56 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES 



you as the horrible thought flashed into your mind. 

 " Good heavens ! surely this is not going to be another 

 blank ? " The sun, at any rate, after shining brightly 

 for a couple of hours, retired behind the clouds now 

 rolling up from south-west ; wind, in meagre catspaws, 

 skirmished across the dub below, reserved for the after- 

 noon, and you prayed that it would strengthen to half 

 a gale. 



That grand water above all streams of a model 

 character was fished fairly, perseveringly ; Wilkinson, 

 Jock Scott, Silver Grey, Greenwell, and Stephenson 

 were tried in succession, large and medium. The after- 

 noon wore on apace without a sign. Down under the 

 high rocks, wooded to the water's edge, you repeated 

 the work of the forenoon, trying, in addition to the flies 

 already named, a harlequin-looking pattern which you 

 had seen amongst Forrest's tempting collection, a 

 novelty named Tommy Adkins. It did no effective 

 service, however. With a levity pardonable at that 

 time you hummed, " Tommy, make room for your 

 uncle," and put up a large Wilkinson, one of the Kelso- 

 tied double hooks, than which you cannot get better. 

 Down to the weir and back again to the same old tune 

 nothing. An angler from below came up for a chat 

 and told you that he had taken a grilse, and you envied 

 him the possession of that measly little kipper. 



By and by there was a pluck beneath the water, and 

 you struck. Whatever else it was, it was no fish ; but 

 you carefully winched up and brought in a black kitten 

 not long drowned. Fortune was not content with 

 smiting you, it derided. As you blushingly remarked 

 to the laughing but unappreciative Jamie, this was 

 nothing short of catastrophe. Jamie beguiled the next 

 drift by reminiscences of Sir George Griffith (thejangling 

 father of an angling son), Alfred Denison, Liddell, 



