of ever getting his fish ashore, fighting a losing battle with infinite
courage, determined that the trout shall remember him, at all events,
if he does get away. And the trout, furious and indignant, but not in
the least frightened, trying vainly to get back to the old root. Was
there ever such a fish?

But the Major is the best man, for after ten minutes troutie is towed
up on his side to a convenient shallow, and the Vicar puts on his
spectacles to see him brought ashore. He scientifically pokes him in
the flank, and spans him across the back, and pronounces EX CATHEDRA--

"You'll find, sir, there won't be a finer fish, take him all in all,
killed in the parish this season."

"Ah, it's a noble sport," says the Major. "I shan't get much more of
it, I'm afraid."

"Why shouldn't you?"

"Well, I'll tell you," says the Major. "Do you know how much property I
have got?"

"No, indeed."

"I have only ten thousand pounds; and how am I to bring up a family on
the interest of that?"

"I should fancy it was quite enough for you," said the Vicar; "you have
only one son."