DAYS IN DOVE DALE 7 



It was now twelve o'clock. I had been at 

 work more than three hours already without 

 so much as a single bite or rise to afford me the 

 slightest encouragement, and yet I believe I 

 had done everything that an angler could do to 

 insure success. I had been told to keep my 

 eyes steadily on the flies when I threw them 

 into the water so as to strike in about the 

 sixtieth part of a second after the fish had given 

 the slightest indication of a desire to swallow 

 my fly, but I never once saw such an inclination 

 on the part of any fish ; in fact, I cannot hon- 

 estly say that I did keep my eyes on my flies, 

 for, although I tried my best, no sooner had I 

 consigned them to the water than they dis- 

 appeared from my ken altogether, so that 

 whether or not any little fish ever came up to 

 look at them I am quite unable to say. 



Now, if you will believe me, on my first throw 

 with my new cast my attention was distracted 

 by a beautifully-plumaged bird, which flew up 

 the stream, and whilst following this charming 

 specimen of the feathered tribe, instead of 

 watching my flies, I felt a tremendous tug at 

 my line. 



"Here you are at last," thought I, "perse- 



