58 AN ANGLER'S LINES. 



matches that had flashed out their all too brief 

 existence. Even when, with the help of one of 

 stronger vitality, the pipe was duly kindled, he 

 was far from happy. A dry-fly enthusiast of the 

 deepest dye, and on this day wind and stream 

 had entered into an alliance whereby his 

 theories became inoperative. Hinc illae 

 lachrymae. A spiteful gust laid the split -cane 

 level with the grass and sped onwards, howling 

 with delight in the consciousness of something 

 attempted, something done. 



There was no help for it; the dry -fly, 

 together with the theories, must be buried in 

 the depths of the pocket, and yield pride of 

 place to an Alexandra, with a soldier palmer 

 for dropper. 



Personally, I was not on fishing bent ; 

 but, on the understanding that I effaced myself 

 as much as possible from fishy view, I was to 

 be permitted to follow the fortunes of the day. 

 Further, I was to be entrusted with the care of 

 the net (the bag containing his lunch, and 

 flask, he said he preferred to retain in his own 



