2 30 WATERSIDE SKETCHES. 



descending brooks that babble their business to the whole- 

 country side. The banks are not encumbered with trees ; 

 the angler perceives this and keeps in the background, for,, 

 as the Poet-Laureate truly warns us : — 



" If a man who stands upon the brink 

 But lift a shining hand against the sun, 

 There is not left the twinkle of a fin." 



The captain generously gave me the pick of the streams,, 

 and if he was generous I was grateful, and not at all dis- 

 inclined to take him at his word. Soon an amazing thing 

 happened : I hooked a trout, though the thin ice was. 

 crackling under the feet as I stood to play him — hooked, 

 played, and nearly lost him through the well-meant endea- 

 vours of a friend who was commissioned to put the net under 

 him. That which ends well, we are assured by ancient 

 proverb, is well, and it may save the reader some anxiety of 

 mind to tell him, by anticipation, that the trout was ultimately 

 ■ safely bagged. The captain stood in the stream and made 

 the welkin ring with laughter at our bungling. My volunteer 

 assistant was, physically, as fine a man as you would wish to- 

 see, and handsome in the bargain : at least, so the AVelsh 

 damsels told themselves, and — him. But the landing net 

 was not dreamt of in his philosophy, nor had his burly form 

 been framed for bending low over a steep bank. His 

 innocent but determined attempts to smite the fish off the 

 hook as soon as it came within range, his bewilderment 

 when requested in angry tones to sink the net, his beaming 

 pride when by a lucky accident the trout, escaping a vicious- 

 prod he had aimed at its head, ran into the net, were very 

 mirth-inspiring to the captain. And after all this fuss, 



