TWEED. 73 



to covet concealment. I lay a cautious pressure 

 on my tackle, and turn his head down the 

 water. Now comes the tug of war, to the tune 

 of salmon tails up the water. He was wild. 

 He leapt up. He sprung in air. The bir and 

 whir of my reel admonished me to keep my 

 fingers out of the lines' way, for I felt as if 

 something was applying a hot wire to them. 



A bir a whir, a salmon's on, 

 A glorious fish, a thumper ; 

 And if we land him, we shall have 

 Another glorious bumper. 



At times somersetting like a very Ducrow, at 

 others like an arrow from the bow of Jonathan, 

 which returned not empty, jumping up and most 

 cunningly endeavouring to twist his tail over the 

 line, which, of course, was kept perpendicular as 

 the York column, rod all the while at half a 

 circle, down the stream he went, drawing all 

 with him, ' like Beauty with a single hair.' 

 After slipping my feet, and grazing the skin off 

 my shins, and nearly breaking my arm, on 

 recovering myself, I found that he still stuck 

 to the end of my line, but there were ( envious 

 osiers' a-head. I made a stand, and, after a hard 



