FLY FISHING FOR TROUT AND GRAYLING. 167 



to point out. It was about the middle of April, the 

 morning clear and keen, the night preceding had been 

 dry and frosty. Before noon myriads of flies were out, 

 whirling in ceaseless activity in the warm rays of the 

 sun. We had been casting in a pre-occupied sort of way 

 up to this time, occasionally creeling a small fish, and 

 now and then imparting come little practical hint to a 

 companion under our tuition. Now that the flies were 

 numerous, the fish turned out to feed, and our lethargy 

 was shaken off in the anticipation of a consequent change. 

 During the half hour ensuing, we had experienced ex- 

 ceptionally good sport, and whilst thus busily engaged 

 the old keeper came down stream, opened conversation 

 upon fish, fishing, etc., and seemed in no hurry to de- 

 prive us of the benefit of his attendance. 



"Where does the best of your fish lie, keeper?" we 

 inquired after a time. 



" Oh, up by the bridge yonder, there's as nice a lot o' 

 fish there as anywhere i' tli' river." 



"How far is it up stream from here?" queries our 

 companion. 



" Better than two miles, sir; you can do it in twenty 

 minutes or thereabouts." 



Having no special desire to test the accuracy of this 

 statement, we ultimately agreed to fish up. After the 

 lapse of about an hour or so, we arrived upon the spot 

 indicated, in company with the keeper. Here, for about 

 a stone's throw from the bridge, were dense masses of 

 weeds, through which the water passed in narrow chan- 

 nels. The position was not favorable, there being in the 

 immediate background a display of evergreen shrubs, 

 etc., which looked ill for the safety of the tackle. 

 " Well, here we are at last," exclaims our pupil. 



" Yes, gentlemen," put in the old man, "there's any 

 amount o' fish in, but plague take um, nobody can get 

 um out; the best fisherman we have canner manage um." 



