170 DAYS AND NIGHTS OF SALMON FISHING. 



mortal; and he may be painted, and adorn some fishing- 

 tackle shop in London, like Colonel Thornton's pike, 

 which threw Newmarket on his back as he was landing 

 him, — a lad, says the Colonel, so called from the place 

 of his nativity. Of course you expect the latter phe- 

 nomenon every cast. You see him in your mind's eye 

 eternally following your fly, and you are ready to strike 

 from second to second. It is true he does not actually 

 come, as experience teaches. But what of that ? he 

 may come in an hour — in a minute — in a moment ; 

 the thing is possible, and that is enough for an angler. 

 A friend of mine (sacred be his name!) of great repute 

 for his dexterity with the rod, and celebrated for his 

 agreeable and amiable qualities, as well as for his intel- 

 ligence and various accomplishments, had this poetical 

 facility of seeing what did not really exist in substance. 

 A curious instance of this popular talent occurred at a 

 friend's house in the country with whom he was staying. 

 There was a fine piece of water in the park, well stored 

 with fish, where he used to spend most part of the 

 morning, rod in hand ; so that his perseverance excited 

 considerable admiration from the host, as well as from 

 his guests. Not having been very successful, his ardour 

 at length began to flag. It was a pity, for it is a 

 pleasant thing to be excited. What was to be done ? 

 You shall see. A report was raised that there was an 

 enormous pike seen in the water, about the length of a 

 decent-sized alligator. He was said to have maimed a 

 full-grown swan, and destroyed two cygnets, besides 

 sundry ducks. At first he was no more believed in than 

 the great sea snake, which encloses at least half the 



