116 A MEDLEY OF SPOET 



I subsequently learned from the marsh bailiff that the 

 fleet was reputed to hold some very large pike ; this 

 determined me to have a day with them. I therefore 

 despatched a note to the vicar of the parish, who was a 

 good all-round sportsman, inviting him to fish with me 

 the next morning, and, as I had neither rods nor tackle 

 with me, I begged my reverend friend to bring a couple 

 of jack rods and spinning, or, failing that, the best pike 

 tackle he had. 



On the stroke of nine o'clock a.m. the good vicar rode 

 up to the quaint Georgian homestead, which formed 

 my headquarters, on a sturdy Welsh cob, carrying a 

 couple of rods carbine fashion and a goodly-sized creel 

 slung over his shoulders. 



" I haven't wetted a line for two years or so, and I 

 am afraid we shall find my old tackle more or less rotten 



and in a woeful tangle," said H , after getting the 



first — and, in my humble opinion, the best — pipe of the 

 day under way. 



The parson's angling equipment certainly was in a 

 woeful state of tangle, so much so, indeed, that a good 

 thirty minutes of precious time were wasted in un- 

 ravelling it. At length, however, a couple of huge 

 " spoons " fitted with trangular hooks, almost large 

 enough to have held a shark, were freed from the con- 

 fusion of gimp, gut, feathers and steel. These formid- 

 able lures having been burnished with a mixture com- 

 posed of cigar ash and paraffin, off we started across the 

 marshes, which were lightly silvered with the rime of the 



