OCTOBER ON THE STINCHAR. 365 



The water was growing very low and clear, when my eldest 

 son threw his first cast with the small turkey wing, the least 

 glaring fly in our collection. At the same confined swirl of 

 the current, a dull wave under the hook gave token of the 

 prize which lay below. A long rest followed ; then a cast, 

 light as thistle-down, allured the wary insect-watcher to 

 repeat his effort, with the evident resolve to dally no longer 

 with his prey. Immediately, a vindictive plunge revealed 

 both his power and will to use it, by breaking free from so 

 fragile a chain. To my dismay, I now saw that my son had 

 chosen, by mistake, the lightest reel-line in my possession, 

 only intended for sea-trout or grilse, in the clearest water of 

 July ! Its length, however, was 100 yards ; and having per- 

 fect confidence in the skill of the fisherman, I resolved not to 

 flurry him with a warning, but to wait in patience until the 

 prize was either lost or won. 



The fish neither dashed round the pool in terror, nor 

 refused to move in sullen indifference, but with a degree of 

 calm dignity steered along the opposite bank, giving fitfully a 

 revengeful toss which made my heart flutter. Higher, higher, 

 he rowed himself, till he arrived within a few yards of the 

 overhanging trees. If he resolved to pass this barrier, I knew 

 well the alternative was a broken line for the angler, or a 

 jump to the shoulders in the rapid current. At this crisis 

 the fish was turned by wary coaxing, and brought cautiously 

 down to the deep water where he had been hooked. A new 

 danger was here threatened, for the eddy tree appeared pro- 

 vokingly near, and it was likely the huge fish might strike 

 across the river, twisting the line around its branches. Again 

 he was foiled by the coolness of his tormentor, and the up- 

 stream march was resumed. 



The shades of evening now deepened, and my hopes of a 

 daylight capture were over. The sky was, however, cloud- 

 less ; not a breath stirred the leaves, and, to our delight, the 

 glorious red harvest moon rose " broad " over the brow of the 



