THE EVENING 79 



alarm I put a fly to him, in greater I saw him open 

 his mouth at it, and in greatest I wildly pulled it 

 away just at the critical moment. Whereupon the 

 fish sought the depths, making a great wave as he 

 went. Nor did I ever see him again. I verily 

 believe I should have caught the fish and become 

 famous in that district if it had not been between 

 five and six. As it was, I knew I should not get 

 him and didn't. I never catch one of any size 

 during that barren hour, at any rate while the days 

 are long. Why fish, then ? some one will ask. The 

 fact that trout can be seen rising seems a sufficient 

 answer; and, besides, there are always surprises in 

 store even for the most unsuccessful. 



The next period of the evening is one of absolute 

 nothingness. No fly, no rises, no casting. This is 

 the time in which the angler should have his dinner, 

 or collation, as the case may be. From half-past 

 six to half-past seven he ought to be otherwise quite 

 unemployed. But he should be on the water again 

 by half-past seven, for the fun may begin about 

 then, though it may quite well be deferred till half- 

 past eight. The most glorious evening rise that ever 

 I had a share in — it was on the Test — began exactly 

 at half-past seven, began badly for me, for I lost a 

 beauty, the first that rose. Afterwards, however, 

 I was kept busy till long past nine. It was an even- 

 ing to dream about. The fish meant business and 



