CHAPTER I 



EARLY DAYS 



THE confession is, perhaps, ignominious; but for 

 some time after I first made the acquaintance of 

 the trout I pursued it with what the law calls 

 " engines." A set-line, a butterfly-net, a fishing 

 weir or " obstruction," a landing-net it is an unholy 

 progression from bad to worse. There is, however, 

 one sin which I have not upon my conscience, the 

 sin of tickling. Proudly I can assert that never in 

 all my days did I tickle a trout. In a lower tone, 

 if any one insists on the point, I may add that I 

 never succeeded in finding a trout that would abide 

 the preliminaries to the operation. The fault no 

 doubt was mine. But mine, also, is the honour. 

 I find in the Fly Fishers' Club and other centres of 

 efficiency that there is a certain distinction attaching 

 to the man who has never tickled a trout. That 

 he should have arrived at a fair comprehension of 

 the dry fly without this previous training in subtlety 

 is a somewhat notable thing. But he would never 

 do for a chairman at the annual dinner. He would 

 have nothing, or almost nothing, of which to repent 

 him with tears in his voice. 



