EVENING ON TWEED 267 



A few dark duns have accommodatingly alighted 

 upon us and our belongings, and to represent them 

 a large-sized Greenwell Quill will suffice, but they 

 are far outnumbered by myriads of fluttering 

 sedges which crowd the air and water, almost 

 obscuring the view. Not one of our stock of 

 sedges corresponds closely enough to the natural 

 insect to deceive the extremely wary trout of 

 Tweed. Despair and disappointment are about 

 to fall upon us, when luckily we chance to remem- 

 ber our cherished collection of Rough Olives, which 

 are a correct representation, save in one particular, 

 viz. shape. By dint of some coaxing and gentle 

 pulling the upright wings of this deadly counter- 

 feit are induced to droop from their erect position 

 and lie low over the hook ; and now we possess 

 in lieu of a member of the Ephemerida a most 

 amazingly faithful likeness of the sedge-fly, which 

 is proving so acceptable to the trout. In great 

 glee we affix it to the tail of the cast, leaving the 

 Greenwell for the dropper, the place of secondary 

 importance, the duns being most decidedly in the 

 minority. Carefully we anoint the line and the 

 cast, oil the flies, and cheerfully and confidently 

 we wade out to search the fast-flowing broken 

 stream, prepared to cover a rise whenever the 

 opportunity is given, but determined to lay the 

 flies on the water as often as possible. 



At the union of a twin ripple behind a submerged 

 rock a trout breaks water, just our distance, and 

 lightly above it falls the converted Olive ; the fish 

 refuses. We pull off a yard of line, and present 

 the Greenwell to its notice. The rise, the strike, 

 and the rush through the stream to the opposite 



