Probably it was not dark and windy enough, but who can explain the
caprices of salmon? The only certain thing is, that carelessness always
brings misfortune; that if your tackle is weak fish will hook themselves
on days, and in parts of the water, where you expected nothing, and then
will go away with your fly and your casting-lines. Fortune never
forgives. He who is lazy, and takes no trouble because he expects no
fish, will always be meeting heart-breaking adventures. One should never
make a hopeless or careless cast; bad luck lies in wait for that kind of
performance. These are the experiences that embitter a man, as they
embittered Dean Swift, who, old and ill, neglected and in Irish exile,
still felt the pang of losing a great trout when he was a boy. What
pleasure is there in landscape and tradition when such accidents befall
you?
The sun upon the Weirdlaw hill,
In Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet.
There is a fire of autumn colour in the tufted woods that embosom
Fernilea. "Bother the setting sun," we say, and the Maid of Neidpath,
and the "Flowers of the Forest," and the memories of Scott at Ashiesteil,
and of Muckle Mou'd Meg, at Elibank. These are filmy, shadowy pleasures
of the fancy, these cannot minister to the mind of him who has been
"broken" twice, who cannot resume the contest for want of ammunition, and
who has not even brought the creature-comfort of a flask.
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