A Summer Idyl 1 1 9 



heaving a huge lump of bacon over the weeds, and 

 letting it float down past the pool into the stream. 

 It was very exciting at first, for every few minutes the 

 pike seemed to be there, until I discovered that it was 

 the bait caught on weeds or stones. After two hours 

 of such exercise my arms ached fearfully, so throwing 

 my bait into the pool with a float, I sat down and 

 smoked in the semi-despair of smothered expectation. 

 Fruitlessly however ; darkness came and I was forced 

 to go home with an empty basket. That night I 

 scored fat bacon out of all my books, and in the 

 morning continued the campaign with an eel's head ; 

 with a bait like that, I felt myself insulting the enemy, 

 and was hardly disappointed when once more the sun 

 went down without jack as much as venturing out. 

 Next day, however, I thought myself bound to succeed. 

 The keeper had procured a beautiful yellow frog, and 

 all the ancient and modern writers seemed to agree 

 that this was the lure most tempting to a hungry 

 jack. My piscatorial tutor put it nicely on the hooks, 

 so nicely that it swam about with evident enjoyment 

 and agility. He had a big float to keep it from sink- 

 ing too far down, and sinkers to hinder it from rising 

 too far up ; it was gently and firmly coerced into 

 pursuing a strict via media. Still jack was not 

 tempted. He made no effort to contest the owner- 

 ship of the frog, and that unhappy animal after strug- 

 gling until I was sorry for it, finally managed to escape 

 by swimming into the weeds. When I drew out the 



