156 THE MAYFLY. 



looked in vain for the mayfly, which I was 

 told might appear between eleven and twelve 

 o'clock. It was impossible to find any turn or 

 curve in the bank where the water was quieter, 

 so after two hours of waiting in the driving 

 rain, I speared my rod in the rushes, stood in 

 its shelter, and shivered. Later in the after- 

 noon a few mayflies could be seen, carried 

 along in midstream like dead leaves in October, 

 but no attempt at a rise broke the surface. 



As a matter of fact, even in favourable 

 weather, trout are rather chary at making such 

 a mouthful as a mayfly appears to them ; but 

 after the first day or two they put this feeling 

 aside, and only temper their extreme greediness 

 by an aggravating caution as to how, when, 

 and where they shall indulge themselves. It 

 was three days before I saw a mayfly taken 

 perhaps by a smallish grayling and although 

 I thrashed different patterns over the place he 

 never rose again. 



Not only did I not catch a trout, but neither 

 did anyone else on that part of the river. 

 However it is no use dilating upon so chilling 

 an experience, excepting just to show that those 

 who use rosy-hued ink in describing their 

 holiday sport have had, like many better men, 

 to go through the mill of adverse conditions 

 during a previous season. 



It is the enthusiasm engendered by certain 

 matchless half hours that prompts us to spend 

 half days, or even half weeks, by river banks 

 under almost hopeless circumstances. 



