air, so that the fly shall be perfectly dry. Then the trout rises, and
in a moment the dry fly descends as lightly as a living insect, half a
foot above the ripple. Down it floats, the fisher watching with a
beating heart: then there is a ripple, then a splash; the rod bends
nearly double, the line flies out to the further bank, and the struggle
begins. The fight is by no means over, for the fish instinctively makes
for a bed of weeds, where he can entangle and break the line, while the
angler holds him as hard as he dares, and, if tackle be sound and luck
goes not contrary, the big trout is landed at last.

This is no trifling victory. Nay, a Kennet trout is far harder to catch
and kill than the capricious salmon, which will often take a fly, however
clumsy be the man who casts it. There is a profane theory that several
members of the Hungerford Club never catch the trout they pay so much to
have the privilege of trying to capture. A very sure eye and clever hand
are needed to make the fly light dry and neat so close above the fish
that he has not time to be alarmed by the gut. "Gut-shy" he is, and the
less he sees of it the better. Moreover, a wonderful temper is required,
for in the backward cast of the long line the hook will, ten to one,
catch in a tree, or a flower, or a straw, or a bit of hay, and then it
has to be disengaged by the angler crawling on hands and knees. Perhaps
a northern angler will never quite master the delicacy of this sport, nor
acquire the entomological knowledge which seems to be necessary, nor make
up his mind between the partisans of the light one-handed rod and the
double-handed rod.



AMATEUR AUTHORS.