e noticed
the yellow mottlings of autumnal decay on the chestnut trees and elms,
the ruddier shade of the beeches; we discussed the failure of the
blackberry crop, and pretended to knowledge about turnips. Thus,
interchanging thoughts, we arrived at the Loddon, to find a deep, dirty
brown colour. The world then was not so fair. It was a miserable
disappointment, in short, and we had to make the best of it. We found
a few jack by trolling in the eddies close to the bank, but the day was
to all intents and purposes a blank.

In the afternoon my friend pulled me upstream that I might find quiet
corners and the very off-chance of a jack. At one part there was a
break in my friends, the alders, and a scoop in the bank where the
water was deep. Discreetly and naturally I dropped the dead bait, and
on the instant it was grabbed and worried. My first impression was
that it was a perch. I have known a big perch seize a large bait and
shake it in that dog-like fashion, and that impression was confirmed
when, instead of the strong run of a straightforward jack, the seizure
was followed by jerky movements and very little running out of line.
It was no more than I expected that the bait should be by and by
impudently deserted. Its head I found to have been savagely bitten
half through. From the size of the semi-circular gash the chub or
perch, whatever it might happen to be, was no youngster.

Upon reflection, and upon re-examination of the wound, my friend, who
was an experienced Loddon angler, agreed with me that the fish was a
chub. The leather mouth proper of the cheven, chavender, skelly, or
chub, scientifically known as _Leuciscus cephalus_, is, as the angler
knows, or should know, without teeth, but if you will have the goodness
to push your finger down the throat of a freshly-caught three- or
four-pounder, you will be more than likely to discover that nature has
furnished this innocent-looking member of the carp family with two rows
of very decent lacerators. The best result nevertheless of that day's
fishing was the receipt in a letter two days later of a specimen of the
showy yellow leopard's bane from my friend. We had pointed out to each
other solitary wildflowers left alone to tell of a summer that was
past, and he had found this somewhat sparingly-located bloom two months
overdue for its grave.

So many years have passed since I fished Loddon and St. Patrick's
stream that I will not be tempted to lead a