IV 

 A BRACE OF TENCH 



THE cooing of doves, the hum of bees, and 

 all the pageantry of high summer seem 

 somehow to be recalled by the word 

 " tench." Perhaps it is that this fish in- 

 vites meditation. During the hours, or it 

 may be days, that he has to wait for a bite, 

 even the most unobservant angler can hardly 

 fail to take note of his surroundings. And 

 so the doves and the bees gradually compel 

 a drowsy recognition ; the wonderful lights 

 and shades of a July noon first catch and 

 then arrest the eye; a discovery is made 

 that the sky glows with the blue of the 

 south, and that the water is a marvellous 

 and transparent brown ; moreover, the insect 

 world moves to and fro, a constant procession 

 of unending activity, and yonder emerald 

 dragon-fly is hovering above the crimson 



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