a fish of six or seven pounds, which gives him a decent amount of play before John lifts it out with the landing net. So he goes on down the river, getting a run here and there as the day wears on, missing some and basketing some. A cool west wind sweeps the first of the dying leaves off the trees, and carries to him the sound of his friends' shooting in the stubbles; the waterhens rustle in the reeds, and fly out with a great splutter; a weasel, following a rabbit, crosses his path, and when John shies a stone at it, coolly stops as if to ask, "What do you mean by that, you impertinent fellow?" and disturbed coveys of partridges whirr over his head. The sky is covered with opaline clouds, and long rays of misty sunshine stream down here and there. As he pushes through a coppice, he stops to gather a pocketful of nuts, and stains his fingers with the blackberries. Presently master and man sit down on a fallen tree, and eat their lunch with an excellent appetite. When lunch and a pipe are finished, he puts on a fresh bait, and spins it across a likely pool. There is a swirl in the water, and as he strikes he feels that he has hooked a good fish. After a few minutes' play, it comes near to the surface, and, to his astonishment, full seven feet behind where the taut line is cutting the water, he sees its tail above the water. A pike seven feet long!— impossible! Yet there is the head and there is the tail. Who shall say what visions cross his brain at that exulting moment! But a shaft of sunlight strikes the water, and renders it more transparent, and lo! the mystery is solved. There are two pike of equal size. One is hooked, and the other is following close in his wake as he swims about the pool,-whether from wonder, affection, concern, or the possible chance of a meal off a sick fish, one cannot say. Presently, however, he catches sight of John's extended net, and is off like a shot, while the hooked fish is landed, and promises to turn the scale at seven pounds. And now they come to a little pool apart from the river, but communicating with it by a narrow channel. The pool is completely surrounded by a tall and thick rampart of reeds, over which it is certainly possible to cast, but which would effectually prevent the return of any spinning flight. It looks such a pikey place, however, that the master is determined to try it; so he puts on a gorgebait, which can be forcibly dragged back through the reeds without much difficulty. At the third throw the bait is seized with such a rush that the rod is nearly jerked out of the troller's hand. "That is a big fish, John.' "It is, sir; but I think you will not get it out." After a considerable time, and much careful play, the pike is tired out, and lies on its side at the edge of the reeds, held there by main force. It must weigh ten pounds at the least. Not an inch further can it be dragged. John takes off his shoes and stockings, and attempts to wade to it; but as he plunges up to his waist in soft mud, and has to be helped out by his master, he is of no use in landing the pike. At last, fearful of straining his rod, the master takes hold of the line, and attempts to lead the fish through the reeds, fervently hoping that his tackle is sound and the hold of the hooks secure. Wallop! the gimp parts at the loop, and the pike sinks back into the pool. "Never mind, John. We will have him in the winter, when the weeds are down. We have done pretty well, and we may be satisfied. Turn them out on the grass. Eight of them, I declare, from two to seven pounds. They will be as much as you can carry home, John." So they go homeward through the autumn gloaming, slowly but well content. This is fair and quite sufficient sport. A friend of mine, during one day's live-baiting in a Norfolk river, caught fourteen pike, from seven to fourteen pounds in weight, with his own rod. I should not care for such sport as that. It is butchery. Well, perhaps, as you say, the grapes are sour. A friend of mine has just told me that he once had a big pike on in a similarly awkward position, with a fringe of bushes between him and the pike. |