1 88 A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN. 



If a fish won't bite in that time, what can you 

 expect, my dear ? Of course we began talking. 

 The fisherwoman let her spoon trail overboard, 

 and to prevent the line following it, whipped one 

 end of the line round her own ankle. I don't 

 know where our thoughts had wandered to ; but 

 I know it was very far from fish and fishing, 

 when my companion was suddenly jerked into 

 the bottom of the boat, and at the same moment 

 a great salmon sprang out of the water some 

 yards behind us. For a moment I could not 

 understand what was the matter, until I saw the 

 salmon jump again, and my fair friend's foot 

 being jerked about in a manner which at once 

 suggested that the question between her and the 

 salmon was simply, ' Must I come in, or will you 

 come put ?' Luckily two of the hooks on the 

 spoon gave way, and I don't think my friend was 

 sorry to regain her freedom, though in doing so 

 she lost her fish and broke her tackle. By-and- 

 by the men came back, not too well laden with 

 game, but very full of excuses. The covert, they 

 say, is too thick and birds scarce. They had a 

 few pheasants and grouse, and some quail. My 

 husband was particularly indignant with the quail, 

 handsome little fellows, with a big dark crest 

 upon their heads. It seems that the moment 

 you move them they are off in a cloud to the 



