he broad
band of lilies. I tried all the dodges I could think of, and all that
Mr. Halford suggests. I dragged at him hard. I gave him line. I sat
down and endeavoured to disengage my thoughts, but I never got a glimpse
of him, and finally had to wade as far in as I dared, and save as much of
the casting line as I could; it was very little.

There was one thing to be said for the trout on this side: they meant
business. They did not rise shyly, like the others, but went for the fly
if it came at all near them, and then, down they rushed, and bolted into
the lily-roots.

A new plan occurred to me. I put on about eighteen inches of the
stoutest gut I had, to the end I knotted the biggest sea-trout fly I
possessed, and, hooking the next fish that rose, I turned my back on the
loch and ran uphill with the rod. Looking back I saw a trout well over a
pound flying across the lilies; but alas! the hold was not strong enough,
and he fell back. Again and again I tried this method, invariably
hooking the trout, though the heavy short casting-line and the big fly
fell very awkwardly in the dead stillness of the water. I had some
exciting runs with them, for they came eagerly to the big fly, and did
not miss it, as they had missed the Red Quill, or Whitchurch Dun, with
which at first I tried to beguile them. One, of only the average weight,
I did drag out over the lilies; the others fell off in mid-journey, but
they never broke the uncompromising stout tackle.

With the first chill of evening they ceased rising, and I left them, not
ungrateful for their very peculiar manners and customs. The chances are
that the trout beyond the band of weeds never see an artificial fly, and
they are, therefore, the more guileless--at least, late in the season. In
spring, I believe, the lilies are less in the way, and I fear some one
has put a Berthon boat on the loch in April. But it is not so much what
one catches in Loch Beg, as the monsters which one might catch that make
the tarn so desirable.

The loch seems to prove that any hill-tarn might be made a good place for
sport, if trout were introduced where they do not exist already. But the
size of these in Loch Beg puzzles me, nor can one see how they breed, as
breed they do: for twice or thrice I caught a fingerling, and threw him
in again. No burn runs out of the loch, and, even in a flood, the feeder
is so small, and its course so extremely steep, that one cannot imagine
wh