SPRING RAMBLES 61 



boy, I shot the birds myself (Anno Domini 1840), 

 and never have I tasted rook pie since. I had come 

 to regard the shooting of young rooks as a merci- 

 less cruelty, but now surely the end justifies the 

 means ! Let no angler in future compound for his 

 sins who hooks the trout by condemning man or 

 boy who shoots the rook. 



Sunday a dies non for all anglers who have 

 conscientious scruples, or who respect the con- 

 ventionalities a lovely morning, soft and balmy, 

 no wind, only a gentle S.W. breeze, an ideal day 

 for fishing; trout rising freely all down the river 

 as far as I could see. May Whit Monday be as 

 gracious ; but the evening is wet and ominous. 



Whit Monday was really a splendid day for 

 holiday-makers in these parts, and I fancy for 

 anglers in some places. Between ten and eleven- 

 thirty there was a fair rise of small fish, after that 

 I saw scarcely any up to four o'clock, when I 

 left off. 



Of course I looked after my trout at the barbed 

 wire there he was as lively as ever. I changed 

 my fly twice, and covered him fifty times, till at 

 last he came at me with a dash, seized the fly, was 

 hooked, and he made such a fluster in and about 

 that bed of weeds for he is a big one that his lip 

 gave way, and he returned my fly safe and sound. 

 He has taken up more than half-an-hour of my 

 precious time, and I am loath to leave him. 



I hope when the May Fly is up I may have 

 another tussle with him. Three times have I had 



