for the dippers to breed, for I have found their nests early in March; but, perhaps, her first was plundered.

Now we come to the last and best pool of all, and oh for the skill of-but no! no one's skill could reproduce that picture. The stream, after a wild leap over a ledge, spreads out to some five yards in width, deep at the upper end, but shallowing as it broadens. Through the leafy archway, which there comes suddenly to an end, you see a small meadow bright with flowers, a picturesque farm and mill, and then the hill side, and, beyond and above, the bright, fleecy blue. On either side the wood comes down to the brook, and here and there we see the blue haze of the hyacinths, while through the green roof a marvellous chequerwork of light and shadow falls on the rippling water, and is thrown back in quivering reflections on the rocks and tree stems. To crown the picture, on a projecting branch, and in a patch of sunlight, sits a kingfisher gorgeously attired. But we are fishing, not painting-so silence. There, if that beauty is not within an ounce of a pound, I am much mistaken!

Turn them out on the grass in the open-two dozen! That's what I call good sport for burn fishing, and sport, also, that you will only get in the spring. Bythe-by, how dappled many of the fish were when they came out of the water; sometimes one whole side

would be light-coloured and the other dark, or maybe the shoulder light and the rest of the body dark, or otherwise curiously varied. This, I suppose, is caused by the fish lying in deep holes, against the stones, and with but a scanty allowance of light. They are beginning to get of a uniform colour now, though.

Over the crest of the hill yonder you come upon boggy land; and, although the brook there is very small, it contains some fair-sized fish of a deep rich colour, and were it not getting late we would take a cast there; but it is time to be turning. When we get to the high road we see two or three anglers who have been fishing in the lower waters of the brook, where the fishing is much easier, though to my mind not so pleasant. That man in a mason's dress with bulging coat pockets, has, ten to one-for I know him of old-been fishing with preserved salmon roe! Here is a city youth out for a week's fishing in the country. Look at his big basket and bran new rod. Poor fellow! the former is empty, and its owner is downhearted. He probably does not admire burn fishing; we who are successful do.

*

Burn fishing, however, can only be enjoyed to advantage in the spring. In the summer heavy rains

* It is the most deadly bait known, and its use is prohibited by Act of Parliament, under a penalty of £2.

will bring the fish upon the feed, but as the water is then thick, the worm (or sometimes a small minnow) must be used. Often, too, on hot bright days, when the water is low and clear, a small well-scoured redworm will take them when nothing else will. Of course one cannot expect the sport in burn fishing that one gets in a river, but nevertheless it is very enjoyable.

XIV.

LLYN CADWS

A POACHING REMINISCENCE

WE were a merry party at Sandmouth-Eva and Winnie Morton, their cousin Carrie Morton, their brother Jack, Mrs. Morton, Tom Seymour and myself, Alec Hinton. We had the most glorious rambles over the Welsh Hills, that hemmed us in all round, save where the broad estuary with its overhanging woods swept back in a succession of lake-like stretches for miles inland.

I shall never forget that summer holiday, nor how, when the dusk of the evening came on, we used to saunter along the promenade, and watch the sun set far over the Cardigan bay, and Bardsey island showed distinct against the rosy light. One day we had all, with the help of donkeys for the ladies, scrambled to the top of a mountain second only to Cader in height.

It was rather misty immediately below us, especially in one hollow, but to seaward it was beautifully clear, and we could see the white line of surf that marks the dangerous causeway of St. Patrick reaching far out into the bay. Suddenly the mist opened in the hollow where it was deepest, and we saw the gleam of water. "Hollo! what Llyn is that?" exclaimed Jack.

Seymour pulled out a guide book, and referring to the map―" Why, it must be Llyn Cadws, where that old' guide said there were such big pike."

"What do you say to going down to it?" I said, that is, if the ladies don't mind staying here alone for a time."

"You two fellows go, and I'll stay," said Seymour.

Morton and I soon ran down to it, rousing a heron and a couple of wild ducks as we did so. It was some four or five acres in extent. On one side the cliffs rose perpendicularly from the water in some places, and in others the débris had formed a rugged and picturesque shore. On the other side it was shallow and open, and a rare thing in mountain lakes-a thick bed of weeds reached some distance out.

Jack, who was prowling along here, stopped, and sinking down on his knees beckoned me to do the like and join him. I did so, to the no small detriment of my cuticle, and saw a sight which aroused all my fish