44 SOUTHERN ESTUARIES 



is kept up like the gallop in a cotillon, each pair of 

 partners hoping as they start that the caprice of fortune 

 will give them the prize. It comes at last. The ebb 

 has been running for an hour, at which time the salmon 

 smell the fresh-water out at sea, and, fired with the 

 sudden recollection of love and adventure in the river, 

 rush, throbbing with impetuous life, into the narrow 

 waters of peril. Gently the net swings with the tide, 

 contracting and lengthening as if invisible fingers were 

 drawing its centre downwards to the sea, until it lies in 

 the still water by the bank, a narrow channel of cloudy 

 meshwork some fifty yards in length. Before half has 

 been pulled on to the dripping pile of net and sea-weed 

 which lies behind the haulers, a rush, a great gleam of 

 white and silver, and a splash tell without need of the 

 sudden shout " A fish ! a fish ! " that a salmon is in 

 the toils. Furiously he dashes from end to end of the 

 yielding trap, sending water, sand, and spray flying on 

 every side. Desperately he drives his shining head 

 into the dragging, sluggish, invisible meshes. Had he 

 only the one further gift of reason than that which his 

 experience gives, he would leap into the air and clear 

 the encircling lines before it is too late. But the net 

 curves quickly in and closes over the fish, and in a 

 second it is lying a broad silver bar upon the yellow 

 sand. The symmetry and lustrous sheen of such a 

 salmon seen within a minute of its return from its 

 unknown life in the ocean, perfect in form, strength, 

 and vigorous life, makes good its claim to be considered 

 almost the most beautiful of living creatures, and 



