loo ANGLING SKETCHES 



at last, I fancied ; but it was not so — far from it. I 

 might throw over the very noses of the beasts, but 

 they seldom even glanced at the (artificial) fly. I 

 tried them with Greenwell's Glory, with a March 

 brown, with ' the woodcock wing and hare-lug,' but 

 it was almost to no purpose. If one did raise a 

 fish, he meant not business — all but ' a casual brute,' 

 which broke the already weakened part of a small 

 ' glued-up ' cane rod. I had to twist a piece of 

 paper round the broken end, wet it, and push it into 

 the joint, where it hung on somehow, but was not 

 pleasant to cast with. From twelve to half-past 

 one the gorging went merrily forward, and I saw 

 what the fish were rising at. The whole surface of 

 the loch, at least on the east side, was absolutely 

 peppered with large, hideous insects. They had 

 big grey-white wings, bodies black as night, and 

 brilliant crimson legs, or feelers, or whatever natural- 

 ists call them. The trout seemed as if they could 

 not have too much of these abominable wretches, 

 and the flies were blown across the loch, not singly, 

 but in populous groups. I had never seen any- 

 thing like them in any hook-book, nor could I 



