NOTES FROM A DIARY 139 



the river you mount your fattest " grillon " 

 on thickest gut, and drop him gently 

 beyond the alder-bush ; crouching, you 

 wait while " grillon " kicks upon the hazy 

 surface — each kick may be the last. 

 Sooner or later, sure as fate, there comes 

 the inevitable swirling snap. You meet 

 the monster face to face. ... I only 

 write from hearsay— not being an enthu- 

 siast in early rising — yet I have seen and 

 w^ghed these trout over my morning 

 coffee. Possibly the daybreak grasshopper 

 might be found useful on some of our 

 English waters. " Grillon " might kill 

 our great lean cannibals, those who shun 

 all kinds of fly, and are impervious to even 

 worms and minnows. True, this is no 

 deed for the exalted purist, and yet a few 

 words in season to a sagacious keeper 

 might work prodigies before the mists had 

 left the meadows. 



Juli) 10th. . . . Weeds tiresome. . . . 



This I remember was a splendid day, 

 the water in "perfect condition, and the 

 trout behaving in a most exemplary 

 manner. In short, the fish were feeding 

 in that normal way which we fishers 



