lugged him up in-shore; then, when I was wishing we had brought the Compleat Angler or some other book of directions (even a Murray would have been something), and Jones was fatuously describing how he was going to engineer the gaff, the fish perceived our conspiracy and ran out some more line. Then it all had to be done over again; but this time J. hooked the beggar in the head, and successfully dragged him on to the bank. He was an enormous fish, and weighed over ten pounds. I now perceived that skill in salmonfishing is born in a man, and that I had found my real vocation. Jones, poor fellow, was perhaps qualified to be a gillie, but, aping the manners of his superiors, insisted on taking his turn with the rod; besides, he went on we should empty the

said that if I

river, and the proprietors would not like it. I reluctantly gave up the tackle, and we moved down a piece.

"I never saw a clumsier man than Jones: he had none of the grace of the true angler, though he licks me at the grouse; and I pointed out that we were wasting time. However, he

cut the hook out of his clothes for the fourth time and cheerfully continued his efforts, gassing about luck the while, until, after an hour's noisy flogging and entanglements, he hooked a fish. This chap ran out nearly all the line, and we had to follow him across some of the roughest country in the Highlands. He went over a piece of tumbling, broken water like nothing at all, and then danced about in the pool at the bottom as if he was giving an exhibition of gymnastics. Then he stopped for breath, or the equivalent in water, and did nothing for a while. This annoyed us, as we knew he must be up to mischief; and we threw stones at him until he moved. Shortly afterwards, he flew the white ensign, and J. dragged him slowly towards me. To gaff a fish, you have to get the hook (you know) under or over him, and pin him with the point. Jones said the head was the place: that's why you never see a mark on the salmon in shops. He forgot about nets; and I do not believe he was aiming for anywhere in particular when he struck my fish. Anyhow, I decided on a general charge; and as I hoisted out a young

'un of nine pounds, I imagine it is more a matter of innate judgment than anything else: keep cool, and then go with a dash. Jones was childishly pleased, and we had lunch.

"After a decent interval we again took turns at the rod and tried some more flies, but nothing worthy of this letter occurred until we were on the point of chucking it, when I hooked a thing called a grilse in the tail. What resulted was more like a fox-chase than anything else I ever saw. Off went the fish up stream, full bat; Jones fell over a rolling stone and sprained his knee; while I hung on, running like a hurdler over boulders and round corners, till I was out of breath. The fight lasted ages, but I kept the line as tight as wax, and we won, poor old J. forgetting to groan at his knee when we sat down and panted beside our quarry. He only scaled five pounds, but when he was in the water he pulled harder than both the salmon put together. I did not mean to hook him in the tail, but I suppose you have no fault to find with that. We went up to the shooting-lodge and sent the keeper for the fish. He was right mazed, and told us the

other chaps had been whipping low water and watching the spate for a fortnight without killing a single fish. We smiled superior. I am going to advertise for pupils next year. When a salmon-fisher goes home empty-handed, depend upon it he has not got the knack: it's like writing poetry.

Adoo, nunx; if I scribble any more, you'll think I am turned Clarissa Harlowe, instead of being plain, truthful

JAMES."

XI.

Northward Ho!

"I rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than, living dully sluggardized at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness."
Two Gentlemen of Verona.

I AM told that Bosnia offers unique opportunities to the angler, and that no one who has not been there can form a proper estimate of its attractions, which I am quite willing to believe; but I must be permitted to "hae ma doots" about the journey thither, the brigands, the inhabitants, and the scenery. Many fishermen have read a romantic paper in one of the magazines, describing "a lost paradise" for their kind in Russia; and tarpon-fishing has been as much exploited in attractive illustrations as riding on a motor-car. But, though