IMPERFECT SYMPATHIES 151 



found, but there were several big eels. The farmer's 

 boy was rather amused that a man should have come 

 some miles to fish the pond. So, I regret to say, was 

 my friend when he heard the tale. 



I have never been sure of the value of that sympathy 

 which consoles with thoughts of the might-have-been. 

 With me the might-have-been is a Friday. " Ah, you 

 ought to have been here yesterday," or, " Yesterday 

 the trout rose from five till dark," or, " Yesterday 

 Mr. A. had two and a half brace with the sedge " 

 this on a Saturday, when the trout are not moving at 

 all, even at 8 p.m., and when my creel is empty. All 

 things considered, it would be more tactful of the 

 keeper, landlord, or whoever the comforter is, to deal 

 with the present, to offer convincing reasons for the 

 dourness of the fish, and, above all, to leave Mr. A. out 

 of the conversation altogether. One has a great respect 

 and esteem for Mr. A., and one does not wish to be 

 betrayed into unworthy insinuations about him. Yet 

 it is surprising how strangely Friday's sedge is distorted 

 in Saturday's diseased imaginings. The emptier the 

 creel, the bigger that fly seems to grow, and the brighter 

 which is quite wrong and unjustifiable. The only time 

 on Saturday when Friday's achievements and oppor- 

 tunities may usefully be related is early in the morning, 

 while the rod is being put together. Then they may 

 seem prophetic and encouraging. But in the evening 

 they are vanity and worse. 



That redeeming quality called sympathy is very 

 human in ifs imperfection, and so its shortcomings 

 are as varied as are anglers and angling methods. 

 One might write on the subject for ever, instancing 



