took place at this station in 1841, the average number of fish in each being about 180. At the foot of the Shot lies the famous Red Stane cast. It is situated on the fall or break of a rapid stream or torrent, immediately over a slab of reddish rock-the never-failing haunt of a grilse or salmon. Such faith, in fact, does old Rob Kerss place in the magnetic virtues of this sunken stone, the gift it has of always possessing a tenant, that he regards it as the testing point of a good day's sport-a spot in which the humour of the fish can at once be put to the trial, and whence, augur like, he can issue forth, alike to the novice and the initiated, his infallible predictions.

Not far from the Red Stane, and consisting of a rugged detachment of water forcing itself over ledges of rock, is the Side Straik-another first-rate salmon cast. Immediately below it are the Doors, a deep rapid stream, full of reefs and gullies, which give shelter in their season to large numbers of salmon and trout. Here the river, which after descending from the Shot pool is broken and confined, again, for a moment, swells out to its natural amplitude. But it is only for a single moment. Leaving the Doors, it becomes forthwith divided into several narrow gorges and chasms, along which the water races at furious speed, or formed into eddies and whirlpools, throws up pyramids of foam, that on some sudden reverse of the current or impulse of the wind, become swept out of their circle of enchantment, and broken up and dispersed are hurried down along the surface, like shreds and fragments of some torn fleece. During the summer season, and after a long drought, these perilous channels become so distinct and separate, so reduced in width, as to admit the possibility of an active and courageous man crossing Tweed dryshod. This feat, it is said, has frequently been accomplished by old Rob Kerss, the tacksman, encumbered, as he generally is, with a pair of huge fishing-boots. The slippery nature of the rocks, and the frightful depth of some of the fissures and water-clefts which they hem in are, however, sufficient to deter those who are but ordinary adventurers, from risking their lives in so foolhardy an enterprise.

Immediately above the rugged currents and gorges we have just described, lie two well known casts; one on the north side of the river, termed the Nethern heads, and the other corresponding to it, on the south side, Willie's Ower Fa'. These are properly the lowest salmon-throws included in the Makerston range. Fish, however, have occasionally been killed by the rod further down, in the rough water itself, and in the stream where it terminates, known by the name of Killmouth. Here, at the projecting point of a crag, the broken and foaming currents once more unite, forming, as they do so, a pool of great depth and singular appearance, the upper part of which is pent in on both sides by walls of solid rock. Having passed these, however, the river widens gradually out, until it reaches the boundary wall of the Floors estate, sloping downwards from the north bank of the Tweed. At this point it is that the Makerston water has its termination; and now, too, we are close upon the domicile of the fisherman himself, Robert Kerss, or as he is familiarly called, Rob of Trows.

But before introducing this prince of anglers, I have one word more to say anent the lower range of fishing-ground, over which he presides;

I mean that portion of it that undergoes the appellation of the Trow Crags, extending from the Red Stane downwards. The Trows, or Trow Crags, is a name derived from the mode of fishing formerly practised on this part of Tweed, before angling with the rod was much pursued, and when boats were considered rather too expensive articles to be employed by a humble fisherman, who, instead of his half-guinea and spoil to boot (for such are the exorbitant terms upon which, and with difficulty, a day's salmon-fishing may now be procured in the neighbourhood of Kelso), was thankful enough to obtain the freewill assistance of such as chose to offer it. The mode of fishing to which I allude consisted in the substitution of two long troughs (Scotticè, trows), for a boat or skiff. These were joined together at one end in an angular form, and occupied by the fisherman near the centre, with his legs astride, and carrying in his hands a long spear or leister, with which he both managed his rude vessel, and, when an opportunity occurred, struck at his prey through the open space betwixt the troughs. This primitive kind of fishing was sometimes practised by torchlight, sometimes in broad day, and under a powerful sun; sometimes it was carried on by one, more frequently by two or even three persons, occupying the same float or plank-work. Such, it is said, is the derivation of the name given to this portion of Tweed, and extending also to a farm in the neighbourhood. What its more ancient designation was, I am unable to discover. It is, however, credited by some to have been the subject of that midnight task imposed by the wizard, sir Michael Scott of Oakwood, upon his three goblin followers, when they

"Bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone."

Sir Walter, in his notes to the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," somewhat unpoetically transfers the scene of those magical operations to the dam or cauld-dyke at Kelso, thus surrendering to these imps of hell and their grim employer the credit in some measure of benefiting mankind.

The trouting at Trow Crags vies in one respect with any that is to be obtained in Tweed; I mean, as to the size of the fish. It can only, however, be angled for large ones with much success when the water is low, and by means of the minnow or parrtail. The Doors and Killmouth are the two most favourite streams. In the latter especially, the trout are exceedingly numerous, and may be seen feeding, almost at any time, among the lines of white foam which constantly traverse its surface. During warm summer nights, they dart at the spinning lure with singular avidity; and I have heard it averred, that without trouble or skill, nay, even without change of position on the part of the angler, a good sized pannier may on some occasions be filled chokeful in less than the space of half an hour; the stance to be taken by the fisher being the jut or ledge of rock at the head of the stream, and which is further extended by a box cairn, or enclosed heap of stones, used by old Rob Kerss as a net-stretch. Of river-trout which I have seen taken in this part of Tweed, the largest exceeded five pounds. Some, however, of nearly double that weight, have, if report speaks true, been captured among the Trow Crags. Such mon

sters are generally of that sort known here by the name of "swallowsmouts;" the difference, however, betwixt them and the common parrtrout, being altogether one of size and consequent voracity, not specific or essential.

Having thus given a sketch of the Makerston fishing-range, and acquainted you, after a manner, with the different angling-casts it embraces, I shall now, as the title of this article leads one to expect, furnish you with some account of a day's fishing I once had with the tacksman, Robert Kerss, of Trows; prefacing it, as will be requisite, with a brief description of that individual himself, and his rustic abode. Old Rob (for so he is generally styled, not on account of any symptoms of exceeding maturity about him-for, although near seventy, he is still hale and active-but in order to distinguish him from a relation of the same name and craft, who recently rented the Hendersyde water below Kelso) occupies, as I have already hinted, a small cottage close to the termination of the Trow Crags, and lying back a stone's cast from the Tweed, on its north side. Tall trees crowding the slope in front, and forming a bend or turn in the avenue or pleasurewalk formerly mentioned, which extends all the way from Makerston House, render it partially, if not wholly invisible, to the spectator on the opposite margin of the river. There are also a wall and patch of garden ground intervening betwixt it and the top of the bank; the latter of which is planted in its season with vegetables, and contains, moreover, a few flowers and shrubs. Two rooms, a butt, and a ben, form the chief accommodation of the cottage in question. These, in my visits to old Rob, I have always found neat and cleanly, being, at the time I speak of, under the superintendence of one of his daughters-a bright-eyed, comely girl of about eighteen, who is now married, and no longer under the paternal roof.

But here I come to describe the fisherman himself, and truly Rob of Trows is a person of note and head-mark. Upwards of six feet in height, his capacious shoulders and large bone give him the appearance of a taller man than what perhaps he actually is, notwithstanding the former are just, the slightest degree in the world, beginning to bend under the long-continued labours of his avocation. Rob has evidently been, and still is, both powerful and athletic, just such an one as you would pick out for feats requiring great strength and activity of limb. What most, however, deserves notice about him is his physiognomy-the character and expression of his features. These mark him out at once as an original. His head, full-sized and well-set, is distinguished chiefly by an uncommon length of chin, a good-natured, somewhat compressed mouth, highish cheek bones, and eyes rather small than otherwise, sparkling with quiet humour and benevolence. The chin it is that most attracts attention: it forms naturally what few chins do-an expressive feature in the countenance of its possessor; nay, it even gives cast and effect to the other features themselves. Had it been a small chin, neatly rounded and dimpled, the mouth and eyes would in all probability have lost much of their prepossessing character, perhaps expressed cunning or ferocity instead of shrewd humour and good nature.

Trows Rob is a first-rate salmon-fisher. There are few on Tweedside that can cast a line with him, none certainly that can command

so heavy a rod and so wide a range of water-that is (for my expression is capable of two meanings), can heave his fly out to such a distance. It is opined, however, that he is somewhat careless about his tackle, and makes use occasionally of coarse, thick casting lines, calculated, one at first sight would suppose, to scare and terrify the fish but it must be remembered, that the greater part of his water is rocky and impetuous, and consequently that what seems to proceed from indifference or want of nicety on his part, is actually called for and made imperative, as you shall see exemplified in the course of the narrative I am now about to commence.

(To be continued.)

ADVENTURES OF A HUNTER: BY HIMSELF.

EDITED BY SCRIBBLE.

CHAP. IX.

TURNING UP AND TURNING OUT.-DIVERS MASTERS AND DIVERS COUNTRIES.

What became of

Our season was fairly over, and we separated. my stable companions I scarcely know. Some came back after a summer in London, or at grass, or on clay, or in a straw-yard. I came back to begin again the life I love, after " a run." A run it may well be called; for I did scarcely anything else. First a bullock, then a gad-fly, tormented me; then an admiring labourer came to pat me, and his cur flew at my heels: in fact, I look upon a run at grass as a piece of barbarous though mistaken cruelty. Immediately after a hard season, it is doubtless pleasant to have one's shoes taken off: shoes are a real bore-a necessary evil perhaps― but I wonder whether men sleep in their boots! The grass is soft, cool, and sweet; we walk as much as we please, and lie down when we like: but there end the pleasures of turning out. The days become hot, the bullocks playful, the villagers idle, the flies abundant, the ground hard and dry, and the grass innutritious. Our legs and feet get battered and broken, and the fever and irritation beyond endurance. Turned out to grass under favourable circumstances, we become as fat as pigs; under unfavourable circumstances, we return little better than skeletons. A straw-yard! a place to catch the glanders in from an ambitious pony, who insists upon making your acquaintance! A London season! slavery, slavery! splendid servitude! to be the whole year through what we should be but halfthe slave of man! to be bullied by insolent hacks with sleek coats, spider-legs, long tails and longer pedigrees-the cast-offs of Newmarket and Doncaster, the broken-down offspring of worn-out sires and dams! to be compelled to associate with mash-fed Hanoverians,

with the size of an elephant and the pace of a cart-horse, who climb down St. James's-street on a drawing-room day as if their fore legs were going up a ladder and their hind ones down it! No! if we must be slaves, let us have a "bold one" on our back, with a good seat and a light hand; a hundred-acre grass field, with a brook in the middle, and a bullfinch at the end of it, for six months of the year; and a large, loose box, with our shoes off, and a litter of tan, as a reward for our labours: instead of ambling up Rotten-row in a broiling sun, with a tight curb and a park seat, and our master so altered that his own mother would hardly know him. I hope I shall teach some of my young friends to despise their pampered London acquaintance; and when they have a good place in the country, to endeavour to keep it. Experience gives me authority in these matters. Of course the different masters I have had had different opinions: I had my own. It is for a large loose box, with plenty of air and plenty of tan: the greatest suffering we feel is from our feet, and the state of confinement in which they are kept makes us old almost before we are young.

If I were going to trouble you with all the wonderful feats I have performed-if I were going to give you a summary of the runs in Northamptonshire, Leicestershire, Oxfordshire, Gloucestershire, and all the other shires in which I have been ridden, I should have to recount the hands I have passed through, from Mr. Martingale's up to the present time; but such is not my intention. I was soon bought from him at a large price; for he was not rich, and soon tired of riding an expensive horse: he looked upon me as so many hundred pounds. Lord Longpurse bought me, and took me into Leicestershire. This was considered a "rise" in the world; why, I do not know. The fields are as large, the hounds as good, the fences as big, the brooks as deep, and the riders as bold, in the one country as the other. To be sure, at Melton the stables were fuller, and their pedigrees longer; but I do not think their legs were shorter, or their work harder, than in my own maternal county. There a provincial (for Melton is full of provincials, only they do not acknowledge it) admired me and bought me. He took me into Gloucestershire. Stone walls! a colt might jump them. No ditches, no water; pace and power were the things that did it, and I had both. Two years did I spend my winter between Gloucestershire and OxfordshireMr. Drake, Mr. Moreton, Lord Radnor, and Jem Hill. I speak with respect of the latter biped-he once rode me. A better hand, a better seat, I never knew; but I firmly believe he tried as hard to break my neck as I did to break his. From cover to cover, from fence to fence, he rode as hard as he could ride, until, perfectly tired out with riding after nothing, I breasted a five-foot wall, and got rid of my oppressor. We were neither of us hurt, but it quieted him for the day. I hate unnecessary trouble, though I have jumped as high and as broad as any horse after hounds.

There is a county which I neglected to mention: I was taken into it after the best years of my life had been spent in higher service-I mean Essex. The young and fast of our race affect to despise it; to me it brings the pleasantest reminiscences. But of all the countries through which I have been ridden, none is more difficult. The young