CHAPTER VI 

 FISHING. I 



FRESHWATER 



A KALEIDOSCOPE of days dances before me, 

 some of them vivid, some of them hazy, but 

 all of them happy. 



I doubt if any other sport brings such rest 

 to the mind as fishing. Its very environment 

 tends to this. The music of running water 

 from the gentle, limpid English stream to the 

 fierce roar and swirl of a Highland river, the 

 deep purling notes of Tweed and other Border 

 streams, or the rippling lights and wavelets of 

 a loch ; all conduce to that peace of thought 

 that wipes out time and space, and bears you 

 like driftwood down the flow of hours. 



Fishing has a twofold charm, the act of 

 fishing and the act of catching fish. The first 



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