192 FISHING GOSSIP. 



of success, and a flash might cut the line too closely 

 for personal comfort, as happened once upon a time, 

 the angler had better not select what my Cheshire 

 friends call a "thunnery evening" for a night-angling 

 experiment. 



The hour, however, has at length arrived to de- 

 scend, rods and net in hand, to the lake. The moment 

 is accurately and gracefully defined by old Sam 

 Eogers. It is just when 



a Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green, 

 With magic tints to harmonise the scene," 



that this step in advance is to be taken. Our boat 

 awaits us in a little creek on the shore, and is simply 

 made fast to a submerged pine stump, which Pat, our 

 native "skipper" for the night, declares "must have 

 been growing long before Adam was a gossoon," a cor- 

 ruption probably of the French gar$on. Now, whether 

 Adam really passed through that interesting stage of 

 humanity referred to in Pat's remark may of course 

 be doubted, though Dr. Colenso's high authority is on 

 his side of the argument. 



But we are spared the necessity of philosophising 

 further " on our stump," for Pat has unloosed the 

 chain, and sent us and himself afloat amongst the 

 rustling reeds, whose gentle murmurs, so familiar to 

 the fisherman's ear, are certainly more agreeable to 

 listen to than the appalling discords of geology. 



