Tragic Fishing Moments 



just from the trenches on three days' furlough at the 

 rear of the lines and enjoying every single minute 

 of the brief time allotted me to spend as I pleased. 

 At this particular moment I was not fishing, but was 

 rather just at the close of a most successful hunting 

 expedition, as I sat there, cross-legged, on the soft 

 grass on the banks of the Marne, the soft breeze gently 

 caressing my nude body, eyes intent upon my out- 

 spread shirt across my knees, fingers busy with the 

 last rites of " shirt reading." 



Tiring at length of my labors, and once again yield- 

 ing to the whispered invitation of the wanton, soft- 

 bosomed river, I slipped from the bank into its wel- 

 coming embrace. Completely giving myself up to 

 the sensuous enjoyment of its gentle enfoldment, I 

 floated, swam and sprawled in the shallows, blissful 

 and at peace with all the world. Oh, the luxury of 

 sun-kissed water to the parched and irritated skin 

 deprived for week on end of aught but the poorest 

 makeshifts of common cleanliness! 



At last, realizing that the hour was late and that 

 I must soon wend my way back to the little canton- 

 ment where I was billeted, I let my body slip with 

 the current out from the little sheltered cove where 

 I had been so content, until I rounded the point into 

 the deeper, cooler waters of the pool below. 



I had but entered the quiet waters of this second 

 pool when a splash just at my face brought me up- 



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