366 A SPRING WEEK IN THE WEST HIGHLANDS. 



very foot of this pool part of the stream flows near the 

 opposite bank. More for the sake of instructing my boy 

 in the mystery of throwing a long line than any sanguine 

 hopes of a rise, I swept my fly twice over this bit of water. 

 At the second throw up came a famous fellow. He turned 

 his head down stream, and dashed along, making my reel 

 ring. There was now a race different ways, my son for the 

 post-boy, and I with the fish. Jehu came puffing like a 

 grampus, ready to gripe his prey. He soon saw that his 

 services would not be required for some time, as the salmon 

 was fresh and strong, and making beautiful play. Patience 

 and caution at length brought him to the bank ; and for the 

 first time the post-boy, after having a firm hold, lost it 

 from the strength of the salmon. It was a little while 

 ere I could bring him within reach again, for the fright 

 gave him fresh vigour ; but the clutch at the root of the 

 tail was more sure next time, and we landed the finest 

 fish as yet taken in the Urchay since the season opened ; 

 sixteen pounds. I both hooked and killed every fish I rose, 

 and with the same fly. 



Here let me caution gentlemen neither to be too san- 

 guine nor dispirited by the fishing-guide's prognostications 

 of success or failure from the weather. When you have 

 good sport, they are sure to say the day is all that can be 

 wished. If, on the contrary, you don't stir a fin, they 

 will as certainly console you with some flaw in the wind, 

 water, or sky, how propitious soever they all may have 

 been. Catch them telling the angler (what is more often 

 than not the true cause) that it is his own want of skill. 



