of the
two salmon which are my text. He rented a country house overlooking
the river, with the fishing, and no fortunate angler who sojourned
under his roof in those good days can ever forget the puzzle into which
he fell while deciding whether it was the gentle hostess or the
ever-considerate host who most contributed to his happiness. Among the
bright Carham remembrances no one will omit the after-breakfast descent
of the steep-wooded brae down to the boat animated with eager
anticipation, and the climbing home in the gloaming in whatever mood
the events of the day had warranted.

The Carham fishing is really the lower and the southern section of
Birgham, famous for its dub, the rival in piscatorial fame of
Sprouston, a little higher up-stream. Its situation immediately above
Coldstream and not far from Berwick makes it a characteristic water for
the salmon fisher. The incoming fish sometimes linger there awhile
early and late in the season, and men catch salmon at Carham while
those in the higher beats are waiting their arrival or bewailing their
disappearance. Here, too, you may hook your fish in Scotland and land
it in England, for the Tweed begins to be the boundary between the two
countries at Carham burn.

The Tweed is picturesque rather than romantic, as are so many of the
Highland rivers. They have their legions of admirers, but there is no
Scottish stream that can count so many ardent lovers as the Tweed, and
this for many reasons. It has much varied and positive picturesqueness
of its own, it has associations of legend and history; Walter Scott
lived on its banks, and its dividing course between the nations that
used to harry or be harried invests it with an abiding interest. As a
river it is distinguished by a characteristic dignity, and, save at its
narrowed channel and rocky bed at Makerstoun, maintains a stately yet
irresistible strength of flow from Kelso seawards. Nevertheless, there
are times when it shows moods of sullen rage, and is certainly too full
for the angler, to whom, in spite of faults, it is always Tweed, the
well-beloved.

"How is she the morn?" is, therefore, a common question amongst all
sorts and conditions of men along Tweedside in the fishing seasons, and
at the visit now under course of recall there was assuredly ample
excuse for the formula. It soon transpired that the old-fashioned
barometer in the hall had been having a hard time of it for many days.
The master of