LETTER IV. 55 



on our own chalk-streams, and the fish are almost 

 too dainty to take the natural fly, let the lio-ht 

 wings of a big Fairford alder go by, and you 

 have him. In the still evening, when the big 

 fish feed in the calm broad waters, sink and draw 

 your alder gently towards you, and just as it 

 nears your feet, a mighty rush will set your heart 

 throbbing and your reel screaming. So it was 

 here. In a moment I was into a big fellow, and, 

 ye gods ! how he fought I how savagely he headed 

 for an unpromising looking stake, whose broken 

 end rose from the other side of the pool ! But 

 the gut held, and at last I piloted him safely 

 through the sunken logs and boughs which 

 fringed the edge of the pool, and knocked him 

 on the head, first of two dozen, whose rosy sides 

 glistened that evening on the pebbles behind me. 

 At last one fellow, whose quiet rises had long 

 drawn my attention, broke the top of my rod, 

 tied me round the stake which had imperilled 

 every fish I had hooked, and broke the only 

 alder but one in my possession. So I carried 

 my spoils up to the hut, and shared their bright 

 yellow flesh with certain young Englishmen who 

 had just arrived from the country whither I was 

 wending my way. With them was an old trapper 

 named Chance, who had learnt the country as a 

 gold-miner and prospector, and had just piloted 



