4 THE TROUT ARE RISING 



brought me to a pause for a few minutes. A 

 friend of mine in Johannesburg, has in the hall 

 of his house on Houghton Estate, a picture 

 which catches your eye as you enter. It shows a 

 catch of trout lying on the river bank, lovely 

 fresh, well-conditioned fish, which must have given 

 stubborn fights before they were landed. The 

 scene is on the Usk. Such a picture makes one 

 look, and look, and forget to go beyond the mat. 

 Every hall should be so furnished, to my think- 

 ing, for there is hardly anything in nature more 

 beautiful than a trout in all its glory. 



Little wonder was it that the sight of those 

 trout, that summer evening in the old home, 

 inspired the hope that some day. . . . ! The 

 boy made a big resolve. One day he would 

 catch Trout like that ! 



The stages so far had been : (i) Brooklet, (2) 

 Canal. Now, the canal had done valuable educa- 

 tive work. Its mathematical straightness, its 

 soulless regularity, its level banks it rejoiced in 

 the uninspiring title of " The Cut " all helped 

 by contrast to teach what a little river is. Com- 

 mercial, correct, stiff, formal : that was the canal, 

 and so to be regarded. Even where its dull, 

 respectable track took it through the Deep Cut- 

 ting, Cheswardine way, with rural scenes around, 

 it was still the same, a canal. But the little river 

 had character. It sang a song as it went, it 

 " showed willing," as the homely saying goes. 

 It was companionable, full of life ; had its little 

 ways. Birds loved the woods by its banks. The 



