28 THE TROUT ARE RISING 



leave the old home and the little river for longer 

 than you care to think. That is Life. But as 

 you journey through the wilderness, there will 

 be many a happy pause by the wayside if you 

 have mementoes in the shape of photographs of 

 the old scenes and of the old friends. I remember 

 in the Anglo-Boer War, during a four-hours off on 

 sentry go, finding in my haversack a little photo 

 of the river Tern at Market Drayton. This 

 occurred at Van Reenen's Pass, on the borders of 

 Natal and the Orange River Free State, in 1900. 

 I remember, too, how the idea came, there and 

 then, to set down in writing some random 

 thoughts on fishing. In due course they appeared 

 in the Field, a little harvest from the seeds of 

 Chance. 



Especially, I think, a man will cherish his 

 photographs if duties cause him to be in city 

 pent, in some huge town, which contains little 

 to remind him of running rivers, golden meadows, 

 and the smell of the country. It may be that 

 after settling down in the city you can never per- 

 manently leave it. But each succeeding visit to 

 the country, with its few days of fishing happily 

 provided for, will bring back the old sweetness, 

 the old ease and peace of mind, the old joy in 

 living, and each hour spent in turning over the 

 leaves of the fishing album will to some extent 

 have a similar result. For man has two precious 

 gifts, memory and imagination. 



"Red Spinner" in his preface to his " Water- 

 side Sketches" in 1885, reviewed briefly the 



