WITH ROD AND LINE 227 



near St Albans, a large Pike darted at my float, evidently mis- 

 judging it for something far more appetising than a ball of painted 

 cork. These pondyards were, it is interesting to note, made by 

 Sir Francis Bacon, after he became Lord Chancellor in 1618, 

 when he built a third house close by, called Verulam House. 

 Nothing remains of this third house except a portion of the 

 servants' quarters. The present mansion of Gorhambury is 

 the fourth house built on the estate. 



I have caught fine fish in the old fish-pool of the monastery 

 at St Albans, and the historical associations of the spot made 

 such an excursion as memorable as the finny tribe which I lured 

 to their doom. 



Those patient hours by the water's side among birds, beasts, 

 insects, and flowers were not ill-spent, even if fish were few. 

 They were not idle hours. Some fresh sight, or sound, was always 

 to be recorded, and enforced patience in those angling days 

 served as a capital apprenticeship for more observant and blood- 

 less vigils in the years to follow. 



I have fished on a broiling hot day in July (shall I ever forget 

 Diamond Jubilee Day, 1897 ?), when lo ! I have toiled all day and 

 caught nothing, and I have set out on an expedition when it 

 was raining in torrents, and it has never ceased the whole day 

 through. I have angled in fair weather and foul, and have always 

 gone forth with a strong will, and a light heart, at the prospect 

 of another full day in the heart of rural England. 



I have many a time been by the water's edge long before the 

 overnight dew had left the lush meadows, and the water was 

 gin-bright at the rising of the sun. A scorching hot day followed, 

 and sport was poor. I have arrived at a favourite fishing ground 

 when a heavy thunderstorm has suddenly rent the heavens. 

 Torrential rain has poured down, and, in the course of an hour, I 

 have watched the river rising until it overflowed its banks, and 

 the low-lying ground was flooded for several acres. Fishing 

 under such conditions is out of the question, and I remember we 

 used to sit on a certain eminence and watch the haycocks float- 

 ing down stream, and the Water Voles, which, driven from their 

 tunnels in the banks, had to swim to land for safety. It was 

 an attractive sight to watch these delightful little mammals 

 coming towards the hedgerow, bordering the hill upon whicn 

 we were seated, and compensated at least one juvenile member 

 of the party for the lack of opportunity of going a -fishing. 



I have caught Dace up to one pound in weight, and this may be 



