hioned well the time and manner of this overture. He knew
that the giant Crockerite was satiate now with May-flies, or began to
find their flavour failing, as happens to us with asparagus, marrow-fat
peas, or strawberries, when we have had a month of them. And he thought
that the first Yellow Sally of the season, inferior though it were,
might have the special charm of novelty. With the skill of a Zulu, he
stole up through the branches over the lower pool till he came to a spot
where a yard-wide opening gave just space for spring of rod. Then he saw
his desirable friend at dinner, wagging his tail, as a hungry gentleman
dining with the Lord Mayor agitates his coat. With one dexterous whirl,
untaught by any of the many-books upon the subject, John Pike laid his
Yellow Sally (for he cast with one fly only) as lightly as gossamer upon
the rapid, about a yard in front of the big trout's head.

A moment's pause, and then, too quick for words, was the things that
happened.

A heavy plunge was followed by a fearful rush. Forgetful of current the
river was ridged, as if with a plough driven under it; the strong line,
though given out as fast as might be, twanged like a harp-string as it
cut the wave, and then Pike stood up, like a ship dismasted, with the
butt of his rod snapped below the ferrule. He had one of those foolish
things, just invented, a hollow butt of hickory; and the finial ring of
his spare top looked out, to ask what had happened to the rest of it.
"Bad luck!" cried the fisherman; "but never mind, I shall have him next
time, to a certainty."

When this great issue came to be considered, the cause of it was sadly
obvious. The fish, being hooked, had made off with the rush of a shark
for the bottom of the pool. A thicket of saplings below the alder tree
had stopped the judicious hooker from all possibility of following;
and when he strove to turn him by elastic pliance, his rod broke at the
breach of pliability. "I have learned a sad lesson," said John Pike,
looking sadly.

How many fellows would have given up this matter, and glorified
themselves for having hooked so grand a fish, while explaining that they
must have caught him, if they could have done it! But Pike only told me
not to say a word about it, and began to make ready for another tug of
war. He made himself a splice-rod, short and handy, of well-seasoned
ash, with a stout top of bamboo, tapered so discreetly, and so balanced
in its spring, that ver