ever since, to swear that he had to do with the father of all sea-trout. I gave him advice. I said: "Come out on to the shore. Bring the fish out of the fast water. Manœuvre him into that little bay below you. You must lose him if you let him hang on like that." MacAlister paid no attention to me, but pulled at his pipe till the bowl was ready to crack. After a time he said something about "too much seaweed," and something about "interfering fools," and then the fish broke upstream towards him, and his monologue ceased. He reeled in nimbly, and came out of the water. When the rod bent again, the fish was in the weed, and after hope had turned to conviction, and conviction had become despair, my poor friend waded in sadly, detached his fly, and set to work again, only to rise one fish, which he hooked and lost. I sat on the rocks—smoked, and told MacAlister my opinion of his angling. Presently, the tide ran down to a dribble, and we went home.
The Herr Dr. Oberhausen, to whom we related these things on his return from the slaughter of ryper, was more than impressed. He exhibited an intense animation. His eyes grew large and bright. He swore "by the holy poker" (what fire did it stir?), and "by the holy fly" (where did it buzz?), and several other objects of interest to the hagiographer, that he would be the death of some of
