174 ANGLERS' EVENINGS. 



recital of my woes would make a stone weep, so I am 

 certain o( yoiir sympathy at all events. In the first place, 

 we had breakfast at eight o'clock, and I decidedly object 

 to this when I am away for a holiday, as I have no fancy 

 for getting up in the middle of the night. C, who has 

 been more or less in a fidget to get up ever since about 

 five in the morning, is down first, and, having swallowed 

 his breakfast before I have fairly begun mine, proceeds to 

 pack the luncheon basket. G., who is invariably last down, 

 no matter who is late, is leisurely finishing his morning 

 repast. When it is completed he will search for his 

 tobacco pouch, fill it in a deliberate manner, and when he 

 has slowly put it in his pocket, found his pipe, and calmly 

 laced his boots, he will have contributed his share towards 

 the preparations. F. passes the time by playing selections 

 from " Pinafore" on the piano, which sounds like a cracked 

 tea-tray with the influenza. H. assists the performance, 

 and I hand C. the provisions for his basket, thinking 

 disconsolately that I might just as well be paying my 

 usual visit to the queen of the kitchen and ordering 

 dinner. 



The morning is wet — the mornings here usually are ! — 

 and when the gentlemen set off, their outfit is more useful 

 than ornamental. They are attired in every variety and 

 shape of mackintosh imaginable, in the form of hats, 

 coats, and leggings (not to mention a patent air-cushion), 

 and C. looks like an enormous black beetle. However, 

 they all possess nobler qualities than their personal 

 appearance warrants, and this is a great consolation. 



Of course, just at the last moment G. cannot find his 



