a small one; but, in the act, the large back-fin of the latter had stuck in the mouth of the devourer, and had choked him. The small one, however, nothing deterred while carrying about its incubus, had caught at the bait; and when drawn out of the water, my friend found, that although the small one was still alive, the large one had been dead some time. O how delightful was early morn by this Loch! I have been on its banks at three in the morning; and occasionally, as I would cast up my eyes to Arthur's Seat, I have seen the shepherd driving his flocks before him on the fine green sward slanting down from the upland ridge, the sun glinting its most cheerful rays over the distant heights and the ranges of the Pentlands; Scotia's darling seat lying before me in all the majesty of silence, no smoke as yet from any of its household fires-no tall chimneys pointing to the skies and vomiting black smoke, which we now see in this view the debris from Salisbury Crags making that beautiful reposing angle so much admired the sound of St Giles' striking the hours, and the Tron Kirk swearing that the tale was true. We often came away about six o'clock, with eight or nine good perch strung on

a string. Although Duddingstone Loch could have been fished in the same way, we seldom went to it; when we did so, we were not successful, although both pike and perch were often taken in it. There is still fishing in both places : but in walking over the sides of Lochend the other day, I found it much altered. One or two of the large stones on which we stood sometimes, and threw the perches out over our heads, like podlies at the end of Leith Pier, still remain.

Coltbridge,

NEAR EDINBURGH, RIVER LEITH.

To this pleasant little village I often went on the Saturday afternoons, and sometimes after eight o'clock in the summer evenings, to fish with fly in the Water of Leith, killing trout above and below the bridge. I remember catching a large eel with my fly,—a rather rare occurrence ; and, wasting all my cast line in the dark, had to give it up, not having been possessed of a second. Many a good trout have I seen taken with a very small fly, thrown from the corner above the

bridge at the tail-stream of Dalry Mills; and many a good trout with set lines have I pulled out in the morning, in the garden on the other side. But now the lime which is used at the mills of Gorgie and other places, with the smallness of its waters from drainage and other causes, make sport at an end here. There is no such thing as a trout to be had, and little done even at Currie and Colinton. Eels have often been, and are still, an object of curiosity; and in this Water of Leith, I remember, one day in July or August 1812, being at the back of Bonnington distillery fishing for eels, where one time they were plentiful, that, watching under the stump of an old saugh tree, I observed little bunches of hair-like threads come up to the surface of the water, and, as I looked, they separated and became little eels. This I have often mentioned; but

my piscatory friends only shake their heads. However, I maintain to this day, that they were young eels just emerging into life. I watched them while they did so, and viviparous I always believed them to be; for I could no more be mistaken, than that horse-tail hairs could turn into flukes.

10

MUSSELBURGH-ROSLIN CASTLE.

Musselburgh.

Within these twenty-five years I have taken a good basket of yellow trout about a mile above the town, and beyond Inveresk, and before you come to some Policies, as they are called. There is still some sea-trout fishing above the old bridge, and also near the sea, though not much frequented, and almost never but in a flood.

Roslin Castle.

One of our great days was to the Esk at this place, after long looking and longing for the fastday or other holiday. I have seen four or five of us boys start for it, after buying a hook or two from Somerville's in Leith Street; the kind old gentleman-for all the shopkeepers there were then gentlemen-giving us some good instructions how to throw our lines without sleeching off our hooks. Proceeding by the North Bridge at early day, how sweet was the scent of the peppermint from the gardens below! How different now! Where were once beautiful,

dark-green beds of this plant, beds of this plant, we now see, puffing and belching, steaming railway engines. Continuing our way through Buccleuch Pend, and along by the Meadows and the Sciennes, we pass the Grange Toll, the Pow Burn, and on to Burdiehouse by the Windmill and St Catherines. This burn then ran in many a zigzag course. What beautiful red trout were once its inhabitants! Where are they now? Its bed is now cut straight: its waters are gone, and so are they!

We got to the Castle, then to the Linn below the paper mill. Some sleech off their hooks at the first throw, and their sport is at an end for the day. I succeed in getting two or three beautiful trouts, of half a pound each; others get glorious nibbles; and we trudge into Edinburgh, quite happy with our sport, short as it was, and hungry as hawks. Ah! how happy is the angler! as Sir Thomas More says, 'If his sport should fail him, he at the least hath his holsom walk, and, mery at his ease, a swete ayre of the swete savour of the meade of flowers that maketh him hungry: he heareth the melodious harmonie of fowles; he seeth the young swans, herons, ducks, cotes, and many other fowles.'