my first of these trout on a large red Pennell, and, having thus discovered the only fly that was the slightest use, I stuck to it until my small provision was threatened with exhaustion. This disturbed me considerably, for I knew that none of the other two gross of patterns which I had bought before I left London were any good at all, and my thoughts turned naturally to my new art and my box of fly-tying apparatus. The second of these I found had been left in England. The first, however, was at my finger-tips, and my materials were not difficult to get. Your true fisherman can always find an expedient. I made a red Pennell out of the hook of another fly, a ryper, and some red worsted which I took from a deep-sea spoon-bait which happened to be in my fly-box. I found, too, some gay tinsel on a lampshade in the drawing-room of my hostess. As my copy differed slightly from the original I named it The Unapproachable. Then I stepped calmly to the edge of a bottomless lake and began to fish. At the forty-second cast a 4-oz. char of incredible bravery seized my masterpiece and attempted to drag it into the depths. A gentle touch of the wrist, and all was over. The char was in a bush of bog-myrtle behind my back. I had caught a fish upon a fly of my own making.
The perfect thrill? Well, I confess I was dis-
