OF THE FRIENDSHIP OF THE RIVER 19 



surface. How they tug and bore ! What 

 lengths of the bank we cover and cover as we 

 follow those mighty fishes down the water to 

 net them at last where the deep thins to the 

 broad, gravelly shallow! Or is our fancy for 

 some particular fish, that yellow monster that 

 we got on the half-volley at our very feet as he 

 came sulkily down to us, scared by the fish that 

 we had pricked, the mighty trout that was looking 

 into our eye as we flung the badger hackle at him, 

 the golden giant that we hoped only to hasten, 

 the colossus that we could hardly get into the 

 net the greatest trout? Do we care to live 

 again through the marvellous moment of his 

 rising? It is just as we please. Or there is 

 the big fellow in the shallow, jungly backwater, 

 that ran straight into a little patch of weed (a 

 willow just above, an ash just below), and the rod 

 being stoutly held up, splashed his way to the top, 

 and so lay on his side, his head out of water, and 

 taught us a new wrinkle for managing a weeded fish 

 by holding him thus until he expires of asphyxia- 

 tion. What though the wrinkle has never been 

 used again ? What though the odds against the 

 possibility of its employment are 20,000 to 1 ? 

 Let us warm ourselves in the glow of our own 

 self-esteem, that we were able to realise the master- 

 liness of inactivity, and so, ultimately, wade in and 



