ioo CHATS ON ANGLING. 



ever. You feel that you have only yourself to thank for such a 

 denouement, but that is scant consolation. 



Damp and annoyed, you sit yourself down by the river side to 

 try to make matters straight. Where is that waxed silk? At home, 

 of course. So you have to content yourself with sacrificing a good 

 length of the taper of your line in order to make a temporary splice. 



Taking all things into consideration, your efforts to rig up a jury 

 top are reasonably successful, and it might yet kill a fish. If only 

 you had a pipe to console yourself with, things might look brighter 

 and better ; but the loss of your pipe is an undeniably severe one. 

 The pool that you are now fishing has a shelving stone bank on your 

 side, the deep water being opposite to you. It is ideal water to fish, 

 as the fly works out of the heavy stream into the shallowing water on 

 your side. The wading, moreover, is easy, and the pool a long one, 

 so that there is every probability of your being able to yet retrieve 

 your fortunes, and of being able to account for a heavy fish before 

 you have done with it. 



Still keeping mounted the fly that, contrary to your expectations, 

 had already deluded the former fish, you wade out and recommence 

 operations. The cast, however, demands a certain length of line to cover 

 the fish, and your rod is hardly the man it was ; the breeze has increased 

 a good deal, and is directly behind you ; still, you manage to cover 

 the water fairly well, and are beginning to get on better terms with 

 yourself. A few yards down there is a good rise and a welcome heavy 

 "rugg." The fly, however, comes away, and you are left lamenting. 

 The long pool is steadily fished down, and some hundred yards or so 

 lower you get another bold and confident rise. You strike, and the 

 fly again comes back. Reeling up, sadly you wade ashore, and, on 

 examining your fly, find the barb gone. 



In all probability it was broken at the head of the pool on the 

 shelving bank behind you, the strong wind at your back and the long 

 cast with a weak rod having brought about the misfortune. Why, in 

 the name of goodness, had you not examined the fly when it came 

 back after your last rise? No doubt but that the barb had gone long 

 before that. Mentally cursing your carelessness, objurgating Dame 

 Fortune, and longing for the companionship of a pipe, there is nothing 



