i AT DAWN OF DAY 15 



A strike, a rush, and then alack, a shotless, 

 bookless line is fluttering in the air ! It is 

 not every man, if indeed any, that can 

 capture logger-headed chub on a single hair, 

 because his rush is as the rush of a bull, and 

 cannot be checked. 



This line must be repaired ; the other 

 still lies untouched, for the bait is no meat 

 for little fish, and great fish are slow and hard 

 to entice. The hair-line is soon made 

 whole again, but only to meet with fresh 

 misfortune. The float disappears, and a 

 fish is hooked. It moves deliberately about, 

 much as though it were a log of wood 

 suddenly instilled with life. Long the 

 angler humours it and fondly hopes to have 

 obtained the mastery, but presently the fish 

 makes slowly but irresistibly for the middle 

 of the river. Its opponent can only hold 

 on, for he has no running line, and it avails 

 him nothing. The line again parts, and he 

 is desolate ; for such are the ways of great 

 bream. This is a sad misfortune, for, if we 

 mistake not, he is now gone with bitter 

 complainings to his kinsmen, and they will 

 take warning and refrain from the deceitful 

 feast. And indeed the angler catches 



