SPRING AND SUMMER RAMBLES. 39 



if the catching of fish was the only pleasure to be 

 derived from going a-fishing, I for one should neces- 

 sarily soon get tired of it. Is there nothing, then, in 

 the pleasant exercise of casting your fly over the water 

 and watching it float upright and steadily over a rising 

 fish, even if that educated sharp-eyed trout or grayling 

 scorns to be beguiled by it ? "The barbed betrayer," 

 will not always " betray," even when cast by the 

 most cunning hand ; were it not so, where is the trout 

 stream in this beautiful island of ours that would not 

 soon be denuded of its finest fish ? 



Is there nothing in the lovely surroundings of a 

 pleasant river ? " The barbed betrayer " is sometimes 

 guilty of a worse deed than even betraying a lusty 

 trout or grayling. The other day as I was crossing a 

 plank bridge over a stream, and gently swaying my 

 fly in the air, I felt a sudden tug and there, betrayed 

 by this perfect resemblance of an insect, was a poor 

 little sand-martin, struggling and fluttering and terribly 

 frightened. Evidently its quick little eye had dis- 

 covered its mistake but too late for it had not 

 swallowed the fly after all, but it had come too near, 

 and the hook had caught it just in the joint of its 

 wing. I had a terrible job to get that nasty hook out 

 without causing more pain than was necessary. When 

 at last I had succeeded, it lay for a moment on the 

 palm of my hand, its eyelids covering the eyes, and 

 quivering as if all but dead. I pitied and patted and 

 caressed it, and when I opened my hand again it flew 

 off as if nothing was the matter. I was delighted, for 

 I was afraid the wing was broken or injured enough 

 to prevent its flying. 



