io EASTER FLY FISHING ON THE ITCH EN 



for our water, a north-westerly is worse. It finds 

 its way into every nook and corner ; it is impos- 

 sible to get away from it. This being my last 

 day, I made a final effort to get a fly on the 

 water, but up to lunch time nothing came of it. 

 Fishermen cannot control the weather ; they 

 must take it as it comes, and always look for 

 better luck next time. I do not complain ; far 

 from it. I came here with a bad cold, and now I 

 am quite well, and equal to any exertion befitting 

 one of the ancients. 



It seems but yesterday, and yet it must be ten 

 or twelve years since our old friend, the doctor, 

 first drove me and the Major over to this river. 

 Ah ! what a pleasant time we had here in those 

 days. What a sumptuous luncheon he used to 

 provide for us in the dulce domum under the 

 blooming may tree ; what jokes he used to crack ; 

 he had long since retired from active practice, but 

 he used to call on his way here from Southampton 

 on several of his old patients, just to cheer them 

 with his genial presence ; his pockets were usually 

 crammed with sweets, and every child on the road 

 knew him, and looked out for a pat on the cheek 

 and a lump of barley-sugar. 



The Major finished up his Easter fishing with 

 seven more pike, all lured by that wonderful 

 battered old Red Phantom. 



