IN THE BEGINNING Et 
hutch. Anyhow, the confession has to be made, 
that in the youthful angler’s excitement of holding 
rod and line—“ just like a grown-up fisherman 
would!”’—and in the overwhelming desire to 
catch a fish, the ceremony of baiting the hook 
had on that glorious occasion been overlooked ! 
The elements of angling, however, gradually 
unfolded themselves, and, before long, daddy- 
ruffes—the great reward : at any rate bigger than 
jack-sharps—began to bite, and when struck were 
lifted quivering to the skies. Now and again 
a gudgeon was caught, That was all. But we 
were getting on, and never more was the baiting 
of the hook forgotten, 
Then, one summer evening just before bed- 
time, a wonderful sight was seen. A big brother 
and an angling friend, who had been for a day’s 
fishing on a preserved length of the Tern, returned 
home, with such a basket of—Trout! That was 
their name. Great big Trout—with lovely red 
spots and all gleaming underneath !_ How fascinat- 
ing they were! How I gazed and gazed! The 
impression then made was lasting and that youth- 
ful admiration for Trout has never gone from me, 
Rather have the years deepened it. Often, both in 
England and in South Africa, have I emptied my 
creel and turned the contents out on to the grass, 
just to look, and then have another look, at the 
trout. There is a certain fishmonger’s shop in 
Bond Street, where you may see the trout swim- 
ming about in a miniature aquarium, whose water 
is well oxygenated. That sight has always 
