l6 THE SONG OF THE REEL. 



of an oak-tree, mistook my tiny artificial fly, fished dry, for the real 

 thing. But the tale is too painful to dwell upon : for, after leviathan 

 had flung his three and a half pounds of prime trout-flesh high 

 above the placid surface of the dam and had fought a stubborn 

 battle, there came that inexpressibly sickening sensation that syn- 

 chronises with a sudden slackening of the line. 



No dull moments marred my sojourn amid the leafy dells of 

 that pleasant country, where the swifts and swallows went scream- 

 ing overhead, where turtle-doves cooed softly and brown owls hooted 

 in the night woods. On my last visit, the old mill-wheel stood idle, 

 but the little brook still flowed serenely through the sun-kissed, 

 flowery meadows of Arcadia. 



