52 AN ANGLER'S LINES. 



we sought certain bends of the river sheltered 

 from the stiff breeze that swept down stream, 

 and I waited for the grayling to exhibit some 

 of the readiness that I had been led to expec't. 

 After two hours' abortive effort, and many a 

 change of fly, I acquitted them of any indecent 

 haste, and, resorting to an Alexandra, I fished 

 a long line down stretches of broken water. 

 Once, and once only, there came a pluck 

 followed by the vision of a spotted side, as a 

 trout leaped high in the air. A nice fish, 

 but, alas ! for me, it made the acquaintance of 

 the net a fortnight too late. My burst of 

 exultation on having seen a fish at all, was 

 drowned forthwith in a downpour of rain that 

 put an end to further attempts. Even with the 

 addition of my host's two undersized grayling, 

 the bag for the day was not overwhelming. 

 On Sunday the conditions for fishing were 

 perfect, and a stroll by the riverside revealed 

 many a tempting rise; but then, one does not 

 fish Costa on the Sabbath. My plans for the 

 next day had been conceived in a spirit of 



