THE WEED-CUTTING FIEND' 



4 Up at Longbridge Meads,' is the reply. 



' Will they be cutting there to-morrow ?' he 

 again asks. 



' Yes ; I reckon they'll be on at it the best part 

 of the week between there and Stockley ; they've 

 a main bit to cut, for there's the little river as 

 well. They ain't cut that yet.' 



' All this week, and this is only Monday !' 

 ejaculates the crestfallen angler to himself. 



The carter goes on his way, and begins to 

 whistle as he sees the sign of the roadside pot- 

 house round the corner ; and if our friend does 

 feel inclined to go for the owners of Longbridge 

 and Stockley Meads, jump on his rod or shy his 

 fishing-basket, tackle, everything, into the stream, 

 who can blame him ? For months he has looked 

 forward to this annual outing. It has cost him 

 some hard work, trouble, and no little expense, to 

 get away even for the few wretched days he can 

 spare or be spared from business. The river is 

 well stocked and in good order, the weather per- 

 fect, for a wonder ; and now these confounded 

 weeds have spoiled everything. There is abso- 

 lutely nothing for it but to go, and so he sadly 

 and wearily returns to his lodgings or inn, packs 

 up his belongings and departs, much to the dis- 

 may of his landlady, who is thereby also a loser. 



There are, of course, plenty of rivers in which 

 such troubles are unknown rivers where they 



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