A SUSSEX BROOK. 85 



In the fast gathering darkness I dropped 

 the fly, the same coachman, on the water, 

 and, with straining eyes, watched it float away 

 until it disappeared beneath the bushes. I 

 must confess the only result that I anticipated 

 was the loss of my fly, if not the cast 

 as well, and for some seconds I continued 

 to pay out line in fear and trembling 1 ., 

 Then, instead of the expected hitch, there came 

 the unexpected pluck at my rod-top, and it 

 was borne in upon me that, somewhere down 

 stream, I had really risen and hooked a fish. 

 To describe what followed would be to describe 

 what I never saw. It was like -playing a 

 fish blindfold. The darkness confused m)e, 

 and made me nervous lest I should do the 

 wrong thing. Once I felt the line slacken, 

 and heard a splash far away beneath the 

 bushes. I thought the end had come, but 

 the next instant the throbbing strain on my rod 

 reassured me. How I brought the fish up 

 into the eddy, caused by the meeting of the 

 waters, I have no very clear idea, neither 



