48 . THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



salt water enough in that reach ; and from the 

 moment the tide turned to ebb he continually 

 tested this by dipping his finger in the river and 

 putting it to his lips. This, no doubt, lent a real- 

 istic touch to the proceedings, but we should have 

 killed just as many bass in Arundel Cathedral, 

 and from each attempt I went home ever sadder, 

 but never wiser. At Chichester, the canal was 

 the attraction. More power to those who hold 

 railway stock, canals are not a great success in 

 this country as regards their original purpose, 

 but to anglers they are of considerable use. In 

 the canal at Chichester we used to catch heaps 

 of small roach and bream, and occasionally a fish 

 of better size, while grunting eels serenaded us 

 those warm summer evenings from their mud- 

 holes beneath the opposite bank. 



Bournemouth in 1888 was vastly altered from 

 our memories of it seven years earlier, but the 

 pier-fishing had not improved with the rest, 

 though the sand-smelts were as plentiful and as 

 confiding as ever. Improved finances permitted 

 of more boating, and, with or without my favourite 

 henchman, Maynard, I made a few good catches, 

 chiefly near the outlet of the sewer, beyond the 

 pier-head. Only twice in my life have I con- 

 sciously fished near such an attraction, at Bourne- 

 mouth, and on the coast of Australia. Even the 

 latter memory lies buried under the ashes of ten 



