MAY 149 



it is difficult enough to keep awake as it is. The 

 rocking of the boat, the drowsy lapping of the waves, 

 the soft air, the hot sun all dispose almost irresistibly 

 to slumber. Perish the thought ! what lasting remorse 

 if a fish rose while the fisher slept ! Ah ! you were 

 very nearly over that time, nodding heavily forward. 

 You cannot keep your eyes open, you say, in this 

 glare. 



Suddenly one of the pebbles springs off the seat, and 

 falls with a loud rattle on the boards. You are alert 

 on the instant, grasp the bending rod, and, though you 

 have lost the excitement of the rise, you are fast in a 

 heavy fish which is ploughing steadily through the 

 torrent fifty yards away. The boat is paddled into the 

 slack water, the stroke oarsman winds in the lines on 

 the other two rods, and, after the first force of the 

 salmon is spent, you step ashore and play him to the 

 death. 



Such is harling. You are a little conscious of having 

 played a very minor part in the drama ; and so soon as 

 the river shall have run down to such a level as permits 

 you to discern the various lodges of fish in pool and 

 stream, you will revert to casting, still using the boat 

 as your platform, because, in rivers on this scale, it is 

 only in select spots where the depth of the water per- 

 mits you to cover the likely places from the shore or 

 by wading. Harling, if only second best, is not a bad 

 second at times, by reason of the superior weight of 

 salmon killed in that way. 



