THE MAYFLY IN HAMPSHIRE. 171 



it. He was a fish of a pound and a half, very 

 dark and thick looking, judging from his form 

 as he turned. 



I remember thinking of sacrificing a loose 

 mayfly, an artificial one, oiling it well and 

 allowing it to float down the same channel; but 

 the guilty look that the trout gave as he seized 

 the real fly and bolted, made me think he would 

 not be taken in. Instead of that, I spent the 

 next hour in trying to get at his holt from 

 below; holding on to willow bushes, that refused 

 to support any weight, while attempting to feel 

 a firm spot for the sole of one's foot. At last 

 by persisting in this I managed to do one thing 

 effectually, caught my fly in the top of the bush 

 and after dragging at it, left just half the cast 

 in the same place. 



Below me, still among almost unapproachable 

 mud and high rushes, there was another pool 

 in which I thought I heard a rise, so after 

 affixing a new length of gut and a fly, I threw 

 on chance over the rushes and heard it taken 

 by what was a lively trout of just under a 

 pound, who again had to be hauled through 

 mud and weeds in a degraded manner. 



That same evening, and the two following 

 ones, several fine fish were taken by other rods; 

 one of two pounds and three quarters which I 

 saw, as well as others which I did not. The 

 really large trout rarely appeared to give anyone 

 much chance until fully nine o'clock; so that 

 the only plan of perhaps securing a brace is to 

 take up a stand and remain immovable for half 



