system, necessities of life, pang-stayers. The shackles of civilisation became green withes to bind the Samson of animalism. Under the compelling influence of the law, Nature abhors a vacuum, I knotted on a huge alder and combed the pool—wet.
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Somewhere in one of my boxes was a Silver Doctor.
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On a water where pike occasionally appear a wagtail spinner is a legitimate item in the dry-fly angler's outfit.
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In the miller's garden was a manure heap. It was full of brandlings. I began to strip the dressing from a hook.
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But the clock struck seven, to save me from crime. In half an hour dinner would be served.
"If," I said violently, as I threw hook and brandling from me, "anybody thinks that I am going to dine off a pope's nose with 4 lb. of trout in my basket, he is mistaken—profoundly mistaken." I went home. In spite of my conviction that nature, ultimate judge, was with me, I wore a hang-dog air as I slunk past Mrs. Pescod's
