SALMON-FISHING. 63 



combination of strength and wile escaped me here. 

 Many a time has my heart stood still to find that 

 my line and reel have suddenly done the same — 

 what means it ? In the strength of that mighty 

 torrent can mortal fish rest ? Surely, but he must 

 have found a shelter somewhere ? Some rock behind 

 which to lie protected from the current ! I must 

 try and move him ! Try and move the world ! 

 A rock is indeed there and the line is round it, 

 glued to it immovably by weight of water. It is 

 drowned. But he, the fish I seaward may he now 

 swim half a league away, or at the bottom of the 

 next pool may be rubbing some favourite fly against 

 the stones. Nay — but see ! the line runs out still, 

 with jerks and lifelike signs. Hurrah ! we have not 

 lost him yet. Oh, dreamer, ever hoping to the last, 

 no more life there than in a galvanised corpse 

 whose spasmodic actions the line is imitating ! It 

 is bellying deep in the stream, quivering and 

 jerking, slacking and pulling as the current dictates, 

 creating-movements which, through the glamour of 



