200 AUGUST 



themselves on shallow sofas of water-crowfoot, 

 inviting a trial of cunning more subtle than their 

 own. 



How they hate man and every trace of him, those 

 precociously wise trout ! Let but incautious foot- 

 fall or gleam of varnished cane (why do we use 

 shiny rods ?) betray his presence, and how they fly ! 

 Not merely in terror, but with something that only 

 can be expressed by the Scottish word ' scunner ' 

 a mixture of hatred, fear, and loathing, such as we 

 feel for an unclean insect. Often you may see a 

 goodly fish taking fly after fly out of the mimic 

 fleet that floats above him, dimpling the surface in 

 a degree out of all proportions to his dimensions. 

 You deftly lodge your lure, a perfect image of the 

 natural insect, a yard and a half above him ; neatly 

 cocked, it swims in a right line to his lair ; he is de- 

 ceived, as well he may be, and quietly moves to 

 meet it; his jaws are on the point of parting to 

 admit it ; suddenly he wheels with tumultuous swirl 

 and darts away. You hear him distinctly exclaim, 

 ' Oh my Golly! look at the gut!' Other trout 

 again make no show of vulgar terror, but simply 

 cease rising, and efface themselves in convenient 

 sidings of weeds. 



