ating
it became more and more painful to me, until at length the fatal
fascination was complete, and my trip became practically an exercise of
devotion to that sheep. I carried it everywhere and ministered fondly
to its wants. Not for the world would I have alluded to mutton in
its presence. And when we returned to civilisation I parted from the
creature with sincere regret and the consciousness that I had humoured
my affections at the expense of my digestion. The sheep did not give me
so much as a look of farewell, but fell to feeding on the grass beside
the farm-house with an air of placid triumph."

After hearing this touching tale, I was glad that no great intimacy had
sprung up between Favonius and the chickens which we carried in a coop
on the forecastle head, for there is no telling what restrictions
his tender-heartedness might have laid upon our larder. But perhaps a
chicken would not have given such an opening for misplaced affection
as a sheep. There is a great difference in animals in this respect. I
certainly never heard of any one falling in love with a salmon in such a
way as to regard it as a fond companion. And this may be one reason why
no sensible person who has tried fishing has ever been able to see any
cruelty in it.

Suppose the fish is not caught by an angler, what is his alternative
fate? He will either perish miserably in the struggles of the crowded
net, or die of old age and starvation like the long, lean stragglers
which are sometimes found in the shallow pools, or be devoured by a
larger fish, or torn to pieces by a seal or an otter. Compared with any
of these miserable deaths, the fate of a salmon who is hooked in a clear
stream and after a glorious fight receives the happy despatch at the
moment when he touches the shore, is a sort of euthanasia. And, since
the fish was made to be man's food, the angler who brings him to the
table of destiny in the cleanest, quickest, kindest way is, in fact, his
benefactor.

There were some days, however, when our benevolent intentions toward the
salmon were frustrated; mornings when they refused to rise, and evenings
when they escaped even the skilful endeavours of Favonius. In vain did
he try every fly in his book, from the smallest "Silver Doctor" to
the largest "Golden Eagle." The "Black Dose" would not move them. The
"Durham Ranger" covered the pool in vain. On days like this, if a stray
fish rose, it was hard to land him, for he was usually but