THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 217 



fish feeding persistently, an easy fisJi, a fish close 

 to my own bank, a five-pounder. He was what, 

 from hearing about other men's sport, I have learnt 

 of late to call a ' sitter.' I fished for him as I 

 imagine those other men do, with no mistake, 

 no drag, no mischance. And he took as those other 

 men's do, felt as heavy as theirs, made my reel 

 scream as theirs — and got off as mine do. Sitters ! 



" Now let me tell of the visit to one of the most 

 charming streams that join the Thames, with one 

 of the best of fellows and hosts that ever cast line. 

 The Mayfly had appeared ten days too soon and — 

 was over. 



" And now let me sing the Kennet, and the 

 Brethren, and the seven streams and seventy carriers 

 and seven hundred thousand three-pound trout, 

 which all welcomed me in pouring rain. Even 

 as I got there I trembled at the sight, so much was 

 the fly and so furious the rising of the threc-poimders. 

 It was a bewildering spectacle to a man who had 

 known trouble. The Brethren as usual were admir- 

 ably calm and surveyed the scene unmoved. 

 ' When,' they said, ' the rise begins, we'll put 

 him on the Grove.' I was speechless. ' When 

 the rise begins 1 ' ' Isn't,' I presently said feebly, 

 * isn't this a rise ? ' 



" It wasn't. The rise began at two. I saw a 

 great river simply heaving with three-pounders, 



