The Billiard table pool page 2

A rustling wake and they were gone. Everybody was gone. The river seemed to be the Kotmali-oya of Ceylon. One o'clock struck: I could keep awake no longer.

So ended a beautiful evening in my angling memory, nor was its beauty mainly attributable to the success of the fly which proved so kind and killing. The rarity of such days - that combination of good sport, fortunate management, and lovely surroundings, makes them stand out the more.

All the penance of blanks and blundering forms the background of a picture which can be called up at will after any disappointing day, when ones legs and back ache deliriously or the old horse-hair couch of the inn parlour, and the drawling songs of the haymaking yokels percolate through the cracked panes of the tap room door and steal across the creaky passage.