48 DAYS IN DOVE DALE 



I ought to have mentioned before, that on 

 Wednesday evening, Piscator major arrived 

 (he has been so named to distinguish him 

 from the humble minor who writes these 

 lines). On Thursday he made his first attack 

 on "The Dove," and captured 2\ brace of 

 fine trout. On Friday the major and I 

 started, filled with grand expectations, to fish 

 the highly-preserved waters of " The Mani- 

 fold ; " but it is not wise 



"To swallow gudgeons ere they're catched, 

 And count one's chickens ere they're hatched." 



We had been told that that river swarms with 

 grayling and trout. Probably it does, but 

 this happened to be a Friday, a fast day with 

 fishes it is their day for being eaten, not to 

 eat ; at all events, they abstained from flies, 

 and doubtless betook themselves to worms. 



The major tried all the arts of which he is 

 an easy master, he waded up and he waded 

 down, but not a rise could he get neither 

 could I. It was rather tantalizing, for we 

 could see fish in abundance, but, as I have 

 said, they were on the fast. We returned in 

 the evening somewhat crestfallen. 



