110 WHERE TO FISH. 



brings the cuckoo's welcome call to the angler 

 as he puts up his rod, and the green wood- 

 pecker's joyous laugh as he loses his first fish. 



When all the land is musical, ' the woods like 

 great cathedrals pillared with oaks, and roofed 

 with the sky, from which the birds sing like 

 hidden nuns in the green twilight of the leafy 

 cloisters.' 



During this time there is seldom much gained 

 by being too early. One can go down to the 

 bridge in slippers for an hour before breakfast, 

 without the rod, and make plans for the day 

 according to the wind and one's own inclination, 

 deferring the real start until ten or ten thirty. 



I used at one time to be bursting with 

 impatience; to hurry to the best runs and 

 meadows with the idea of getting ahead of other 

 fishermen, the result being that I found my 

 pleasure rather clouded by haste, and my sport 

 by bad casting or careless fishing. Fortunately 

 I have never aspired to being a first rate fly 

 fisherman, have no reputation to keep up, and 

 can be as philosophic as anyone over an empty 

 creel, without abating a jo.t of keenness or feeling 

 a tinge of ennui. 



There is no denying that angling is selfish in 

 all these particulars. To feel that you can 

 deposit your belongings under the hedge near 

 one pool while you move up to fish the other; 

 and can return to the first exactly when you 

 like with no fear of finding it occupied, con- 

 stitutes a satisfaction that all will understand. 

 The week-end visit from Friday to Tuesday 



