220 BRITISH FRESH-WATER FISHES 
two rods had been at work morning and afternoon without 
landing a fish, the water being still too heavy. My hostess 
asked whether I would have some tea, or fish the pool 
next the lodge, which had been well flogged that day. 
Now in Norway Sunday begins at 6 p.m. on our Saturday, 
so there was not time for both. Without a moment's 
hesitation I declared for fishing. It was a quarter-past 
five by the time I got afloat; at half-past five I struck 
a fish, and landed him just in time to save breaking the 
Sabbath—21 |b. 
Of course it is probable that this fish had newly arrived 
in the pool, and took the fly at the first offer; but here 
follows an example where there was no question of fish 
running, for the water had run very low. It was in the 
Luce, a small river in the west of Scotland, and on the last 
day of the season. The sun was bright; there were but 
two or three places where there was a faint chance. I had 
tried them all but the last, and any lingering idea I had of 
success there was dissipated as I approached the pool by 
the flash of another angler’s rod in the sunlight at the very 
place. I sat down and prepared to take down my tackle ; 
but I was young in those days, and hope dies hard on the 
bright side of thirty. I saw my rival finish the pool and 
walk away. 
““Come!”’ methought, “it is the last chance of the 
season. It is sometimes the rank outsider that pulls off the 
big event.” 
Well, the event weighed just 22 lb. avoirdupois, and 
I pulled it off—or rather, pulled it in—the handsomest 
salmon I ever saw so late in the season, except in the 
Tweed. 
Probably the most notable performance by a party of 
salmon-anglers, at least in regard to the number of fish killed, 
was that of three gentlemen—Mr. George Probyn, Mr. A. M. 
Naylor, and Mr. H. L. Hansard—in the Grimersta River, in 
