122 ANGLING Gf ART IN SCOTLAND 



Would he never stop ? There were only seventy-five 

 yards of line altogether ; but on, on he went, and 

 smaller and smaller, and thinner and thinner became 

 that coil of silk upon the drum of the reel. At last 

 the fatal moment arrived ; the last yard of line was 

 run out. I pointed the rod at the fish, and stretched 

 out my arm to the utmost, with the vague idea of 

 gaining another yard or so. There was one fierce 

 pull, and for an instant the water boiled in the far 

 distance, and then — the sickening slackening of the 

 line. 



May it be put down to my credit ! — I merely 

 remarked: "You can row home now, Ronald," as I 

 slowly wound up the loose line. Fortunately Ronald 

 helped me, or I might have burst. 



But what was this? the line was beginning to 

 tighten up again. " By Jove I he's on, he's on still! " 

 I shouted. And so he Tuas. The sudden strain 

 at the end of such a long rush had stopped the fish 

 and turned him back. 



It is the uncertainty of the thing which lends 

 such charm to angling ; — the play upon the emo- 

 tions. Here had I been a moment before in the 

 depths of despair, and now was my spirit raised 

 into the seventh heaven. If any number of fine, 



