us far behind. Were foodsupply the only constituent in the matter, there would be an irresistible argument for State and municipal aid to this scheme of stocking the Thames with game-fish. But, of course, it is not the only constituent, and the weight of all the others might not be thrown into the same scale. Looked at as of purely sporting moment even (and it is only when looked at so that we are concerned with it in this article), the scheme invites discountenance as well as approval. Most certainly, if ever it becomes a question of angling politics, a measure for turning the Thames into a game-fish river would meet with determined opposition from a very large section of Thames fishermen.

The grounds of opposition are quite plain. To introduce game-fish into the Thames, it is argued, is to enhance the value of the river for the riparian owners, who will be tempted thus to exercise their rights, and to begin closing at least the upper waters to anglers. Moreover, the coarse-fish anglers will say, the present sport will be interfered with. Licences will be imposed for fishing that at present is free; the money paid for them most probably

tecting the very sport which is ousting the coarse- fish anglers, and ousted they shall be, sooner or later. So the opponents of the scheme will contend. We have no wish to open the delicate question of riparian ownership rights. But that very sentiment, in the mouths

of the opposition

anglers, is the most formidable argument against the scheme we are discussing. Why propose a change that is likely to open this delicate and awkward question? The riparian owners possess rights. At present they do not enforce them; on the contrary, they display a generosity which, it is to be feared, all anglers, and certainly all pleasure-seekers, have not respected as they ought. Freefishing, though readily granted to the public, is a privilege, and can be refused. Why court refusal by this firebrand proposal? In that argument there is considerable weight. We do not urge it, for we are not among those who believe that owners' claims of rights and the public's claims to consideration are irreconcilable; but at least we can understand the position of those who, despairing of ever overcoming the difficulties of adjusting them, pursue, in consequence, a policy of opposition to a change which, howsoever desirable in itself, is certain in their minds to lead to disastrous contentions.

With the other reasons for opposition to the scheme we confess ourselves to be a great deal less in sympathy. Let us meet the coarse - fish anglers, who urge them, frankly on their

own grounds. Were the scheme carried out, the probability is that the river would be brought under a Fishery Board, and that they would be charged a licence-excellent measures both, in our way of thinking. Recollecting the opposition of many of the club anglers to the raising of the standards for Thames fish some years ago, we do not rate very highly their perception of their own best interests, and we have no difficulty in understanding their selfishness. Those who object to pay for a thing so long as they can get it for nothing do not compose the majority in Thames anglers only. So that very great stress need not be laid on the number of those who would oppose the imposition of a licence. And let us freely admit that the interests of game-fish and of coarse-fish will become more, not less, antagonistic as time goes on, and that ultimately the weaker must go to the wall. The weaker are the coarse-fish, and, in the interests of sport they would go. For that sport with game-fish is of a higher order than that with coarse, we need not demonstrate when addressing anglers. But that, as some anglers have said, and will say again, sport with game-fish is of necessity for a privileged and wealthy class only, we deny. All Scotland fishes for

trout. It is the policy of some game-fish anglers there which opposes the protection that has become urgent for trout in that country; which shows that the selfishness and the shortsightedness lie in human nature, and not in any par

ticular sport. Frankly, if the conversion of the Thames into a game-fish river is possible, we should not oppose it for all the angling interests in the world. But there is no reason why, if the Thames becomes a trouting river, the majority of London anglers should not practise flyfishing upon it. The change in the river would come very gradually, and anglers would have plenty of time in which to accommodate themselves to the new conditions. The advocates of them cannot be charged with selfishness, for it is succeeding generations, not the present one, that will reap the benefit of them. We feel certain, however, that the metropolitan anglers would accommodate themselves to the new order very easily. The Thames has a fascination for old Thames fishermen, so that those among them whose lot it is to fish the finest salmon-pools and trouting-streams come back to their favourite river with delight, and would come back to it with delight enhanced tenfold were the river stocked with trout. The Thames has no less fascination for the angler who never cast a fly, and we need not believe that he would desert it because he had to change his old methods for others more delicate and more sportsmanlike. Many a time, conversing with anglers on Thames-side, we have heard the exclamation, "If only this were a trouting river!" and we confess that, from those who believe that that wish is likely to be realised, it is impossible not to catch something of their hopeful enthusiasm.

love too.'

'Ah, he talked to you of love!' I said, much amused. 'It isn't what you think,' he cried, almost passionately. 'It was in general. He made me see things things.'

"He threw his arms up. We were on deck at the time, and the head-man of my woodcutters, lounging near by, turned upon him his heavy and glittering eyes. I looked around, and I don't know why, but I assure you that never, never before, did this land, this river, this jungle, the very arch of this blazing sky, appear to me so hopeless and so dark, so impenetrable to human thought, so pitiless to human weakness. And, ever since, you have been with him, of course?' I said.

"On the contrary. It appears their intercourse was very much broken by various causes. He had, as he informed me proudly, managed to nurse Kurtz through two illnesses (he spoke of it as you would of some risky achievement), but as a rule Kurtz wandered alone, far in the depths of

the forest. 'Very often coming to this station, I had to wait days and days for him to turn up,' he said. 'Ah, it was worth waiting for!-sometimes.' 'What was he doing? exploring or what?' I asked. 'Oh yes, of course he had discovered lots of villages, a lake too-he did not know exactly in what direction; it was dangerous to inquire too muchbut mostly his expeditions had been for ivory.' 'But he had

no goods to trade with by that time,' I objected. 'There's a good lot of cartridges left even yet,' he answered, looking away. 'To speak plainly, he raided the country,' I said. He nodded. 'Not alone, surely!' He muttered something about the villages round that lake. 'Kurtz got the tribe to follow him, did he?' I suggested. He fidgeted a little. They adored him,' he said. The tone of these words was so extraordinary that I looked at him searchingly. It was curious to see his mingled eagerness and reluctance to speak of Kurtz. The man filled his life, occupied his thoughts, swayed his emotions. 'What can you expect!' he burst out; 'he came to them with thunder and lightning, you know-and they had never seen anything like it-and very terrible. He could be very terrible.

You can't judge Mr

Kurtz as you would an ordinary man. No, no, no! Nowjust to give you an idea I don't mind telling you, he wanted to shoot me too one day-but I don't judge him.' 'Shoot you!' I cried. What for?' 'Well, I had a small lot of ivory the chief of that village near my house gave me. You see I used to shoot game for them. Well, he wanted it, and wouldn't hear reason. He said he would shoot me unless I him gave the ivory and cleared out of the country, because he could do so, and had a fancy for it, and there was nothing on earth to prevent him killing whom he jolly well pleased. And it

was true too. I gave him the ivory. What did I care! But I didn't clear out. No, no. I couldn't leave him. I had to be careful, though, for a time. Then we got friendly, as before. He had his second illness then. Afterwards I had to keep out of the way again. But he was mostly living in those villages on the lake. When he came down to the river, sometimes he would take to me, and sometimes I had to keep out of his way. Just as it happened. This man suffered too much. He hated all this, and somehow he couldn't get away. When I had a chance I begged him to try and leave while there was time. I offered to go back with him. And he would say yes, and then he would remain; go off on another ivory hunt; disappear for weeks; forget himself amongst these people-forget himself you know.' 'Why! he's mad,' I said. He protested indignantly. Mr Kurtz couldn't be mad. If I had heard him talk, only two days ago, I wouldn't dare hint at such a thing. I had taken up my binoculars while we talked, and was looking at the shore, sweeping the limit of the forest at each side and at the back of the house. The consciousness of there being people in that bush, so silent, so quiet -as silent and quiet as the ruined house on the hill-made me uneasy. There was no sign on the face of nature of this amazing tale of cruelty and greed that was not so much told as suggested to me in

desolate exclamations, completed by shrugs, in interrupted phrases, in hints ending in deep sighs. The woods were unmoved, like a mask-heavy, like the closed door of a prison

they looked with their air of hidden knowledge, of patient expectation, of unapproachable silence. The house came into the range of the glass. The Russian was telling me that it was only lately that Mr Kurtz had come down to the river, bringing along with him that lake tribe. He had been away for several months getting himself adored, I suppose and came down purposing a raid either across the river or down stream. Evidently the appetite for more ivory had got the better of the-what shall I say?-less material aspirations. However he had got much worse suddenly. 'I heard he was lying helpless, and so I came up-took my chance,' said the Russian. 'Oh, he is bad, very bad.' I kept my glass steadily on the house. There were no signs of life, but there was the ruined roof, the long mud wall peeping above the grass, with three little square window-holes, no two of the same size; all this brought within reach of my hand, as it were. And then I made a brusque movement, and one of the remaining posts of that vanished fence leaped up in the field of my glass. You remember I told you I had been struck at the distance by certain attempts at ornamentation, rather remarkable in the ruinous neglect of the place. Now I had suddenly