2i 4 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES 



morning till night. H. has been two hours and more 

 gone up the river salmon fishing, and as dinner to- 

 night will be somewhat late, I sit down with the storm 

 racketing around the house, to write the history of 

 this last day's sport with the sea trout. The con- 

 sciousness of a fairly good day, all things considered, 

 puts me at peace with myself and the world ; and the 

 transference from wet to dry clothes, not to speak of 

 the storm-tossed appearance of an occasional boat- 

 man dropping down to the fiord, imparts a sense of 

 comfort that is not at all a drawback when one takes 

 up the pen. 



Before getting into his stolkjarre this morning, H., 

 referring to the high tides, solaced me by the remark 

 that, although the river was a couple of feet higher 

 than it ought to be, there was an even chance of fair 

 sport. To begin with the water was not badly coloured, 

 and it was clearing. The two hours preceding low 

 water were, as usual, mentioned as the period in which 

 business with sea trout should be most pressing. 

 After, therefore, three hours in my littered rooms with 

 two big portmanteaux, I summoned my man (always 

 ready for a summons), and we trudged off along road 

 and bye-track to the island which was our customary 

 starting point, and a favourite place at all times. 



If newly-run sea trout rested en route anywhere, it 

 would be somewhere off its green banks. Above the 

 island the river was a long, broad, dull reach, where a 

 good deal of harling was done by the natives. At 

 H.'s boundary there were rocks, breaking the stream 

 into typical runs, and there was one channel or gut, 

 about ten yards out from the island bank, which rarely 

 failed in giving temporary lodgings to running fish. 

 Properly speaking, an angler should, in fishing this 

 down from shore, keep behind the low-growing alders ; 



