e beast was appropriately named "Thunder and
Lightning," and was the property of a gentleman-farmer named Garthwaite,
a distant connection of my wife's family.

How it was that I escaped being gored to death before I had finished my
picture is more than I can explain to this day. "Thunder and Lightning"
resented the very sight of me and my color-box, as if he viewed the
taking of his likeness in the light of a personal insult. It required
two men to coax him, while a third held him by a ring in his nostrils,
before I could venture on beginning to work. Even then he always lashed
his tail, and jerked his huge head, and rolled his fiery eyes with a
devouring anxiety to have me on his horns for daring to sit down quietly
and look at him. Never, I can honestly say, did I feel more heartily
grateful for the blessings of soundness of limb and wholeness of skin,
than when I had completed the picture of the bull!

One morning, when I had but little more than half done my unwelcome
task, my friend and I were met on our way to the bull's stable by the
farm bailiff, who informed us gravely that "Thunder and Lightning" was
just then in such an especially surly state of temper as to render it
quite unsafe for me to think of painting him. I looked inquiringly at
Mr. Garthwaite, who smiled with an air of comic resignation, and said,
"Very well, then, we have nothing for it but to wait till to-morrow.
What do you say to a morning's fishing, Mr. Kerby, now that my bull's
bad temper has given us a holiday?"

I replied, with perfect truth, that I knew nothing about fishing. But
Mr. Garthwaite, who was as ardent an angler in his way as Izaak Walton
himself, was not to be appeased even by the best of excuses. "It is
never too late to learn," cried he. "I will make a fisherman of you in
no time, if you will only attend to my directions." It was impossible
for me to make any more apologies, without the risk of appealing
discourteous. So I thanked my host for his friendly intentions, and,
with some secret misgivings, accepted the first fishing-rod that he put
into my hands.

"We shall soon get there," said Mr. Garthwaite. "I am taking you to the
best mill-stream in the neighborhood." It was all one to me whether we
got there soon or late and whether the stream was good or bad. However,
I did my best to conceal my unsportsman-like apathy; and tried to look
quite happy and very impatient to begin, as we drew near to the mill,
and heard loude