74 THE SUMMER TROUT 



checked the rise and smoothed the 

 stream than the first damp touch of that 

 fleecy veil of eventide invariably appears 

 to do. To attempt to rise a trout after 

 we have felt the cold, wet vapours of the 

 dying day and heard the twittering bat 

 that swallow of the twilight merrily 

 chasing the gray-winged moth, is vanity 

 and vexation. Better to reel up and turn 

 our faces towards the valley and home. 



