not blight ; That they may do great work who only rest ; That man, like nature, gains his quest, and takes his posture right, When patiently he waits for Heaven's own light to radiate his breast. THE SCHOOLMASTER OF CAPPER- CLEUCH ■ And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew. Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And e'en the story went that he could gauge." — Goldsmith. V. THE SCHOOLMASTER OF CAPPER- CLEUCH. The first time we saw Mac. was on a Sunday morning towards the end of April, about twenty- years ago. We had left the town somewhat tired and dispirited the day before, arid as we sat looking out of the window of the Gordon, the scene before us was scarcely fitted to dispel that mood. A deep mist, which had hung over the hills all morning, had now merged into an un- comfortable drizzle, and the east wind was careful to see that no part of any one compelled to be out should escape its penetrative power. The very ducks were huddling disconsolately under a hedge, and Ned, the collie, only once attempted to face the drizzle for his morning run up to 58 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES Yarrow Bridge ; but the attempt was quite enough, for, ere he had crossed the road, he, with an apologetic wag of his expressive tail, crept back to his warm bed in the stable. It was at this moment that a man appeared in sight, who walked with a firm, quick step in the face of the gale as it blew up the valley. He seemed somewhat past middle life, and was clad in dark grey homespun. In addition, he had on a large plaid, which was not thrown over his shoulders in the usual way, but was wrapped in a broad fold well round the body. In his hand he carried a large crook, but apparently more for companionship than for support. In a moment he had passed the window, and the whole land- scape became once more dreary and lifeless. This pedestrian was M'Allister of the Capper, teacher, elder, and precentor in the Free Church of Yarrow, now on his way to the forenoon service at Yarrowfeus. The distance he had to walk each Sunday to the Feus and home again was about fifteen miles, and besides this, on each alternate Sunday he was no sooner home than he had to OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 59 lead the singing at the Loch Church. We were fortunate in having the. pleasure of becoming intimate with Mac.,' and for twenty years had increasing opportunities of knowing his sterling worth. At the time of his death he had been for the long period of forty-three years the trusted friend of all in the district. To visitors his courtesy was unfailing, and his local knowledge was invaluable, for no better fisher ever cast a line on St Mary's Loch. His enthusiasm for, and sympathy with, all sport and sportsmen was as keen in old age as ever it was in his youth ; and, what is not so common, his love for the scenery of the district never wavered for a moment. Many a time, when walking by the loch or the river, he would stop with an exclamation of admiration, and draw your attention to some aspect of th# scenery, as if he had never seen it before. Mac. was, in the language of the district, wonderfully "yauld," — i.e., supple or agile. He was also of a very sociable disposition, as was shown by the way in which he would accompany a friend over moor or mountain to help either in 60 RIVERSIDE RAMBLES fishing or in shooting. Panniers of game were seemingly just as easy for Mac. to carry as panniers of trout. We recall an incident which shows his character in daily life. One evening we were returning from the east end of the loch| and had arrived at the " Ged lake," a small estuary of St Mary's, when we were hailed by Mac. and advised to try a cast in the Ged. While doing this, the bob fly caught in a weed near the edge, and quite beyond a projecting dyke which jutted out into the water. In a moment our friend's foot was on the wall, and, with the agility of a youth, he was over and had detached the fly and was back again ere you had time to realise the situation. More than once Mac. was sent as a representa- tive elder to the Free Church General Assembly. The last occasion on which we saw him there was on the morning of a " Declaratory Act " day. The house was very full, but the eye was at once caught by a figure in grey tweed sitting on the front seat at the right hand of the Moderator. This seat is usually reserved by courtesy for ex- OF AN EDINBURGH ANGLER. 61 Moderators or Fathers of some prominence, but, all unconcernedly amid the black coats, there sat Mac. quite at home. "Yon's the very seat for me," he said subsequently; "I fixed on it the first time ever I was there." Well, in view of his services to the Church, as already mentioned, a worthier man could not have occupied it. Mac. now sleeps in the lonely churchyard of St Mary's Chapel, which overlooks the loch he loved so well; and the spot is made all the more dear to many of us because such a true heart rests there.