CLEAR WATERS 



thing like the same amount of fishing on the chalk 

 streams in the old wet-fly days, and what there had 

 been was, I fancy, mainly local. 



At any rate whenever on a Wiltshire stream after 

 this I always followed the dry fly scrupulously and to 

 the best of my very moderate ability. Sometimes, 

 to be sure, if I couldn't beguile a rising fish with the 

 orthodox presentation I have given him a wet fly and 

 got him. But that was the fish's look out. He was 

 supposed to be in a sufficiently advanced stage of 

 education as to be above taking a wet fly, so it was 

 high time he was superannuated. Once, on an odd 

 day in September, kindly conceded me on the sacred 

 waters of the Wilton Club, upon the Wylie, I killed, 

 I blush to say, four rising graylings, one after the other, 

 with a wet fly, though not until in each case I had 

 presented it dry and tastily at least a score of times to 

 each without avail. This preliminary was only due, 

 as a mere matter of common courtesy, to a corporation 

 whose privileges I was enjoying. For the man who 

 would deliberately fish the Wylie Club water with 

 a wet fly would probably shoot a fox. I have read 

 of such men in what may be called the criminal 

 columns of the sporting papers, and felt glad that I 

 did not stand in their shoes. The four graylings 

 weighed nearly seven pounds and were far the largest 

 sequence of that graceful fish that have ever fallen to 

 my rod. This, no doubt, because I have scarcely 

 ever fished for chalk-stream grayling, and the other 

 sort with which I am on easy terms don't weigh up 

 like that. 



But in regard to fish refusing a quite nicely cooked 

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