i8 ANGLING THAT "PREACHETH PATIENCE" 



and waiting. If the swallows would go away 

 for a little while, the trout may have a chance 

 of seeing through the foggy water something to 

 come up for. Mark Tapley's philosophy is nothing 

 to mine. Keeper, going by on the other side, 

 shouts, "There'll be no rise, sir, till about seven 

 or eight o'clock ; water too much like skim milk." 



Yes! What's the odds? At eight o'clock I 

 shall be making tracks for the metropolis. It is 

 rather cold sitting here in face of a strongish 

 north-easterly wind. By Jove ! there's a rise. I 

 am afraid it's only a little one ; never mind, it 

 looks hopeful ; for exercise I will have a try for 

 him. I have him ; he is only lb., so I put him 

 back to increase in bulk by next June he will be 

 a fine young fellow. Heigho ! See yonder clouds 

 as black as midnight coming up with the wind. 

 A few big drops, and then a downpour. We are 

 caught in the open, and have to run for the nearest 

 hedgerow. How delightful it is to crouch under a 

 hedge, the wind driving the rain straight through, 

 and wetting you as much as in the open. 



The hopes of the morning were not verified. 

 We reached home in another heavy thunderstorm, 

 with the impression on our minds that we will not 

 face wind and storm again this outing. 



I may say, as indeed can easily be imagined, 

 we thoroughly enjoyed our bit of a holiday. Of 

 angling it may be truly said, as George Herbert 

 said of a dull sermon 



" // preacheth patience? 



