146 IN THE GREEN LEAF 



wide open ; I have seen people fall asleep over 

 many jobs, but I have not yet seen any angler 

 go to sleep with a rod in his hand. 



Bream, as I have said before, haunt quiet 

 depths of the river. Half-a-mile's saunter 

 along the river's side brings us to the end of 

 the meadows, where a stout oak-post-and-rail 

 fence keeps the cattle from breaking into a 

 fine orchard ; and this particular spot is the 

 best place in all the river for bream, down to 

 where it flows into the Thames. Great oaks 

 dot the opposite banks ; and one large limb of 

 a fallen oak, that has been submerged for years, 

 rises just above the surface, affording a lair for 

 a very heavy pike, on whose account no one 

 ever dreams of wetting a line close to it, as it 

 is well known that at different times four good 

 bream have been torn off the hooks by the 

 greedy monster, just as they were being landed. 

 One of my angling friends has expressed a 

 wish, more than once, that the otters might 

 get the robber ; but they never did : he would 

 have given them some bother before they had 

 him. Water-lilies do not grow here ; the water 

 is much too deep for them. The banks shelve 

 down on either side, like those of a railway 

 cutting ; and no one bathes here, as the place 



