THE THAMES. 49 



Sundays, conscientious scruples do not prevent my watching 

 with the keenest interest any sort of rod-work that comes 

 under my notice on the day of rest. The first train on 

 Sunday morning would bring down scores of rods, and most 

 amusing it was to watch the anglers disperse along the river- 

 side. 



In the course of a few Sundays' quiet observation of these 

 men, who mostly belonged to small angling clubs, I could 

 detect signs of un-Waltonian selfishness, for which I suspect 

 the club prize system — its abuse, not its use — is to a great 

 extent answerable. Some " brother of the angle," as you 

 might soon perceive, was stimulated by the hope of a prize 

 to excel honestly in the craft ; it sharpened his wits, and 

 put him upon his mettle. In others, on the contrar)', very 

 undesirable qualities were developed. They forgot that 

 though everything might be fair in love and war, in angling 

 there are certain rules not to be transgressed. Their one 

 desire was to bag fish — honestly if possible, but at all costs 

 to bag fish. 



The sportsman thus became, in the worst sense of the 

 term, a pot hunter. He leaped from the railway carriage 

 before the train stopped, panting to be first in the field. 

 One morning I saw a dozen young fellows racing as if for 

 dear life towards the meadows, foaming with rage at a dapper 

 little French polisher who outstripped them all. Just as the 

 peaceful church bells were calling the people to prayer, and 

 the musical chime floated across the waters to die away in 

 the magnificent woods rising grandly on the other side, a 

 regular fight took place between the competitors. Through- 

 out the day men tried to mislead and even to interfere with 

 «ach other's fishing, a miserable contrast to the ancient 



