FISHING GOSSIP. 105 



any of my excursions, and this turned out to be 

 the most disastrous of all. 



It was a beautiful little river I was fish- 

 ing, but I quite forget the name of it, and I 

 have not my map of Brittany by me to refer to. 

 The trout were fine here, and plenty of them. 

 Every now and then I would anchor my frail 

 bark and whip a likely piece of water. Whilst 

 so engaged, I observed a most extraordinary 

 commotion amongst the fish, which were flying 

 out of the water in all directions. I knew what 

 this meant, so placing myself behind, a boulder 

 of rock commanding a good position, I watched 

 patiently for the result. Presently a fine otter 

 made his appearance about sixty yards below 

 me with a trout. He was too far to fire at, so 

 I watched him with the fish, which he soon 

 finished, at least the best parts of it, and then 

 quietly toddled off into the water for another 

 supply. 



The instant he was down, with a sweep or 

 two of the paddle I placed myself in a much 

 better position. Drawing the cartridge from 

 my breech-loader, I put in a B.B. It was 

 some time before he appeared again, and when 



