144 IN MEMORIAM. 
our destination, and commenced fishing about ten o'clock 
a.m.; it was cold work at first, until your fingers got used 
to it, but the fish were well on the feed, and that, in our 
eyes, made up for everything. Every now and then my 
companion’s cheery “ Holloa!” in the distance would an- 
nounce another addition to his basket, to which I in turn 
would respond. 
It is a most killing method of fishing for grayling during 
the winter months, that is for anyone who understands the 
habits of the fish, and who is impervious to the discomforts 
of the weather. 
And so the short winter day wore on, all too short to 
our minds ; darkness fast approaching compels us to desist 
and adjourn to the little country inn. We had tea there, 
and after a short rest in the chimney corner set off back on 
our seven miles walk, rendering the darkness cheerful with 
joke and song. I find on reference to my angling diary that 
on the day alluded to my cousin’s take was twenty-seven 
grayling. my own nineteen. 
Again, two years later, the scene this time, not the rip- 
pling trout stream in the April sunshine, or the bank of 
the river in its wintry garb, but the crowded railway station 
of a large manufacturing town. I can hear now the noise 
and bustle, the shouts of the porters, and the shrill whistles 
of the engines, and see my cousin’s handsome face looking 
earnestly into mine, as he pressed my hand in a last fare- 
well. Poor fellow! He thought, as many more have done, 
that he could better his position in a foreign land, and was 
then on his way to a seaport town to take ship to Australia, 
“T hope to come back some day, old fellow,” said he, “and 
have many a happy day with you in the old spots. Good- 
bye. Mind and write, telling me all the news. Good-bye.” 
The train moved away, he nodding a last farewell, and his 
face passed away from my view for ever in this world. 
I had several letters from him, and for a time he seemed 
