ST. BOS WELLS. 237 



and widened its catch, suddenly spurted out, and the 

 salmon and I parted company. After such a dcnoiiemeiit 

 what can one say ? " There's many a slip 'twixt the cup 

 and the lip ;" and equally so 'tween the salmon and 

 the fishing basket. Very true, O king of fishes ! And 

 some are disposed to relieve their minds in such a case 

 by a few strong, if inelegant expressions ; while others 

 would be inclined to drown their disappointment in the 

 manner indicated in lines attributed by Stewart to a 

 certain humorist, "a friend and associate of anglers": — 



' ' The flask frae my pocket 



I poured into the socket, 

 For I was provokit unto the last degree ; 



And to my way o' think in'. 



There's naething for't but drinkin', 

 When a trout he lies winkin' and lauchin' at me." 



I will not say that I was not "provokit," or to what degree 

 I was. I certainly felt a good deal put out. After a 

 struggle that had lasted a couple of hours, perspiring as 

 I was at every pore, and soaking wet, through going 

 beyond my Avading depth, the termination was not a 

 pleasing one to reflect upon. But I feel strongly that 

 anglers should never brood over their disappointments, but 

 endeavour to take them philosophically. By this time the 

 moon was up ; my line seemed uninjured, and I marched 

 in for a "last appeal ;" hooked a fine yellow trout of over 

 a pound, which in ordinary circumstances I should have 

 handled with great caution ; expended my pent-up 

 feelings by at once dragging him ashore, nolens volcjis ; 

 packed up, and took the road homewards — a loser in one 



