DAYS IN DOVE DALE 45 



I ventured forth once more, rod in hand, to 

 allure if possible some stray denizen of " The 

 Dove." 



My record hitherto, as you know, has been, 

 with one memorable exception, a record of 

 utter failure. Again, I am sorry to say, it is 

 not the story of success. I got one rise, that 

 was all. 



For a young and ardent disciple, my evening, 

 I assure you, was not one to inspire enthusiasm. 

 Canst thou feel very amiable, oh, gentlest of 

 readers, after being caught seven times in seven 

 successive throws in bush or bramble, tree or 

 root ? and what if thy eighth throw lands thy 

 " bumble " in the midst of a mass of young and 

 stalwart nettles ? 



That fate and worse befell me in my evening's 

 ramble. I have been told (indeed, it is an old 

 axiom) to " grasp your nettle " if you would 

 not be stung by it. As there seemed to be no 

 other way of unhooking my unlucky hook, I 

 did grasp my nettle with a vengeance, and 

 never again will I believe in that old axiom ; 

 my belief now and evermore will be that the 

 harder you grasp it the more vilely will it sting. 

 My tingling, smarting fingers for' many hours 



