SALMON-FISHING. 73 



they rejoice! Their songs of praise and enjoyment 

 positively din in my ears as I walk home, rejoicing, too, 

 after my Anglo-Saxon manner, at having killed some- 

 thing, fighting the battle over again in extravagantly 

 bad Norse to Ole, who patiently toils on under the 

 double burden of the big fish and my illiterate garrulity. 

 In short I am thoroughly happy — self-satisfied and at 

 peace with all mankind. I have succeeded, and suc- 

 cess usually brings happiness ; everything looks bright 

 around me, and I thankfully compare my lot with that 

 of certain pallid, flaccid beings, whom my mind's eye 

 presents to me stewing in London, and gasping in 

 midsummer torment in the House of Commons. A 

 breakfast of Homeric proportions (my friend and 1 

 once ate a seven-pound grilse and left nothing even 

 for a dog) follows this morning performance. Will my 

 reader be content to rest after it, smoke a pipe, bask 

 in the sun (he won't stand that long, for the Norway 

 sun is like the kitchen fire of the gods), and possibly 

 after Norwegian custom, take a mid-day nap ? 



