132 By Stream and Sea. 



so of idlers lounging against its lintels? Here are three 

 young men, probably keepers taking holiday with the dogs ; 

 young men whose faces are the colour of a ripe hazel nut, 

 and whose velveteen jackets are, like the garments of poor, 

 easily-cheated Esau, savoury of the hunting grounds. They 

 watch Messieurs the Anglers pull on their waterproof 

 coverings, thick woollen socks, and clumsy brogues, and 

 converse of angling news. No daily newspapers come to 

 Ashopton till they are a few days old ; there are no hourly 

 telegrams affixed to club screen or hotel passage. Such 

 news as the morning brings them is of the woods, fields, 

 and streams. Number One has heard of a four-pound trout 

 taken yesterday in the Derwent. The trio at once move 

 with slow step across to the bridge, and lean over, gazing 

 into the peat-brown flood as it races under the arch. This 

 movement will not help them probably in their compre- 

 hension of the story, but it seems the natural thing to do, 

 just as when Micawber contemplated entering into the coal 

 trade he went out and looked at the Medway with the eye 

 of a connoisseur. So our velveteen jacket brigade involun- 

 tarily survey the Derwent as the story-teller proceeds. 



It seems that the four-pound trout had been a notorious 

 character for several seasons. Everybody had made serious 

 attempts upon its honour. Everybody had failed. Live 

 fly, dead fly, ants' eggs, maggot, wasp-grub, worm, minnow, 

 had been used in ringing the piscatorial changes, but the 

 trout had kept his corner under the jutting rock, and had 

 ordered his life aright, pursuing the even tenor of his way, 

 turning neither to the right hand nor to the left. At length 

 there had been treason and stratagem, and, alas ! spoil. 

 Nefarious prowlers had netted the fish in the dead of night, 

 and sold him in Castleton at sixpence per pound. Number 

 Two caps this story with another while our trois frercs 



