OCTOBER 255 



so sharply severed people of the same race and speech. 

 Does it not seem ? My thoughts are smartly switched 

 off upon another course. As the fly sweeps round 

 the stream there is a sudden stoppage, the rod is 

 quickly raised, the good greenheart bends like a strip 

 of steel, and the reel plays out slowly as a heavy fish 

 dives among the rocks of the Kirkend. 



There is no rush or flurry ; imagination has a good 

 deal to do with the description anglers are so fond 

 of giving of the racing and desperate struggles of 

 heavy fish. Truth to tell, these late autumn fish play 

 sluggishly, though with considerable vis inertice. At 

 nearly all times the speed of a salmon on the line 

 depends very much on the strength of the current ; 

 an eight-pound fish in a swift stream will afford his 

 captor far more excitement than an eight-and-twenty 

 pounder in still, deeper water. The current here is 

 no more than moderate, and the contest consists of a 

 series of resolute journeys to the deep water, followed 

 by reluctant yielding to the merciless pressure of good 

 silkworm gut. The water, however, is very shallow on 

 the Scottish shore, and the fish a heavy kipper 

 manifests a strong objection to daylight ; each time he 

 feels the gravel he puts on steam, and plunges heavily 

 back to the depths. At last, a broad gleam shows 

 beneath the wave ; he is on his broad side a sure sign 

 of exhaustion. Three minutes more and the boatman, 

 wading in to mid-leg, deftly passes the net under him, 

 and scoops out my first victim a thick-set/ shapely 

 fish of exactly four-and-twenty pounds. 



