110 AN ANGLER'S LINES. 



of small fry, through which the pike had 

 evidently dashed, the piscatory fountain indi- 

 cating the tyrant's course more effectually than 

 any pilot float could have done. The sun's 

 rays shone full on the sides of the terrified 

 fugitives, and they became scintillating 

 splashes of silver;. As we admired the 

 charming effect, the pike stopped .* Allowing 

 him sufficient time to turn the bait, I gathered 

 in the loose line. The strike, however, was 

 never made, for, at that instant, the float 

 abruptly reappeared on the water, and the line 

 came in with the gimp bitten through . as 

 evenly as though severed with a knife. The 

 shoal of small fish still had their enemy left 

 to, reckon with ! 



Now, a rousing nor'-wester may be " the 

 very thing " for pike, but the angler, after 

 three hours of continuous buffeting in an open 

 punt with cap jammed over ears and eyes 

 (my companion is a sight for the gods in a 

 hat tied down under his chin) when eating a 

 sandwich is a furtive and fearful operation and 



