120 



THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 



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gravel, in the clear runs between the weeds, a dozen 

 or more fine roach, their heads up the stream, and 

 with gently swaying tails, They look dull-brown 

 objects as they now swim, but every now and then 

 there is a sudden gleam in the water as one of them 

 darts aside to seize some speck of food, and shows 

 his shining flank. We approach the sedgy margin 

 silently and carefully, and, crouching down on one 

 knee, we throw our line lightly up-stream, and 

 watch the white bit of paste as it sinks slowly down, 

 until, supported by the float, it glides along, at the 

 right depth, towards the noses of the eagerly gazing 

 roach. The first one, who is nearly two pounds in 

 weight, sails up to it, and then drops backward 

 down-stream, keeping his mouth just an inch below 

 the bait, and examining it suspiciously. It is a 

 moment of anxious suspense. Will he, or will he 

 not, take it ? No ! he is too cautious. He does 

 not feel quite sure about it, and so he turns aside 

 and lets it pass. Then it floats right on to the nose 

 of a pounder, and he just sucks it nonchalantly in. 

 We strike, and he is hooked, and gamely struggling 

 to reach the weeds, but his fate is sealed, and we 

 lead him into our landing-net, whence he is trans- 

 ferred into our basket. 



When we next cast in, the big roach again goes 

 up to it, but this time he turns tail in great alarm, 

 and darts down-stream and into a bed of weeds. 

 But a half-pound fish lower down rushes in 

 where the wise roach feared to tread, and is duly 



