A WEEK WITH HAMPSHIRE GRAYLING. 47 



oak, underneath whose sheltering branches it is sweet 

 to recline and smoke the pipe of peace and content- 

 ment after thrashing the river up from the hut, or 

 thrashing it down from the bridge. The Major, how- 

 ever, is not given to exhaust his strength in vain 

 thrashing; he does not care for the "chuck-and- 

 chance-it " method ; he prefers to wait on the bank 

 and watch for a rise ; and the more awkward the 

 place, the more it exercises his mind and his skill 

 to get over that rising fish; thus it is that with 

 untiring patience, a quick eye, and steady hand, he 

 gets his fly into holes, round corners, and under 

 banks, where I invariably get hung up. 



The sort of thing that pleases him and tries me, is 

 to see a big fish rise in deep slow water just under the 

 bank on one's own side, say twenty yards up stream 

 and with a strong wind blowing dead against that 

 bank the fish only a foot or two from the bank, and 

 against wind and tide your fly must ride steadily over 

 him, or it is no go. In nine cases out of ten the wind 

 carries my fly into the bank and fixes it there in root 

 or weed, and, of course, my grayling is put down. 

 Now, in nineteen cases out of twenty the Major's fly 

 goes merrily singing and cutting through the wind, 

 and drops just into that grayling's mouth, and the 

 grayling is put into the Major's basket : that is just 

 the difference between us ; in ordinary circumstances, 

 wind and weather being agreeable, I can throw very 

 well. Now I hear a splash. The Major gives a low 

 whistle. I look up, his rod is gracefully bending, 

 and a grayling comes fighting along till he rides 

 peacefully to grass, this time over a pound, so he 



