FISHING AND SHOOTING, 
station, and, having secured comfortable quarters at 
the hotel, be unpacks his gun and fishing-rod. It is 
well on in August, grouse shooting had commenced, 
and he had taken care to provide himself with a 
shooting license, although he did grumble, j^et still he 
was told it was the law. On making inquiry about 
shooting grounds, he was told, if he had not rented 
a shooting, he must obtain leave from the landed 
proprietors, or their representative. As for renting 
a shooting, such was far beyond his pecuniary means, 
and how could he obtain leave when he knew no 
one, so under these explanations his gun w’as tossed 
aside as useless, under present circumstances. He 
could see some fine rivers and streams all about, which 
he was told were all full of fine trout. Yes, he 
would try his hand at fishing. He used to fish ever 
so long ago, when a boy ; he would try his hand 
at it again. So, having provirled himself with fishing 
tackle, and after a night’s rain, when the streams are 
rolling down, of an earthy colour, turbid and tossing, 
and the sky abov^e with a leaden hue, in full fishing 
rig-out he sallies forth, on to the small beaten foot- 
way, winding through the grass, along the edge of 
the stream. A few casts are made, the fish rise well, 
and, what is very satisfactory, are well hooked and 
landed. His fishing basket is fast getting filled. On 
and onward he goes, completely unconscious that some 
one is watching him on the top of a knoll, not very 
far off. After a short time, the man who seemed so 
intent on watching the progress of the fisher sharply 
discends the hill, walks up to our friend, touches 
his hat, saying, “Beg pardon, sir, but I suppose you 
have leave from the proprietor, which he always give, 
in writing ; kindly show me your permission.’’ Our 
friend looks round, and sees a stout thickset man, 
dressed in drab gaiters and moleskin jacket, a short 
gun under Ids arm, and at his heels half-a-dozen rough 
ugly-looking terrier dogs. He asks him as to what 
his rights are for questioning, and is curtly told “I 
am one of the keepers, and my duties are to see that 
no trespassing or poaching goes on. But I suppose, 
sir, it ’s all right with you, only I must see your lines ; 
it’s the master’s instructions.” Our friend begins 
to feel rather discomposed, and is obliged to admit 
that he has no leave, either written or verbal. “ In 
that case,” says the stout thickset man, “I must 
walk you off the grounds,” at the same time opening 
the fishing basket, and transferring its contents to his 
own capacious pockets. “Now, sir, if you please, 
address.” His card was handed as at present residing 
at the Cross Keys hotel in the village. Our friend 
was longing about, at a loss what to do with himself, 
