THE WHITE HORSE 67 



guerites (or moon-daisies), rattle-grass, ladies' 

 fingers, ragged robins, meadow-sweet, and a 

 thousand other pretty things all mingled together 

 to form a solace for old eyes and a soft carpet 

 for wearied feet. These pretty things, so en- 

 chanting to the eye, so sweet and alluring, 

 can hardly be looked on as unmixed blessings 

 for the angler a white daisy or yellow butter- 

 cup so easily picked up by your backward cast 

 as you are throwing over a rising fish is a 

 novel addition to a Dun or a May Fly not at all 

 attractive to your trout ; and if your hook once 

 lays hold of a stem of rye-grass or a sturdy old 

 dried thistle or hemlock, it generally remains 

 there. These, however, are but passing troubles. 

 I sat me down one lovely morning sub teg- 

 mine fagi (though mine was a willow, not a 

 beech), the river running slowly over a rather 

 shallow bed just in front of me and under a 

 wood on the other side, for the purpose of 

 watching the performances of a fine trout, i Ib. 

 5 oz. in weight I had caught his brother a day 

 or two before, so I know. I sat there, pleasantly 

 shaded from the hot sun, for three-quarters of 

 an hour, watching that pretty trout. His head- 

 quarters, for predatory purposes, were out in 



