192 TRAVEL, AD VENTURE, AND SPORT. 



embarked, and three hours' further poling brought us 

 to S.'s favourite pool, which, however, for some time 

 proved blank. But Salmo ferox is an individual of 

 sportsmanlike instincts, and whilst declining to bite 

 himself, he delegated the task to a myriad of sand flies, 

 black flies, red flies, mosquitoes, &c., who, as the day 

 declined, surrounded our canoes and assailed their 

 occupants. Xowell was too nasty (at least I imagine 

 so, for I didn't try) for even a mosquito to tackle ; and 

 S.'s skin was, he philosophically informed me, imper- 

 vious to any creature that flies. But my case was 

 different ; and I wish my worst enemy no greater 

 harm than an hour's exposure at sunset on the pool of 

 which I am writing. After half an hour's torture, 

 my " remains " turned to my host and remarked, " I'm 

 going ashore; I can stand this no longer." "Non- 

 sense," is the unsympathetic reply ; " you should take 

 no notice of them." Take no notice of them ! ! ! ! I 

 really feel unable to answer S., and, in despair, make 

 a last cast down the stream. A sullen splash follows 

 close to my fly. " By Jove, you've a rise, N. ! wait 

 a minute or two, and cast again." I do wait a minute 

 or two, and, like the tailor in the fairy tale, devote 

 the fleeting moments to summary vengeance on some 

 scores of my winged tormentors. " Seven at a blow," 

 indeed that was all very well for the mythological 

 snip ; but my motto might have stood at a far higher 

 figure. " Now's your time ; cast in the same place, 

 and let your fly float a minute or two." I obey orders, 



