52 AUTOBIOGBAPHY OP 



the stream. .The butterfly was more after my 

 own taste, and, as he rose at the painted fly, 

 he rose in my estimation. But what is this ? 

 Scarcely had he, with a sweep of his mighty 

 tail, reached the surface, when he descended 

 again, rushing by me in evident terror and 

 alarm, and seeking, with a rapid but rather 

 constrained motion, the dark depths below. 

 The facts of the case were apparent to me 

 instantly. My poor friend, in the buoyancy of 

 his spirits, had seized, more in playfulness than 

 in greed, the treacherous imitation of a fly, cast 

 by one of the deadliest foes to our race on 

 Tweed. No hope of release from a friendly 

 misdirected stone was here ; if a stone were 

 thrown by him it might startle, but never loose, 

 the fish ; and, confident in the strength of his 

 tackle and the delicacy of his touch, little did 

 the fisher heed the poor kelt's attempt at sulk- 

 ing. Not, as in my case, was the strain up- 

 wards, giving me the advantage of the whole 

 weight of water to increase the resistance, but 

 sideways the force was exerted, at an angle 

 which deprived the devoted fish of all help from 

 that source. Indeed, the run of the stream 

 was in the direction of the slow, strong, steady 



