54 AUTOBIOGBAPHY OF 



ing, unable to drag the weighty line against 

 the rapid stream, the fish now turned his head 

 downwards, and with an imitation, rather than 

 the reality, of strength, dashed away at his 

 former pace. But swimming down stream, 

 with a hook in one's mouth, is a game that 

 cannot be long played. Breathing, as fishes 

 breathe, becomes impossible ; and with pain I 

 speedily beheld my poor acquaintance turn on 

 his back, and approach, with no will of his own, 

 the low shelving bank of shingle, where the 

 shallow water left half his huge body exposed. 

 A large net was passed under him, and whilst, 

 as being dragged ashore, the exulting * whoo 

 whoop ! ' of his captor rang in my ears, I natu- 

 rally concluded that I had seen the last of my 

 gallant, handsome, ill-fated friend. Such, how- 

 ever, was not the case ; and the conversation 

 that reached me before he was returned to the 

 water, as to my great surprise he was, explained 

 the cause of his good fortune. 



