JASPER ST. AUBYN. 307 



" But his strength is departing — the vigour of his rush is 

 broken. The angler gives him the butt abundantly, strains on 

 him with a heavier pull, yet ever yields a little as he exerts his 

 failing powers; see, his broad, silver side has thrice turned 

 up, even to the surface, and though each time he has recovered 

 himself, each time it has been with a heavier and more sickly 

 motion. 



" Brave fellow ! his last race is run, his last spring sprung — 

 no more shall he disport himself in the bright reaches of the 

 Tamar ; no more shall the Naiads wreathe his clear silver 

 scales with river-greens and flowery rushes. 



'^ The cruel gaff is in his side — his cold blood stains the 

 eddies for a moment — he flaps out his death -pang on the hard 

 limestone. 



" ' Who-whoop ! a nineteen pounder ! ' 



" Meantime the morning had worn onward, and ere the great 

 fish was brought to the basket, the sun had soared clear above 

 the mist-wreaths, and had risen so high into the summer 

 heaven that his slant rays poured down into the gorge of the 

 stream, and lighted up the clear depths with a lustre so trans- 

 parent that every pebble at the bottom might have been 

 discerned, with the large fish here and there floating mid depth, 

 with their heads up stream, their gills working with a quick 

 motion, and their broad tails vibrating at short intervals slowly 

 but powerfully, as they lay motionless in opposition to the very 

 strongest of the swift current. 



"The breeze had died away, there was no curl upon the 

 water, and the heat was oppressive. 



" Under such circumstances, to whip the stream was little 



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