PREFATORY xv 



June/ the most beautiful of all the twelve. 

 Everything is out and about in June ; flowers, 

 birds, fish, all seem to revel in the sunlight of the 

 summer's day. There are kingcups in the water- 

 meadows, and by the riverside forget-me-nots in 

 profusion ; ragged robins, red and white campions, 

 wild garlic (the latter best left ungathered), cow- 

 slips, and here and there a yellow iris casting its 

 golden reflection on the stream. Birds singing, 

 fish rising, what more can the heart of man desire 

 when all is so beautiful ? 



Later on in the summer the purple and yellow 

 loosestrife, willow - herb, and meadow - sweet 

 appear upon the scene. There may be a lack 

 of sport, and fish may be disinclined to feed, but 

 there is an amount of infinite pleasure to be 

 derived from the mere fact of being in the midst 

 of such things a glorious feeling of freedom and 

 independence and there is always the chance of 

 sport. The man who fails to extract enjoyment 

 out of such things must be indeed hard to 

 satisfy, and be altogether soulless, or in love. 

 It is these and such-like beauties which invest the 

 sport of fishing with such * glamourie.' Is it to 

 be wondered that it is so ? Is it not rather a 

 matter for surprise that everyone who can be is 

 not a fisherman ? I most heartily congratulate 

 myself that I am one. 



In conclusion, I can hardly do better than 



