14 THE SONG OF THE REEL. 



the reel held a fine but strong silk line, and a single hook was 

 preferred to the " Stewart " or " Pennell " tackle. A small piece of 

 dry wood, about i^-in. in length, served as a float, but for most 

 of the streams no " tell-tale " at all was necessary. This substi- 

 tute for a float was picked up on the bank and slightly split with a 

 knife, so that it might be fixed to the line. 



My visit to Arcadia was one long round of easeful happiness. 

 Merry May is the most delightful month of the calendar a month 

 distinguished by the song of the nightingale, the call of the cuckoo, 

 and the fragrance of the hawthorn. Butterflies are again on the 

 wing ; birds are making their homes and pouring forth their fervent 

 love-songs. Wild flowers exhibit so extravagant a variety of 

 colours that this period of the year must indeed rank as a for- 

 midable rival of fiery autumn, and every tree bears an opulence of 

 new foliage, imparting to the landscape a touch of sweetness and 

 rejuvenescence which, beneath a cloudless sky, renders May a month 

 of ineffable charm. 



Armed with the equipment I have described, I strolled each 

 morning through the flower-bespangled meadows, past golden 

 patches of marsh-marigolds, to where the waters of the brook ran 

 clear and cool beneath their canopy of leaves. Pushing my way in 

 between the bushes, I cast the baited hook into the haunts of the 

 trout some spots were unproductive, whilst others were rich in 

 lusty half-pounders. 



The miller's son a bright lad of twelve summers was never 

 happier than when acting as my attendant, guide and friend. He 

 loved to carry the landing-net and wander with me by the brook. 

 Those people who lived in the vicinity of Mount Cyllene, and wor- 

 shipped Diana and Pan, were never noted for their intellectual 

 capacity. In truth, an " Arcadian youth " was a synonym for a 

 dolt. But the lad of my Arcadia was not so lacking in understand- 

 ing. He talked of fish and knew where the big trout dwelt. Birds, 

 beasts, trees and flowers all had some interest for him. As keen as 

 the proverbial mustard, he was a rare companion during a long day 

 with the rod. When sport was bad, he was ever hopeful and 



