THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



Thursday morning with a pleasant breeze from 

 the south-west, as much blue in the sky as will 

 make trousers for every man in the Royal Navy, 

 and a cloud occasionally shading the sun's face 

 your fly is making his first circuit across the 

 berry-brown water of a pool in which you know 

 there are at least twenty salmon. For upwards of 

 an hour you flog that half mile of water till your 

 arms ache, but without success, the fish not yet 

 being disposed to take breakfast. As an excuse for 

 resting yourself, you sit down for twenty minutes, 

 and change your fly, putting on our No. 1, hare's 

 lug and bittern's wing. You return to the water 

 again, and ere the new fly has gone the circuit 

 thrice, he is served with a special retainer, in the 

 shape of a salmon, which, judging from his pull, 

 you estimate at thirty pounds, the largest and 

 strongest, as you verily believe, that you ever 

 hooked. With that headlong plunge, as if he 

 meant to bury his head in the gravelly bottom, 

 he has hooked himself. Your hook, which will 

 hold thirty pounds dead-weight, is buried in his 

 jaws to the bend, and now that he feels the barb, 

 he shoots up the stream with the swiftness of an 

 arrow, and fifty yards of your line are run off 

 before you dare venture to check him. Now his 

 speed is somewhat diminished, hold on a little, 

 and, as the river-side is clear of trees, follow up 

 after him, for it is bad policy to let out line to an 

 unmanageable length, when you can follow your 



