Militant Scrope 437 



And that was how William Scrope became a salmon- 

 fisher. 



There never was angler yet who had not some 

 marvellous fish-stories to tell. Mr. Scrope is no excep- 

 tion to the rule. Some of the yarns which he retails, 

 without vouching for their truth, are calculated to 

 make even seasoned romancers " gasp and stare." But 

 here is a genuine experience in angling which happened 

 to William Scrope himself, and therefore may be accepted 

 as true. 



" At a rather more advanced period of my life, I 

 used to make long fishing excursions, generally with 

 prosperous, but occasionally with disastrous results. I 

 remember well, when a pair of bait hooks was to me a 

 valuable concern, I hooked two large, black-looking 

 trouts in a deep pool at the same time. As I had to pull 

 them several feet upwards, against the pressure of the 

 stream, my line gave way and left me proprietor of a 

 small fragment only. For some time I looked alternately 

 at my widowed rod and my departed fish ; which last 

 were coursing round and round the pool, pulling in 

 opposite directions, like coupled dogs of dissenting 

 opinions : durum, sed levius fit patientia. So I sat down 

 with somewhat of a rueful countenance, and began to 

 spin with my fingers some horsehair which I had pulled 

 that morning, at the risk of my life, from the grey colt's 

 tail. This being done in my own peculiar manner, and 

 my only remaining hook being tied on with one of the 

 aforesaid hairs, I continued to follow my sport down the 

 stream for about half a mile. After the lapse of a 

 considerable time, I had occasion to cross bare-legged 



