FIN AND FUR ON SURREY HILLS. TJ 



"What are you young fellows about?" one old 

 squire would say ; " fishing, eh ? " 



"Yes, sir." 



" That's all very well, but what kind of fish ? " 



" Perch, roach, dace, and gudgeon, sir." 



" Show me your baskets, and take your lines from 

 the water that I may see your baits. . . . Yes, yes, 

 quite right." 



We lifted our caps to him as he turned to go 

 again, — an act of politeness which the courteous old ■ 

 gentleman returned instantly in kind. 



" Let my trout alone — don't go where they are ; " 

 that was the only restriction he placed on our move- 

 ments. We respected it always, for we liked and 

 honoured him well. 



Dabchicks, or little grebes, bred in one spot, I 

 knew. The pool was not larger than a duck-pond, 

 but it was clear and deep, and full of fine green 

 weeds. I had never noticed any fish, particularly, 

 on account of the thickness of these. One evening 

 my companion was waiting for a shot at a dabchick 

 — ^we had come for other game — when a rise up in 

 the weeds made us put our guns quickly up to the 

 shoulder, thinking it was some water-bird diving; 



