CLEAR WATERS 



uncanny flies of commerce purchased in Oxford Street 

 or the Strand. What the dry-fly purist would say if 

 he lit upon a stray edition of this now scarce work I 

 cannot imagine. The author reserved, I remember, 

 one of his most keenly pointed shafts of ridicule for all 

 other landing-nets save those of the type above de- 

 scribed. They were all * cabbage nets,' which stamped 

 their bearers as past hope. He was as fine an angler 

 though, this old gentleman, as he was incompetent in 

 his professional capacity, though he had only one hand, 

 a condition which possibly accounted for his fiery and 

 uncompromising attitude towards landing-nets. Per- 

 haps circumstances had been too much for him, but the 

 grammar school died of an atrophy like so many 

 others in small places that had outlived their utility. 

 So possibly the pedagogic energy and scholarship of 

 this master-fisherman had never been put to the test. 

 Perhaps he had never been extended ! 



When I first knew the place the school bell used 

 still to ring the hours of work, and a stock local joke 

 warned the stranger lurking near to have a care lest 

 he should be borne down by the wild rush of one boy. 

 My friends had sat at his feet before they went to a 

 public school, at a more prosperous period when the 

 total number of boys, inclusive of themselves, ap- 

 proached double figures, and they had many funny 

 stories of the old man, for they were humorists as 

 well as fishermen. He was engaged on his angling 

 book at the period of their attendance, a task which 

 he used to pursue in school hours, delightfully obli- 

 vious to the progress or the discipline of his little class. 

 On one occasion during the time when he was more 

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