WATERS OF YOUTH 21 



was a tiny backwater, not above four feet wide in most 

 parts, and it was fringed with a wall of bushes. Here 

 and there lay little round pools, and in one of these I 

 discovered a monstrous fish, very much bespotted, and 

 altogether beyond the dreams of avarice. He rose and 

 took some floating trifle while I was peeping over the 

 bush, and that decided me. The water was too clear 

 for a worm, but it was possible to dibble, and I at once 

 sought diligently for a bait. 



Insect life is not abundant in March, and it took me 

 a long time to find anything that seemed large enough 

 for so vast a trout, but at last, under a Jog, I captured 

 a beetle of some size. Whether a beetle would be any 

 good for trout was unknown, but it was worth trying. 

 Presently the tip of the rod was projecting over the 

 bush, and the insect dangled over the water, descend- 

 ing by slow degrees to the desired spot. I dared not 

 look over to see what happened, and had to trust to 

 Providence to direct matters aright. Providence was 

 kind, and there was a sudden plunge, a jerk of the rod- 

 top, and I was holding on like grim death to a trout 

 that fought as never trout fought before at least, in 

 my experience up till then. Tackle, however, in the 

 days of youth was not refined away to invisibility ; the 

 gut stood the strain easily enough, and, after quite a 

 short time, I was rejoicing over the captive form of my 

 opponent. He only weighed a pound when all is said, 

 but youth does not estimate its trophies altogether 

 from the avoirdupois standard. It sufficed that he was 

 a larger trout than any I had caught hitherto. 



So passed that season in a halo of comparative 

 glory, but it was eclipsed by the fifth and last March 



