LATE OCTOBER GRAYLING FISHING. 245 



what the eye does not see. Grayling may dote 

 on gentles of course, as a nice looking girl may 

 on stout or onions, but there are times when it 

 is not pleasant to think of. During the next 

 three days I had very similar sport, including 

 one grayling which I shall always remember 

 with apprehension. It was at the extreme upper 

 boundary of our water, where a small ditch and 

 post marks the line across which we must not 

 step. Needless to say, I ended by leaning 

 against the post and gazing upstream, like 

 the donkey in Bewick's woodcut who thinks the 

 grass on the other side of the hurdles is better 

 than his own field. Close under the steep bank 

 there was a rise. A bubble floating down 

 suggested a feeding fish. 



However, one or two rising below me looked 

 equally attractive; so I dropped back and cast 

 for them, getting two or three but none of any 

 size. For a long time I tried to break myself 

 of the idea of casting into water above our 

 boundary, arguing jesuitically that so long as 

 my feet were not trespassing there was nothing 

 illegal in it. Strictly speaking (I murmured) 

 the law does not allow a man, who owns one 

 bank, to throw for fish beyond the middle of the 

 stream; yet everybody makes a speciality of the 

 opposite bank whenever and wherever he fishes. 



Once again I was up with my hip against 

 the post; and again a large dark fin broke the 

 surface but so high up that it seemed quite out 

 of casting distance. That of course decided it. 

 Vanity and the devil conquered. If the fly 



