8o LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES 



the book you mean to write on " Chances that I have 

 Missed." 



" She rose 2 ft. yesterday, but better wait," had 

 wired my friend, and in due time I find that on that 

 very day the man who took my place killed three fish. 

 When I hastened down to the bridge on my arrival 

 to see how she was, the river, which had risen strongly 

 as soon as that three-hour, three-salmon man had got 

 off the beat, had fallen to a point between impossibilities 

 and chances. And the wind had slewed round from 

 south-west to west, with a flirting to north. Here was 

 another day, if not lost, certainly without fishing. 



Having looked at the river and read my fate in the 

 heavy stream a mighty race of water, 400 yards from 

 bank to bank I sought the sight of some salmon, and 

 went to the fish house. The quick returns had not 

 come in that morning, but there were about a hundred 

 salmon laid out on the floor ready for prompt dispatch 

 to market. They averaged 20 lb., but, silvery as they 

 all were, I could pick out the few that had come in that 

 morning. There was one lovely she-fish of about 23 lb., 

 with a ventral fin literally as purple as the dorsal of a 

 grayling, and for suggestions of pearls and opals, 

 maiden blushes, and the like, nothing could have been 

 more perfect than the sheen of this Tay salmon. In 

 another hour the glory would have faded away. And 

 all those fish had been taken by the net. The angler 

 who was lusting for one of them under his rod spake 

 not, and went away sorrowful. 



But, after all, what would the morrow bring forth ? 

 The great river was running down, the night was fair, 

 and there was hope for the glass was rising, and the 

 wind really had been good enough to get out of the 

 south. As a matter of history, the morrow promised 

 fair things, though I went forth in fear and trembling. 



