A DAY'S FLY-FISHING. 11 



But " revenons a nous moutons" is at length 

 the word ; and the trio, after arranging for the 

 final " wind-up," resume their rods, and fall to 

 fishing down the stream. 



It is evening. The sun, before bidding adieu 

 for the night, and as if to compensate in some 

 measure for hiding himself during the day, peeped 

 from under his nubial canopy just as he touched 

 the western hill, and lighting up the heavens 

 with a crimson glow, like mingled gold and roses, 

 sank gently down to " ope the gates of day" in 

 another hemisphere, leaving the glorious traces 

 of his departure to mingle with the twilight here. 

 Our angling friends have at last suspended opera- 

 tions. Their rods and tackle are soon snugly 

 packed. The return of killed and basketed has 

 been duly made, and amounts, in the aggregate, 

 to the small salmon aforesaid, two brace of peel 

 (certainly not in the finest season), two and 

 thirty trout, and a dace. Of course they are 

 delighted with the day's adventures, and a con- 

 sultation is forthwith held, which results in the 

 adjournment to a neighbouring hostelrie which 

 stands in high repute with all the local craftsmen, 

 the landlord being a " brother of the angle." As 

 they are at least four miles from home, and have 

 had a hard day's fag, the strengthening and re- 



