ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIRE LAKE. 105 



There was no doubt about the wind. 

 a rough, blustering, nor'-wester. It roared, 

 amongst the leafless branches of the trees, 

 which bent beneath its fury, and swept the 

 surface of the water, where wave after wave 

 gave evidence of its mad embrace. Moreover, 

 there was a spiteful touch of cold about it 

 which, now and again, broke through the 

 the defence of a top-coat. Wind, clear sky, 

 plenteous sunshine; ideal conditions for live- 

 baiting for pike. Such was my thought, as 

 our respective floats danced and curtsied to 

 the waves which lapped incessantly against the 

 side of the punt. I, at least, had no complaint 

 to make of lack of sport, for the first, second, 

 third, and fourth fish, each exceeding 6 lb., 

 had fallen to my rod and been consigned to 

 the well. As a beginning, 26 lb., all within 

 a quarter of an hour, was distinctly auspicious. 

 But my companion, strange to say, had not 

 been so blessed, and, while I was thus em- 

 ployed, not one fish had come his way. My 

 good fortune appearing to have ceased, we 



