AND HOW I HAVE CAUGHT MY FISH 195 



cold winds, where you may imagine yourself by 

 Thames side. 



The fascinations of Glen Lyon in mid-winter 

 are manifold, even when the year is but fifteen days 

 old, and the river, with its quickly varying moods 

 from lowest level to its highest flood, is a study in 

 transformation scenes. A nip of frost and you may 

 see its fall, while an hour of sunshine will bring 

 water that will cause the fish to move a pool or two, 

 and then sport should be yours. Oh, yes, I love 

 the Lyon in winter almost as much as in summer- 

 time ! 



Jan. 15 in each year is a date of considerable 

 moment to the winter salmon-fisher, who begins to 

 feel its approach before Christmas. A spoken 

 word, or a written line, to the man who has for long 

 years suffered from the insidious malady known as 

 spring salmon fever and the contagion spreads, the 

 spell begins to work, and the sooner Jan 15 comes 

 the better for all concerned. 



Of course, it was my old companion, " A. C. J.," 

 who gave it to me this year; he denies it, and 

 maintains that it was " P.," who in turn says it was 

 " W."; no matter, we all confessed that we had it 

 badly when we met at Euston. 



For happy faces, cheery expectations and joyous 

 talk, you should take a seat in the smoking saloon 

 of a sleeping-car of the 8 P.M. from Euston on 

 Jan. 14. Old fogies all your pardon, sirs but with 

 a zest of life which is often erroneously considered as 



O 2 



