FISHING IN RIVER, STREAM, AND LOCH 159 



threatened to betray him, and he was listening fearfully 

 for the warning crow of the grouse-cock. He has felt 

 his blood at the boiling-point in bitter January, as he 

 laid the broad pastures behind him in the grass counties, 

 and went clearing the ox-fences and crashing through 

 the bull-finches, as the pack that might have been 

 covered with a waggon-tilt were carrying the burning 

 scent heart-high. For aught we know, he may have 

 stood face to face with the crouching tiger ; or he may 

 have slipped " by the skin of his teeth " through the 

 hug of a " grizzly.'* But in these last situations the 

 sensations though sharp enough, must be short, and we 

 should fancy that the horror predominates over pleasure 

 in them. While in the struggle with the salmon in the 

 rapid stream, the prolonged and pleasurable excitement 

 after the first moment of rapturous assurance, goes on 

 growing in intensity through minutes that may extend 

 themselves into hours. There may be the piquancy, 

 too, of some dash of danger in the reckless gymnastics 

 you may be forced to perform between the depths of 

 the pools and the cliffs that overhang them ; while 

 faculties already strained to the uttermost are wrought 

 on by alternations of fear and hope, till the contest comes 

 to an end in one way or another. 



Take a single reminiscence among the many that 

 memory lightly recalls. It was on the first day of one 

 of your fishing seasons, when, hurrying away from 

 work, worries, and late hours in town, you had gone to 

 the Highlands, brimming over with expectation, and in 

 the spirits of a schoolboy broken loose for the holidays. 



