220 FISHES I HAVE KNOWN 



" That mighty trench of Ih'ing stone 



Where Tees full many a fathom low, 

 Wears with his rage no common foe ; 

 For pebbly bank, nor sand-bank here, 

 Nor clay-mound checks his fierce career, 

 Condernn'd to mine a channell'd way, 

 O'er solid sheets of marble grey.'' 



I fished up-stream, my lure being, I believe, a 

 brown palmer or a dun (popular flies in the 

 district), and, although I conscientiously tried all 

 the likely looking rippled water, I got not a single 

 rise, yet the trout were plainly, too plainly, visible. 

 They did not seem at all shy, but rather bored at 

 my persistence as they watched the same fly float 

 down towards them time after time. 



The day was cloudless and very warm. How 

 deliciously cool the spotted beauties looked, skil- 

 fully sculling themselves against the current with 

 their transparent tails and fins! Presently it grew 

 dark, heavy clouds rolled up from the Yorkshire 

 moors and a smart shower came down. The trout 

 were instantly hungry, and I soon had half a dozen 

 sizeable ones in my basket. Then the sun shone 

 out, and the trout retired to contemplation and 

 repose. 



Now to surprise them ! Adopting an old device, 

 I whipped a delicate strip of something (which I 



