of a clean-run four-pounder. MacAlister and I had hardly laid the fish reverently to rest in the shade of a rock, when we heard Oberhausen's reel singing again. This fish took him far down and over his waders, and MacAlister had to go out to him with the net; 3½ lb. "I doubt," said I, as they came ashore, "I doubt your flies are too big." "Better give it up," said MacAlister. "It's folly to fish in such a sun. You will get no sport, Oberhausen."
But Oberhausen, the moment the hook was released, had bolted up to the top of the sea-stream. He was wasting no time now. Nor did the fish give him much breathing space, for the 3½-pounder was hardly dead ere the learned doctor was doing battle again. This fish plunged into a bed of weed, ran through it, and leaped into the air on the other side. But the gods fought for Oberhausen, the tackle held, and the fish scaled 3½ lb. Oh, sirs! The very Adelphi warmed up. There was no more talk of pike and John Dory. Perhaps at that moment they realised that there are joys in life which no study of the Great Models, however persistent, may yield. Micio said: "This is magnificent." "He's into another," said MacAlister. By this time Oberhausen was working like a machine. He ran his fish down its allotted fifty yards, turned it at the proper point, headed
