SPORT AMONGST THE MOUNTAINS 



By " Sarcelle " 



It is a gloriously bright, glowing autumn morning, 

 a light breeze ruffles the clear, blue surface of the 

 Atlantic, or rather of a little bay thereof, which 

 lies in a pretty setting of hills and mountains just 

 in front of the window whereat I am writing, 

 beyond the hydrangeas and fuchsias of the garden 

 and an intervening stretch of marshland, home of 

 many a snipe and duck. As the day is bright, and 

 the water in the river low, there is but little chance 

 of hooking either salmon or trout before evening ; 

 therefore, instead of " dropping a line " to those 

 finny aristocrats, I will endeavour to '' improve the 

 shining hour " by writing a few lines about them, 

 and their " followers." 



Truly a fitting room is this in which to write of 

 matters piscatorial — ay, of sport in general. In a 

 corner, just two feet to the left of me, are my two 

 beloved rods, a trout fly-rod and a troUing-rod ; by 

 the opposite end of the fire-place repose a handsome 



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