A WELSH CARP LAKE 113 



on a light fly-rod, and a not unduly prolonged contest 

 ends satisfactorily with net and spring-balance. The 

 fish is three pounds one ounce, plump enough, but rather 

 pale in complexion, owing, no doubt, to the colour of 

 his abode, and it has taken not much more than two 

 hours to catch him. This is well enough as carp go, 

 but it is not quite what might have been looked for on 

 a virgin water, nor is the subsequent record of two fish 

 of about the same size in the next three hours quite 

 satisfying. However, it is better than looking at the 

 two small trout in the river, and nine pounds of carp 

 are enough to carry across nine miles of mountain. 

 The return is begun betimes, for it is well not to be 

 benighted in a strange country. Not a trout has been 

 seen to rise all day, and this is explained by the fact 

 that the trout, somewhat magniloquently spoken of by 

 wisdom on the bridge, is dead. There lies his head on 

 the bank the head of a full five-pounder. How he died 

 is a mystery, but it is sad for a virgin water when its 

 only trout is taken away from it. He is a real loss, 

 and the lake is left with somewhat saddened steps. 

 Henceforward there will be but two trout in the neigh- 

 bourhood, and life is uncertain. 



