148 A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN. 



in hand, I mounted my trusty Rosinante and 

 tried to ride her through. Never had I a worse 

 journey. First, the rod was hard to manage, 

 and the poor beast did not like the deep water, 

 and then I found that my steed was sinking in a 

 quicksand. It was no time to hesitate. Away 

 went the rod, and after a severe struggle through 

 treacherous sand and deep water, I just managed 

 to regain terra firma wet to the neck, and after a 

 very bad five minutes got my horse out, after 

 seeing him flounder, as I thought, hopelessly, 

 with the water well over the saddle. Poor old 

 beast, wet and muddy and hungry, she looked a 

 very rueful spectacle ; and I did not feel much 

 more cheerful myself, but that trout was still 

 rising, rising, too, now that the last few drops of 

 the shower were pattering off the boughs with a 

 demonstrative ' flop ' which no fisherman could 

 resist. So being wet, I just waded in, and as 

 the fly lit, an angry swirl in the still water 

 marked a good fish's rush, and away went the 

 line down stream as if it never meant to return. 

 Of course my top joint broke again in every 

 place at which it had been mended, while the 

 butt came away from the second joint. Never 

 did a man fight a fish at a greater disadvantage. 

 My reel was practically separated from my rod, 

 and my rod was in bits. But the line was sound 



