SUMMER ON THE MOORS 105 



Very delicious is the close of those long- summer days 

 by the river-side, when a lingering twilight slowly fades, 

 yet hardly disappears ; while waning- colours softly change 

 on the moss-brown streams till detail is lost, and one is 

 only conscious of the murmur of those swirling waters. 

 The line one can no longer see, and only judges the 

 position of the gently-working lures by a sort of instinct. 



That heavy sullen plunge away below in those still 

 darkly deeps, is a salmon. But him you may disregard ; 

 for he has been in that pool, a prisoner, this three weeks 

 past, and will now scarcely look at fly — not until after 

 another flood, and then only when, he has travelled a 

 mile or two further up-stream. 



Presently comes a different plunge — or rather a rush, 

 smart and active, tearing the surface, and one sees the 

 water fly like a flash of flame. That is a 4-lb. bull- 

 trout, fresh from sea yesterday, and bright as a bar of 

 silver ; a turn of the wrist, and the " dark-teal-and-purple " 

 is well home in his jaws. Then, varied and vivid are the 

 sensations aroused in the gloaming, as this dashing fish 

 runs off line at 20 miles an hour — you cannot see whither 

 — turns and twists in the dark ; jumps where you least 

 expected, slacks the line in spite of all you can do, and for 

 three long minutes keeps the angler on full stretch and 

 in delicious nerve-trying doubt. Those three minutes — 

 given firm handling — will have turned the scale in the 

 angler's favour. But there may yet be other three ere 

 suspense and anxieties — pleasant, albeit prolonged — are 

 ended, and the cleek, by aid of starlight, shall have 

 decided the fortunes of the night. On such evenings 

 you may linger till past ten o'clock, and dine towards 

 midnight. 



However late it may be, into the kettle with your 



