HOOKING MY FIRST SALMON. 35 



are the sporting attendants of the unhappy Cockney ! 

 He must consort with '' bacon-fed knaves," be the 

 companion of your brawny, jolter-headed, porter- 

 swollen waterman, who in sulky silence paddles his 

 employer into some phlegmatic pool, where the disciple 

 of Walton is secure of the lumbago, but by no means 

 certain of a sprat. 



In truth, I am half ashamed of myself : I came here 

 loaded with rods, flies and baskets, with the *' thousand 

 and one " nameless et cetera furnished from a city 

 tackle-shop, in their uses and appearance various as the 

 cargo of the ark. When I displayed yesterday this 

 accumulation of " engines and cunning devices,'* my 

 cousin burst into a roar of laughter, and inquired if I 

 intended to annihilate the fishery ? Then, turning, 

 leaf by leaf, three immense fly-books over, he praised 

 the pretty feathers, commended the brightness of the 

 tinsel, and good-naturedly assured me that this rich 

 assemblage did not possess a fly of the value of one 

 farthing. I fear his verdict was a true one ; I have 

 tried two days consecutively and never hooked a fish. 

 But no, the water was too low, the wind too high, or 

 something was amiss, for I have the best flies procurable 

 in the best shop in London. 



The storm terminated, as summer gales do, in a heavy 

 fall of rain. Although the wears are raised to intercept 

 the passage of the fish from the sea, the late freshes, 

 joined to a spring tide, have enabled both trout and 

 salmon to overleap the barrier and fill the pools above 

 it. Want of success had damped my ardour for pisca- 

 tion ; and, besides, I had involved myself in a most 

 amusing article in Blackwood, and felt an unwiUingness 

 to lay aside the book. At this moment of indecision 



