mean what ye said?" The angler pulled out half-a-sovereign and showed it to him. "Bide here a bit," said the man; "your train don't start yet." In less than half an hour the stranger was beckoned out of the bar to see the big trout, still alive and kicking vigorously, on some flags in a basket. He had a hook attached to a

piece of broken gut in his upper lip; not a bruise or a mark was on him.

"Take him, basket an' all, fur what ye said," quoth the native; "he's a precious sight too big to go into that consarn o' yourn. And I be werry much obleedged to you for this 'ere half-sov'rin, and no mistake."

I was informed afterwards that the fish had been so frightened by the threshing of that would-be angler, that he had retreated to the utmost limit of his hover under the bank, and there he had remained, as only a trout will remain. The cute rustic knew this would be so, and he had simply gone down to the spot, taken off his shoes, and tucked up his trousers, and "groped him out." That is how most of the great trout are captured, but I never saw one that had been groped for that was not shown with a hook in his mouth. A gut hook does not cost much, and it looks so very much better. "Vile poaching?" No, that was waste land where the big trout was got out.

And after all, when a fish of that size is in a stream he becomes entirely carnivorous, and feeds on the smaller members of his own species, to say nothing of the way he gobbles up spawn when it is the season for the trout running up for the spawning. So the sooner the great fellow is out of

a brook or pond the better. I have seen many large trout captured, beautiful fish. Some of them had made their homes in places where you would be more likely to look for water-voles than for trout. But, with very few exceptions, they were frightened to their hovers, and then groped for.

Grand fish are caught by our Thames anglers, in a fair fight between man and fish; and the skill and patience needed to capture a wary Thames trout can only be appreciated by those who have fished for them. That style of angling is unknown to the rustic, yet I have seen a farm-labourer catch a first-rate lot of fine trout with rods and lines that were not worth twopence.

The silvery quick dace is a great favourite with me, not only on account of his sporting and edible qualities, but for a still stronger reason. He brings back some of the happiest of my angling memories. I see again that bright stream that ran into our river. Huge burdocks, water - docks, and great

masses

of purple loose - strife, together with sedge and meadowsweet, grew on the banks. Its sandy margin was the feeding and playing ground of the nimble sandpipers that ran about and flirted their bodies up and down, the whole day long. In that lush tangle I have seen rare specimens of moths and butterflies. The clear-winged hawk-moth was not rare in the perfect little jungle of aquatic growth. How often he has hummed round my head, and then settled on a blade of sedge close to, looking more like kinghornet than a moth! I admired him, but never attempted his capture. Insects, to my mind, are most beautiful, in fact only in

seen

their true beauty, when alive. I would that I might write a whole book about the natural life in and about that stream. As it is, I may only give a very slight idea of it.

As a food-stream for fish it was not to be surpassed. The general run of the bottom was sand and bright gravel, studded here and there with large stones. Brightgreen weeds waved in long

streamers to and fro in the current so thickly in some parts that they only left a clear channel about a foot wide in the middle of the stream. Where a large stone was bedded, the weeds would wave round it on either side. Below it would be a hole about three feet in depth, and, as a rule, six feet in diameter, scooped out by the current that ran round the large stones. In these holes-and they numbered about a dozen down the whole length of the stream-the finest fish congregated.

We had our choice of fish in those days; if we meant to get perch, we had them or nothing. It was the same with dace. Now these bars of living silver, if of a large size-say up to half a pound and a little over-are the most fastidious feeders in existence when they come from the river to a clear sharp stream. I knew once that a nice lot were in the stream, yet we had not discovered their haunt. I was determined to find it; and after some searching in the deepest hole, nearest the river, I chanced to see a flash of silver a momentary sight it was -shoot to the edge of the bright gravel and then back again. It was enough, they were found; but how to capture them was the next question. It was a subject for deep consideration.

What were they feeding on?

Two silver flashes next, and then they were at it. Lying down, well back, I could just see the wriggle of water-shrimps about a yard above that hole. It was enough; my light rod was put together, the finest of my gut lines attached, and then I got from a rill that ran into the stream some fine watershrimps, which I placed in a tin box perforated with holes in the lid; some sand and water, and all was ready.

Not quite. A water-shrimp jumps along when he travels; it will never do for him to go into that hole as though he had got the gout. As I consider the matter, a small piece of sedge comes bobbing and jumping, down in the current. The hint is at once acted on. I break the tip off one of the sedges, and fix it about eight inches above the hook by simply making a slit in the middle of it. Then on the small hook I very carefully fix a shrimp, and hidden from sight by a huge burdock, cast up-stream above that hole. Down comes the sedge-tip dancing up and down, it nears the hole, is over it, and for one brief moment down goes that tip of flag. Snick! we have him, and at once get him out and down-stream. I got six of the finest of dace that I have ever seen out of that hole. Then they left off biting, and I left the stream. They had begun to look suspiciously on the bit of flag-tip; and when fish begin to get shy, they are best left.

Fine eels lived there-sharpnosed or silver eel, and the broadnosed or frog-mouthed eel. The last named is a ferocious feeder. A large eel of this species will make his home in a place that one would never suspect. To give an illustration of his ways, a man with his boy, one I knew well,

had gone out for a fish. The boy was little, and he teased his father so much to let him fish also, that the man put a dead gudgeon on part of a broken jack-line, placed the child on the bank where the water was so shallow that he could not possibly drown himself if he tried to do so, and then left him. Close to the boy's feet was part of a broken wattle, kept in place by a couple of stumps, for the bank was а little loose just there. Whilst the boy was drawing his dead dudgeon to and fro-fishing, as he termed it-something poked its head out and nipped his gudgeon, leaving the hook bare. The boy just caught sight of the head, and it puzzled him. Off he ran to his father. 'Dad," said he, "I want another gudgeon, for a great toad hev got the fust un."

His father walked back with him to see the place where the toad took the fish. On the boy's tackle he fixed another dead gudgeon, and he drew it backwards and forwards as before. Out shot the head, took the bait, and vanished; but he was hooked this time: not captured, however, for when a strain was put on him, he threw his tail over a bit of the wattle-it was nearly level with the sand-and then with a vicious dart he shot into the stream, breaking the rotten gimp like a thread. Later on he was captured; his weight was five pounds. When the time for migrating came round, I have known enormous eels caught in that pure bright stream, which I grieve to say exists in the same happy condition no longer.

A SON OF THE MARSHES.

THE brilliant assemblage which has taken up so much of our time broke up at last, as the band struck up the familiar strains of "God save the Queen.'

To avoid the crush, Tiptop, Fitz, and the other familiar spirits "of ours," after having duly performed escort-duty, crossed over to the other side, to light cigars and pipes, preparatory to a brisk walk to barracks.

"I don't see the major," said Fitz; "we must wait."

"I do," said Tiptop; "there he is-last out."

They watched him with various degrees of interest, made up of regard and curiosity, as he slowly emerged from the doorway, Aunt Polly on one arm and Lavinia on the other, and conducted them to their carriage.

"Look!" ejaculated Spunner. "Why, he is actually radiant. I'm sure she has proposed for him."

"Oh, nonsense! retorted Fitz; "it's the gas, or the supper, or both."

Tiptop shook his head despond ingly. "Let's be off," he said; "he'd rather we went. I don't like to think of it; it's too sad. Come on."

"Under the circumstances the discourtesy will be pardoned," said Spunner. "I second the proposal."

Acting on the suggestion, the party started off at the double, and were soon out of sight.

Lavinia's carriage was the last to leave. The major remained so

-CHATTERTON.

long talking through the window, that he had to make apology to Aunt Polly, as he buttoned his overcoat, for keeping her so long in the cold. At last a start was made.

The major was walking leisurely, and alone, along the silent street. Distant sounds were borne to him on the still air, but he heeded them not till, turning round a corner, he found himself violently cannoned into by a person going in an opposite direction. The shock was severe, but the major, being the heavier weight, stood his ground, while the other came to grief-being only a street boy of slender build.

"You're not hurt, are you, old chap?" he inquired, lifting him

up.

"No, sir; major, please, sir,"breathlessly ignoring the catastrophe, to come to more interesting business, that which a boy's soul loves-"there's a jolly big row at the bottom of Ship Street, major, and two bum-bailiffs has got hold of a sodger belonging to the 201st, and-and-I was going after a corporal's pick-kit, sir, that went up here a while ago, to see and have a rescue. The bums is maulin' of him fearful, sir; there's a couple of 'em, and they just tipped Jack, the sweep's son, a bob to fetch the police."

"Here's a bob for you," said the major; "off you go for the picket, like a shot! Come back for another to-morrow. You know

me?"

The boy didn't wait, but disappeared like lightning. So did the major, full speed, and alive to the sounds now, which he followed as best he could-for the scene of the conflict was not stationary. He soon put in an appearance, however.

A swaying crowd of some dozen persons surged and bumped and jostled one another round about a knot of belligerents-two black and two red, two "bums" and two soldiers-watching the fight, but keeping out of danger. A shout of welcome from the mob greeted the major as he dashed in among them and cleared a passage by upsetting a spectator with each arm. The army was popular, as we know, in Westerly; so was he. He did not hesitate nor falter; he did not pause to calculate the probable consequences, military, legal, or otherwise; it was enough, on the impulse of the moment, for him to see the scarlet and blue familiar facings in jeopardy, and to know that the wearers were in difficulties.

His was that peculiar temperament of which most of us have

met specimens. To superficial observers he was calm, cold, emotionless, some would even have said a hard and a calculating man; but he was in reality the very reverse. He was naturally passionate, hot, impulsive to a degree, but he was withal a man of the most absolute self-control and

mental discipline. Lieutenant Bateman had once given it as his opinion that if the major's hat were blown off in the street he would calmly stand uncovered, and let it be run after by somebody else, instead of fatuously dodging about after it himself; and there are few who could do this. The lieutenant went farther; for he firmly believed that if

the three or four inches at the end of the major's umbrella got broken off by any chance-say a twist in an area grating-he was the only man, not only in the regiment but in the army, who would (unless out of bravado or for a wager) walk down Regent Street with the maimed and disreputable article under his arm. Bateman declared that he himself would lay it down and run away from it; Spunner's alternative would be to leave it in a shop and ask some one to kindly take charge of it; but it was unanimously agreed that the major was the only man whose coolness and unconcern would carry him through and over the difficulty of this terrible social contingency. And if any of our dear readers should (which heaven forefend!) find himself in such a fix, he will acknowledge the force of the point made by the lieutenant; for if there is a disreputable article to be seen it is an umbrella in the state which he described.

But notwithstanding all this apparent coolness, the major was a man of fire, quick as tinder; but he could at all times keep down the smouldering heat. When he chose to let it free it blazed to some purpose. Just now the dampers were out and the furnace in full blast on the instant. Prudence was thrown to the winds as he rushed in.

Just as he broke his way into the centre of the ring, the larger of the two civilians held a soldier by the throat; and driving him backwards with great force and giant strength, he dashed him full against the broad chest of the major, who was just in time to save the soldier from an ugly back fall, and to plant a tremendous blow full in the face of his antagonist, who let go his hold, reeled,