MEMORIES OF EARLY DAYS 271 



carefully up in the twilight, keeping a tight line 

 by reeling up as I went till I was over a great 

 bed of strong weeds. Into this one hand care- 

 fully felt its way along the casting line, and 

 touched at last the side of a great fish. Nothing 

 could be seen for it was getting dark, and the 

 weeds were too thick for a landing net to be 

 used in them. I tried with one hand to arrange 

 a grip on the trout, and very broad and hard he 

 felt ; but at the critical moment he made the most 

 violent commotion in the weeds and dashed off 

 somewhere. When all was still I felt again and 

 found in the weeds only the end of broken gut. 

 There was nothing more to be done that evening, 

 and I waded out and lay on the bank in the 

 dusk. On the whole, I think that was the 

 bitterest moment I have ever known in angling. 

 To have come so near to success, and to have 

 it snatched from me at the last moment, after 

 keenness and effort had been sustained at the 

 very highest pitch for two whole days, was more 

 than could be borne. 



But success did come afterwards, and in broad 

 daylight ; I found a place where, by wading and 

 kneeling in the river on the shallow side, it 



