220 IN THE ISIS VALLEY 



demanded in any measure : all these qualities are 

 brought into play in taking bumble-bees. The snap- 

 dragons in the garden yielded some bumbles, and I 

 presently attacked the less noble game, the chub, who 

 were lying above in the Pixies' Pool, greedy but sus- 

 picious. In order to keep out of sight, I thrust my 

 rod between the sides of a cleft willow, and made my 

 bee play upon the water. After a few shy rises, a 

 monster chub came slowly from the bottom, swallowed 

 the bee, and whisked down again. We had a violent 

 struggle for a minute, complicated by the awkward 

 position of my rod. Soon, however, he came exhausted 

 to the surface, and, passing the butt of my rod round 

 the willow, I landed him. "Stuff him with pickled 

 oysters," says Izaak Walton, " and baste him well with 

 claret wine, and you shall find him choicely good 

 meat." I doubt it, and doubt equally whether it is 

 worth while to experiment with Izaak's recipe. 



In the summer of 1893 the Upper Isis was almost 

 vanquished by the sun. All its outlying streams were 

 sucked dry. The long drought and heats burnt every 

 meadow brown, and the foliage of the hedgerows were 

 gnawed and bruised by the hungry cattle. Even the 

 main streams and river were invaded, and not only the 

 rushes and sedge upon the banks, but the water-lilies 

 and arrowheads in the running water were browsed and 

 cropped level by horses and oxen. Next year came the 

 turn of the river and the land. The latter had drunk 

 seven months of sun, and the summer rains of the next 

 season brought the vegetation into life with almost 



