I subsequently learnt that from its condition this fish had no doubt been killed some days before it was found, and as it seems highly likely it was the fish that had defeated me, it must somehow or other have got rid of the fly by rubbing it against the rocks, a feat which is generally believed to be by no means unusual and which in this instance would, no doubt, be rendered easier by the fact that the hook was a good-sized one, being about 2 in. long. C., who was with my host at the time, said that he also felt sure that it was the same fish. So it would appear that the victory of the great fish was after all shortlived, and that he was probably captured by a far greater fisherman than any mere mortal man--let alone my humble self. It is a very interesting fact that in the week before that in which I was fishing, among the salmon which were killed on the neighbouring beats were three, each of which weighed slightly over 41 lb. It seems not unlikely, therefore, that my fish may have run up from the sea in the company of these splendid fish, and have been much the same weight as they were. Notwithstanding my great disappointment I heartily agree with the words of Arthur Hugh Clough in _Peschiera_:[2] ’T is better to have fought and lost, Than never to have fought at all. On describing my battle to an old friend, who is himself no fisherman, but a great sportsman, he replied by quoting from a writer, whose name he did not know, the following lines, which I had never heard before and the authorship of which was at that time unknown to my friend also: Upon the river’s bank serene A fisher sat where all was green And looked it. He saw when light was growing dim The fish or else the fish saw him And hooked it. He took with high erected comb The fish or else the story home And cooked it. Recording angels by his bed Weighed all that he had done or said And booked it.[3] [Illustration: (Fast Enough for Me!)] IV THE BIRDS OF FASTEST FLIGHT IN THE BRITISH ISLES Some little time ago, a correspondence appeared in the _Observer_[4] and the _Field_[5] as to which is the quickest bird in flight. Various correspondents, some of them well-known naturalists, writers of repute, and sportsmen of experience, expressed their views, by no means unanimous, on the question. I have always been greatly interested in the subject, and for many years past in the North of Scotland have been in the habit of watching bird life in some of the wildest and most inaccessible parts of the country.