96 HUNTING FOR FISHING 



fault with my little excursion ; indeed, I en- 

 joyed it immensely. Fleet Street and its grim 

 realities never once obtruded upon and marred 

 the fair scenes about me. 



One day I was waiting for ten minutes at a 

 station close to the river; down there was a 

 tall, white-bearded old gentleman in long black 

 waders fly-fishing for what ? I had been told 

 that trout were there and were caught in any 

 quantities. I saw this old fellow catch a fish 

 five inches long, and I expected to see him put 

 it back not a bit of it ; it went into his bag, 

 and then another and another, and so the game 

 was going on till my train left. What was he 

 pocketing? Why, young salmon fingerlings, 

 samlets, or whatever they may be called. I had 

 myself caught many of these little chaps, which 

 I regarded as a nuisance and threw them back. 

 I am told these samlets make a delicious fry ; 

 but is it legal to bag them ? 



On another occasion we painfully lifted our 

 good old invalid into his pony-trap, and I took 

 him for a long drive through the pleasant roads 

 and lanes of the neighbourhood ; it afforded us 

 an opportunity of almost realizing one of his 

 own tragic stories. I was driving leisurely up 



