DAYS STOLEN FOR SPOET 47 



bank to where my efforts would have their best 

 chance of preventing his getting back amongst the 

 piles. The line was taut, the rod bent, my footing 

 safe back beyond the crack that denoted the field's 

 next tribute to the stream, and I was ready in the pos- 

 ition of my choosing for whatever the fish might do. 



" Now expectation cheers his eager thought, 

 His bosom glows with treasures yet uncaught." 



Nerves braced for a struggle, as mine were, need 

 that struggle for their pleasurable relaxation or a 

 jerk ensues which may be likened to the shock 

 that comes when a cheated foot does not meet the 

 expected stair. The strain which I offered as a 

 challenge produced no answering rush but two or 

 three short half-hearted dives, and then the fish 

 yielded and came to my winding like a sodden log, 

 and an onlooker, much taller than myself, cried : 

 "Only a barbel," in such a tone and with such a 

 sigh that I fancied he felt relieved. It was a barbel 

 the longest, thinnest, ugliest and beastliest, I ever 

 saw. The tall man was anything but handsome, 

 even when he smiled, but he was not in it with 

 the barbel. 



Many rebukes have been cast upon writers on 

 angling that by accounts of special days "they 

 delude poor wights into the hope that they may do 

 as much themselves whene'er the mood may enter 

 upon them to take it in hand." I fear that what 

 / have written of Thames trouting may be a 

 deterrent to a novice, so in my next chapter I will 

 change the scene to the prettiest spot on all the 

 I sis, a spot of which I have the happiest memories 

 and where and near thereby I have had most of 

 my successes with this fish. 



