A LAY OF THE LEA. 201 



Out come reel and tackle 

 Out come midge and hackle 

 Length of gut like gossamer, on the south wind 

 streaming 



And brace of palmers fine, 

 As ever decked a line, 



Dubbed with herl, and ribbed with gold, in the sun- 

 light gleaming. 



Bobbing 'neath the bushes, 



Crouched among the rushes, 



On the rights of crown and state, I'm, alas ! encroach- 

 ing 



What of that? I know 



My creel will soon o'erflow, 

 If a certain Cerberus * do not spoil my poaching. 



* Does any one of my readers happen to remember the Cerberus 

 in question, Tim Bates, the guardian of the Crown waters, at 

 Walthani Abbey, some five-and-twenty years ago the omni- 

 present, the incorruptible Tim Bates, whom no expostulation could 

 move, no entreaty melt, and who was even impervious to half- 

 crowns ? This unwinking worthy, one of the betes noires of my 

 angling boyhood, spoiled me many a day's sport by his untimely 

 apparition ; and I confess to a feeling of heathenish satisfaction, on 

 hearing of the Lea's ingratitude, and how, unlike Tiber in the case 

 of Horatius, it did not "bear up" Tim Bates's "chin," when he 

 slipped into its depth, with mortal result, one foggy night or 

 morning. 



Chatto mentions him in his Angler's Souvenir, and celebrates 

 his "lynx eyes." 



