I 3 2 TROUT-FISHING IN BROOKS 



take a single whiff till I had killed twelve trout. 

 Well, it was a burning August day, and fish were 

 unusually sulky, and it was not until 4 p.m. that 

 I completed the dozen a nice lot they were, too, 

 I remember. After a long pull at my cider-bottle, 

 I revelled in thoughts of my long-expected smoke 

 the lover of our Lady Nicotiana will understand. 

 I pulled out my briar, saw it was clear, and felt 

 for my pouch. Alas ! no pouch was there. 

 Matches I had, but by some idiotic oversight I 

 had forgotten the prime factor. Sadly I turned 

 to fishing again, my only consolation that trout 

 came on well towards dusk and helped me to a 

 very respectable pannier. On my way home 

 got some very passable tobacco at a wayside 

 public, and ever since the items, ' pipe, baccy, 

 matches,' have had a conspicuous place on my 

 list. 



And now a hint re the bull nuisance, which I 

 give in all seriousness, their happy hunting- 

 grounds having a most undesirable affinity with 

 the brookside. A bull is a very real and common 

 danger, and I, moi que vous parle, have had some 

 narrow escapes. A brook hardly gives scope for 

 natatory dodging, and it is a customary drinking- 

 place for cattle, which often stand concealed there 



