96 DAYS AND NIGHTS OF SALMON FISHING. 



proper material for fishing lines ; so the coachman, 

 who was much my friend, plucked Champion and 

 Duwyplin, at my request, and gave me as much hair 

 (black enough to be sure) as would make a dozen lines. 

 For three whole days did I twist and weave like the 

 Fates, and for three whole nights did I dream of my 

 work. Some rusty hooks I had originally in my pos- 

 session, which I found in an old fishing-book belonging 

 to my ancestors. In fact, I did not put the hook to 

 the rod and line/ but my rod and line to the hook. I 

 next proceeded to the pigeon-house, and picking some 

 coarse feathers, made what I alone in the wide world 

 would have thought it becoming to have called a fly ; 

 but call it so I did, in spite of contradictory evidence. 

 Thus equipped, I proceeded to try my skill ; but exert 

 myself as I would, the line had domestic qualities, and 

 was resolved to stay at home. I never could get it 

 fairly away from the hazel sticks ; therefore it was 

 that I hooked no fish. But I hooked myself three 

 times : once in the knee-strings of my shorts, once in 

 the nostril, and again in the lobe of the ear. At length, 

 after sundry days of fruitless effort, like an infant 

 Belial, I attempted that by guile which I could not do 

 by force ; and dropping the fly with my hand under a 

 steep bank of the stream, I walked up and down 

 trailing it along : after about a week's perseverance, 1 

 actually caught a trout. Shade of Izaak Walton, what 

 a triumph was there ! That day I could not eat, — 

 that night I slept not. Even now I recollect the spot 

 where that generous fish devoted himself. 



As I grew up I became gradually more expert, and 



