Sporting Sketches in Pen and Pencil. 



" If he gets in there he'll heat ye, sure as a gun ; it's full of all manner 

 o' rubhidge !" 



" He's going, Bill — going !" as the fish shot into the very depths of the 

 hole, taking line like a salmon. " Going, Bill ! — going — gone ! " 



I felt him go right in amongst some mess or other, the line gave a scrape, 

 and was cut in a jiffey, and up came the line without any hook. Four times 

 that very same morning were we cut in just the same way, and they were 

 aU undeniably heavy fish, for we killed four or five of 51b. and over without 

 a great deal of difiiculty. Once or twice we had on the one a barbel and 

 the other a bream at the same time, and it was capital fun keeping them 

 apart while playing. 



" Ah, here comes little BiUee with the breakust ! I was a thinkin' it was 

 wery nigh time," said William. 



They've fine instincts for victualling time, have your Thames fishermen. 

 The boat dropped beliind, a big basket was handed on board. Hot coffee, a 

 frizzling rump steak, and a pile of buttered toast — "all hot, all hot," and 

 covered in closely with a flannel cloth. I rather fancy we enjoyed that 

 repast. The rods were laid aside while we recruited nature, having dropped 

 the punt to the bank under the walnut trees ; and then how beautifully the 

 rings of tobacco smoke went curling up amongst the foliage. 



That camp-shot just below there was rather a good pitch for a perch. 

 The last time I had fished there I remembered seeing a black servant come 

 down to this very spot. He had his rod and line all ready, and he had a little 

 wee minnow kettle with liim which would have carried from three to half a 

 dozen. He slipped a minnow on to his hook, dropped it in. " Bob ;" there 

 was a hauling match on immediately, wliich resulted in the flopping of a 

 splendid 21b. perch on the grass. On went another minnow, and in went 

 the tackle again. "Bob;" another pullyhawley, and out came another 

 two-pounder — brothers they were, clearly. Then Sambo put his rod over 

 his shoulder, pouched his fish, and stalked off home ; he hadn't been at the 

 river side more than quarter of an hour, if so long. It was just as if he had 

 ordered the fish to be there to meet him. It was the crispest, neatest little 

 performance I ever saw. 



While we were at breakfast here, a few yards above the spot, I had 



