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FRESH WOODS AND
PASTURES NEW.

WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

AN AMATEUR ANGLER'S DAYS IN
DOVE DALE. i6mo, fancy boards, xs. ; cloth,
gilt edges, is. 6d.

Superior Edition, printed on handmade paper

(out of print), 5J.

FRANK'S RANCHE ; or, My Holiday in the
Rockies ; being a contribution to the inquiry into
what we are to do with our boys. Fifth edition,
fcap. 8vo, cloth extra, 55.

*#* For reviews see end of this volume.

I

RESH

OODS

AND

PASTURES NEW

BY THE AUTHOR OF

AN AMATEUR ANGLER's DAYS IN DOVE DALE

" Frank's ranche," etc.

" I will the country see
Where old simplicity,
Though hid in grey,
Doth look more gay
Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad."
T. Randolph.

LONDON

SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, AND RIVINGTON

St. Dunstan's House, Fetter Lane, Fleet Street

1887

(A// rights reserved)

CHISWICK press:— C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.

TO MY GRANDCHILDREN KA THLEEN
AND PATRICK,

DEDICATE this booklet to you, my
little Kathleen^ because you have been
very good to your grandmother and to
me ; and to you, little Patrick, because you are
the unconscious hero who attacked a whole regiment
of hornets with your wooden paddle^ and came
off victorious, without a thought of the terrible
odds against you. I unite your two names on
this leaf because you have aided me^ while writing
those which follozv, to bear a great sorrow with
faith and hope.

London,

August, 1887.

E. M.

2^3

INTRODUCTORY NOTE.

T is well^ though perhaps not neces-
sary, to 7nentioii that many of the
following letters were written for
" The Fishing Gazette" I have been tempted^
perhaps rashly, to bring them together here,
and once more^ to appear before the critics
and readers who have hitherto welcomed iny
slight and i7nperfect sketches with warmth
and generosity, for which I gladly take this
opportunity of most cordially thanking them.

In writing, arrangi?ig, and revising them I
have fou7id some pleasure and inuch 7'elief
f?'om pressing anxiety, which for many months
has been ever present with me.

E. M.

A word as to the title, " Fresh Woods and
Pastures New." I think it well to say that I had
thought of three other, and, as it seemed to me,
more appropriate ones ; but after diligent inquiry
I found they already exist as book-titles — the last
selected was " Fresh Fields," with which I had
nearly gone to press when I discovered that Mr.
Burroughs had already adopted it in a charming
little book (Houghton, Boston — Douglas, Edin.),
with which I should be sorry to come into
collision. I have now fallen back upon the exact
words from the last line of ** Lycidas," about
which the question of copyright can hardly arise ;
nevertheless, I trust I have not been anticipated in
using as a title this well-known though often mis-
quoted line.

E. M.

J

CONTENTS.

Letter I. — ^A Week at a Farmhouse — A day
on the Teme Page i

Letter II. — A day on the Lugg ii

Letter III. — A swing in the barn— Wood chopping
and thistle mowing — A sepulchre of a hundred

ewes 17

Letter IV. — Shipping cows to South America —
Hay-making — Workmen's wages — A jolly old lady
of eighty-five — Plovers and plovers' eggs — Owls —
Another attack on the Teme 24

Letter V. — Turkeys— Battle between our turkeys
and our neighbour's — Peacocks and peahens — ^A
peacock going to roost 34

Letter VI. — Ludlow — An evening on the Teme —
A sweep and his son fly-fishing — A native treed 47

Letter VII. — Osterley Park Lake on a Bank Holi-
day— A hundred anglers — Two wasps' nests —
Results of the fishing one pound avoirdupois . 53

Letter VIII. — In a suburban garden — The birds
that haunt it — The grubs— Why not eat them ? —
Cat eating a robin 62

X CONTENTS.

Letter IX. — In a suburban garden, continued —
Thrush feeding a young one — Garden warbler —
My garden nuisances, cats — Kittens in a cupboard
— Our Charlie 80

Letter X. — Wood-pigeons, magpies, and rooks —
Climbing to their nests — Do rooks say caw-caw or
au-awr? 86

Letter XI. — A day with the Mayfly-fishers — Birth,
hfe, and death of a May fly 94

Letter XII. — The May fly entomologically con-
sidered lOI

Letter XIIL— Jubilee fly-fishing— On the sands at
the seaside — In a menagerie — Dog and wolf —
Fishing for dabs on the jetty — The cuckoo . 109

Letter XIV. — Two more days at a farmhouse —
An afternoon's rabbiting — My first shot for forty
years 119

Letter XV. — An evening with the hornets . .124

A WEEK AT A FARMHOUSE.

LETTER No. I.

[1886.

" Here, at least, I'll stay no longer — let me seek for some

abode.
Deep in some provincial country far from rail or turnpike

road ;j
There to break all links of habit, and to find a secret charm
In the mysteries of manuring and the produce of a farm."
Bromley Davenport, Lowesby Hall.

HERE shall I spend my holiday ?
It is now just two years since I
performed those piscatorial ex-
ploits in pleasant Dove Dale, which I ventured
to record in a small volume entitled "An
Amateur Angler's Days in Dove Dale." Last
year my destiny carried me across the
Atlantic to " Frank's Ranche" in the Rocky
Mountains. All the long months which have
intervened have been spent in the usual mill
— months long enough and weary enough to
make me forget the disasters that befell me

2 FRESH WOODS.

in my angling experiences, but far too short
to make me forget the delightful time I
passed in that charming Dale. Those plea-
sant recollections have only served to inspire
me, as time rolls on, with new and ardent
enthusiasm for further adventures with rod
and line. Let others, I say, wander off to
Alps or Apennines ; they change their sky
but not their minds who cross the sea ; they
may come back laden with artistic lore from
all the galleries of the Continent, or they
may, and usually do, come back as empty as
they went. As for me, I prefer to spend my
rare and precious holiday " far removed from
noise and smoke" in some quiet, sequestered
spot in my own country. Whither shall I
go?

One of the small dreams of my old age
has been to go down to Herefordshire for
the purpose of staying at an old farmhouse
and fishing in one or other of the prohfic
streams that percolate that fertile and leafy
county. My recollection of these streams
goes back to boyish days, fifty years ago and
more.

I indulged my fancy by picturing my de-
light in thus revisiting scenes with which my
boyhood was so familiar — now for the first
time, when age has whitened what remains

THE OLD FARMHOUSE. 3

of my hair, and my former ability to spring
over a five-barred gate no longer exists.

" Nought cared this body for wind and weather,
When youth and I were in it together ! "

There may be something of a melancholy as
well as a charming side to this picture —

"A neighb'ring wood bom with himself he sees.
And loves his old contemporary trees."

The melancholy side would be the remem-
brance of what I was when I first knew these
trees and that old farmhouse, and those with
whom I had known them —

"This fond attachment to the well-known place
Whence first we started into life's long race.
Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway,
We feel it even in age and at our latest day."

I am becoming sentimental ; the con-
templation of a holiday should make one
grow glad rather than sad. My object in
going to that old farmhouse was not to brood
over the days that are past, or to recall the
" old familiar faces " that now mostly sleep in
the old churchyard, but to go a-fishing in
"The Teme," or "The Arrow," or "The
Lugg."

One's boyish remembrances of the most
pleasant times are most vivid ; and it is
pleasant to forget the disagreeable ones.

4 FRESH WOODS,

Well do I remember many a delightful
ramble by the side of the sometimes slow
and sometimes swift-flowing Lugg. I know
it is the custom of some writers to depreciate
the attractions of this stream — it has been
called sluggish and unpicturesque ; in my
opinion, there is nothing so ugly about it as
its name, and I know of many bits of quiet
woodland scenery on its banks as picturesque
as can be met with on almost any other
stream, where on a genial summer's evening
I have watched the big trout flopping up
here and there, and it seemed to be all one
to the trout whether he took a bait provided
by bountiful Nature, or a tinselled hook ob-
scured by artful man ; he was equally happy
whether he was caught or not caught — either
fortune was but a part of Arcadian bliss.
The trees were alive with a variety of song-
birds ; on the thistle-heads, especially down
about The Tarrs, one might see dozens of the
pretty little golden linnet, so rarely met else-
where ; rabbits hopped across one's path ;
the lowing herd wound slowly homewards to
the milking yard, or flapped their dappled
sides in a cool and shady corner of the river.
That is the sort of thing which a treacher-
ous memory led me to look for now with too
much certainty. Not that such scenes of

HEREFORDSHIRE. 5

felicity did not exist then, or do not now;
but things are not always in this happy state,
and I am sorry to be obliged to record that
my present visit has by no means realized my
dream. Romance has given way to reality ;
the weather has been dead against me. I
came down here with the intention of blessing
those charming scenes and streams ; but I
cannot do it — my week's experiences do not
justify a benediction.

I took train at Slough on Monday morning,
and travelled via Gloucester and Hereford.
I wanted to see how Herefordshire looks now
that it is ploughed up by railways in every
direction. In my time no railway had dared
to approach it. Then old Dick Morris used
to drive a slow-and-sure four-horse coach
from Hereford to Leominster and back, over
Dinmore Hill. Dick was a real specimen of
a coachman, and weighed twenty-five stone.
Now the train cuts through Dinmore Hill,
and one only catches glimpses of the sur-
rounding country as it dashes along.

The weather had been fine and genial
until I left the train at Kingsland to take a
ten-mile drive across country to the old farm-
house which was to be my headquarters for
a week. As we approached the hills in
whose midst this pleasant old homestead

6 FRESH WOODS.

nestles, storm-clouds lowered over them,
distant thunder was heard, and we reached
the friendly shelter of the farm in a down-
pour.

The rain was not only plentiful, it was cold,
coming as it did off a biting north wind. It
was pleasant to meet with a warm and genial
welcome from my friends.

On Tuesday I started at ten o'clock for my
nearest stream, the Teme. I was well equipped
with tackle and flies of the best, and accom-
panied by a youth who had driven me to the
water — about four miles from the house. The
weather was extremely unpleasant, speaking
mildly. Heavy black clouds hung round,
and " shadows Hke the wings of death were
out upon the gale," which blew in cold and
chilling blasts from the north, frequently
bringing angry showers with it.

I began at Leintwardine bridge, on the
north side of the river, with the north wind
blowing at my back. I wore a thick black
mackintosh, with overalls to match. The
stream, in spite of the rain, was low ; I
whipped it carefully, throwing, as I thought,
very artistically into all the likely currents,
whirls, eddies, and pools as I struggled along.
By four o'clock I had reached Wcdford bridge,
and then I vowed I would fish no more. I

FLY-FISHING IN THE TEME. 7

had had six hours of hard toil, for I con-
scientiously left no part of the water uncovered
by my doughty flies ; but with the exception
of three small grayling, which I caught, I
never saw a single rise during the whole
time !

" What can be the meaning of it ? " I asked
myself. What could any angler have done
that I have not done? I did my best to
keep well out of sight, and, having the wind
with me, I threw with the utmost delicacy
and precision ; perhaps it was a general dis-
advantage that I had the higher or banky
side of the water, and could not so well get
at the deep holes, which mostly trended
under the banks on my side.

I fished up-stream and down-stream, as
circumstances seemed to dictate ; sometimes
I fished with a dry fly, deftly laying him on
the water, floating proudly with wings spread
out and jaunty tail : nothing could be more
like nature. Sometimes I allowed the flies
to sink, and float down a few inches below
the surface, thinking that, as it was too cold
for the fish to come up, they might be feeding
on a plentiful supply underneath ; but it was
all to no purpose ! I will go home now, and
try again to-morrow. I may say that, during
my fishing, notwithstanding the cold wind, I

S FRESH WOODS.

had become very warm, and had for some
time, when the rain ceased, fished without
my mackintosh. When I got into the trap
to return home I began to feel the biting wind
again — my feet were wet, of course ; and that
night I went to bed with a chill and fit of
shitering.

On Wednesday morning I was too ill to
fish, and, truth to say, not very enthusiastic
about it; so, instead, I strolled round the
farm with mine host. He is a breeder of
pedigree Hereford cattle, and possesses a
herd of over a hundred animals as fine as
one might wish to see. I was shown four two-
year-old cows and their bull-calves, which,
on Saturday morning next, will be on the
broad Atlantic (in charge of my host's son),
on their way to found a colony of pure-bred
Herefords in South America. Let us hope
that his unusual pluck and enterprise may
not result in disappointment.

It seems that the United States, which
until lately was such a fine market for pedi-
gree Herefords, is now virtually closed. The
Americans have their own Herd-book, and
unless imported Herefords are entered there-
in, they are tabooed, in spite of any genea-
logical claims they may advance in their own
country.

FLY-FISHING IN THE TEME. 9

Herefords are no longer wanted in the
States, and as there is no import duty on
breeding cattle, the acute Yankees have re-
sorted to exacting a charge of twenty per
cent, of the value for the privilege of entering
pedigree Herefords in this Herd-book, and
without that record American farmers will
not buy.^

Hence it is that our farmer is now seeking
'* fresh woods and pastures new " for his beau-
tiful cattle, and I trust he will find them.

In the evening I felt better, and the old
mania revived. I remembered that my in-
structor had supplied me with a large black
fly for evening fishing, with special directions
as to mode of using him on the stream.
Armed with this and full of hope, we drove
off again to the Teme at six o'clock. This
time we commenced at Walford bridge, where
we had yesterday left off, and I fished for
about two miles up stream under circum-
stances as disappointing as before. No
longer am I permitted to doubt that it is luck,
and not skill, which fills the basket.

I plied that big black fly with unremitting
care and close attention to rules laid down.
I placed him jauntily on the water, and suc-
culently I drew him under it ; but he had no
attraction for trout or grayling — not a single

lo FRESH WOODS.

rise did I get or see the whole of that cold,
damp evening. I have no doubt whatever
that the river swarms with fish. Pray don't
let me disparage the river ; but I want to know
why I cannot, or rather why I do not, catch
them }

And yet how easy a thing it would have
been for me to have told you of the " spotted
beauties " that weighed down my creel ; of the
fights I had with a pound trout in yonder swirl,
and a still larger grayling in the running
stream. What a week of sport I might have
recorded ; but I refrain. I leave that kind of
interesting verisimilitude to more experienced
writers — to anglers who know how to do it.

LETTER No. II.

[1886.

N Thursday, notwithstanding the
haziness of the early morning, I
started for the Shobdon Water, ac-
companied by my young friend Christy. We
had a drive of over nine miles in a drizzle of
cold rain.

The Shobdon Water embraces that portion
of the river Lugg which passes through the
estate of Lord Bateman from above Aymestry
to Mortimer's Cross, and another portion
some three or four miles down the river
between Kingsland and Leominster, called
" The Wegnalls." This latter portion I had
not an opportunity of visiting ; but I hope to
do so on a future occasion.

It may be that I am prejudiced in favour of
the quaint old river Lugg ; but I can recall
no more beautiful bit of meadow and sylvan
scenery than that through which it runs from
above the village of Aymestry down to Mor-
timer's Cross, and thence through the rich and

12 FRESH WOODS.

pleasant meadows of the Croft Castle Estate,
past the wooded banks and copses of the
Tarrs, onwards, leaving the pleasant village
of Kingsland to the right.

On reaching " The Wegnalls " the . river
loses much of its beauty. Here ittertainly be-
comes sluggish and unpicturesque ; but here,
also, in certain seasons, is to be found some
of its best trout-fishing. Of this extenuating
circumstance I have, however, no present
experience.

The meadows on the south of the river,
below Mortimer's Cross, have a celebrity of
their own. On these fields a bloody battle
once did rage, in the Wars of the Roses,
between the forces of Edward, Duke of York,
and Henry of Lancaster, in which the Lan-
castrians were severely defeated. This battle
was fought February 2, 1 461, and proved to be
the turning-point in the tide in favour of the
young Duke of York, who was shortly after-
wards proclaimed king under the title of Ed-
ward IV.

A brief account of the battle is recorded
on a handsome monument which stands in
the turnpike road at the entrance of the
village of Kingsland. The inhabitants are
proud of this monument. I have not seen
it for many, many years. It used to be kept

FLY-FISHING IN THE LUGG. 13

well painted and in excellent order, and
doubtless is still faithfully preserved as a
lasting record of a famous battle.

I began fishing just above the old bridge
at Mortimer's Cross, and I fished up to
Aymestry. It rained some of the time, and
all the time it was wet and sloppy in the
long grass of the aftermath, and of the mea-
dows still unmown. We reached Aymestry
wet-footed and tired, but not a fish had we
seen — not a single rise afforded us any en-
couragement. This, however, did not much
matter, for is it not pleasure enough for a
smoke-dried Londoner to ramble along that
lovely vale of Aymestry, even in wet and
windy weather }

Here the Lugg lingers through its plea-
santest scenes, winding its way amongst hazel
and alder bushes, underneath the Pokehouse
Wood, which, on the opposite side, rises
abruptly for many hundreds of feet above,
and from within a few yards of its margin.
That leafy wood on one side, the low-lying
meadows and undulating corn-cropped hills
on the other, with the grey tower of Aymestry
old church in front of us, form as pretty a
variety of scenery as one might wish to see.
Hereabouts, for the most part, the Lugg
runs deep and slow, but with such trans-

14 FRESH WOODS.

parent clearness that the pebbles can be
clearly seen at depths of eight or ten feet. I
attribute my want of success to the extreme
clearness, as well as unusual lowness, of the
water. I caught nothing ; I did not even
see a rise or hear a splash. We returned to
our inn hungry and disappointed.

Our landlady could furnish us with nothing
better (and who would want anything better ?)
than a dish of broiled ham and eggs. Not
being able to drink beer, and having a fearful
recollection of the strength and roughness of
Herefordshire cider, I asked for claret. The
hostess took down a small bottle of St. Juhen
from an upper shelf; out of this she told me
only one glass had been taken, which she
would allow me for. I asked how long the
wine had been uncorked. She did not quite
remember, for it was some little time before
thefiood! I said I would prefer an unopened
bottle.

It is proper to explain that " before the
flood " did not in this case mean that remote
period during which Noah was preparing for
the great Deluge ; but was referable to that
other great flood which occurred last May,
and had carried away many of the old stone
bridges in Herefordshire and the adjoining
counties and set afloat all the beer-barrels

L\ .

BEFORE THE FLOOD. 15

and claret bottles in the inn-cellar. The
bottle which my hostess brought me was one
of these, with the label still damp ; but it
was none the worse for that. The oldest
inhabitant has no recollection of such a
terrible flood as that of last May ; indeed, it
is supposed to be over a hundred years since
one like it occurred. Many a time, as a boy,
have I seen the old river come down in its
fury, covering acres of meadow-land, and
carrying on its expanded breast stacks of
hay and huge timber-trees ; but never had
there been, in my early recollection, anything
like the destruction wrought by the floods of
last May.

After lunch I was sufficiently infatuated to
try again at the river. I was told by the
landlady that a veteran in the neighbourhood
had, only a few days before, brought in
seventeen fine trout — and why not I ? It is
true, he had everything in his favour : he
knew the water, he had a personal acquain-
tance with all the flies, he had a full river and
charming weather ; while I had the worst
possible weather — a sleety day with a cold
north wind — and water which, in spite of the
rain, was bright and low.

My few hours' fishing in the Lugg was
a failure. I am certain that no one could
c

Sv

i6 FRESH WOODS.

catch fish in such weather ; but that there is
good fishing in the Shobdon Water I know
full well, and I still hope for some future
opportunity of vindicating the accuracy of
my ancient recollections.

It may reasonably be asked — What is the
advantage of this record of perpetual failure ?
That is not for me to say. I trust it has
its advantages, if only as a curious contrast
to the perpetual success which mostly in-
spires angling penmen. It seems to be my
special mission to tell of failures. When,
out of the fifty-two weeks of the year, one
chooses one week for piscatorial exploits, and
that one week turns out to be the most un-
propitious of all the weeks of the year, is it
not my misfortune, ratlier than my fault, that
I am not permitted to tickle the ears and
make restless the arms of enthusiastic anglers
by telling them of abounding success .''

LETTER No. III.

[1886.

FTER the shadowy Captain Cuth-
bert Clutterbuck had retired from
being buffeted up and down the
world in the service of his country, on the
enjoyment of a clean shirt and a guinea four
times a week, and before he found his true
vocation as the antiquarian and historian of
the ruins of the monastery of Kennaquhair,
he made the great discovery that, " in order
to enjoy leisure it is absolutely necessary that
it should be preceded by occupation."

" For some time," says he, " it was delight-
ful to wake at daybreak dreaming of the
reveille — then to recollect my happy eman-
cipation, turn on my other side, damn the
parade, and go to sleep again ! But even
this enjoyment had its termination, and time
began to hang heavy on my hands."

The Captain adds that he angled for two
days, during which time he " lost twenty
hooks and several scores of yards of gut and

i8 FRESH WOODS.

line, and caught not even a minnow." Other
experiments for killing time he tried, and at
length had nothing for it but " to walk in the
churchyard and whistle till it was dinner-
time."

Why do I quote the renowned but little-
read Captain at this point 1 Because Friday
was a terrific day for me ; a steady, unbroken
downpour. For a busy man "the happy
vacuity of all employment" was delicious
enough in anticipation ; but how to spend
my own " happy vacuity " in a farmhouse on
a rainy day was a problem which time helped
me to solve somehow. It was a day to be
remembered at the farm. Two sons were
busy in preparing for their voyage to South
America, in charge of the animals I have
previously mentioned. Packing sacks of
chopped provender for the cattle, branding
the animals, and starting them off to the
railway made a busy time. All were cleared
out at an early hour. The master had gone
with his sons to Liverpool, and I had to get
through the wet day as best I could. I, too,
was almost reduced " to whistle till dinner-
time."

I well remember a similar day passed in
another farmhouse many years ago, and this
is how we spent it : —

\

HOW WE PASSED A RAINY DA Y. 19

It rained in torrents all day ; there was no
cessation of the steady, straight downpour
from early morning until late at night. We
were a houseful of visitors, young and old,
and we were weatherbound. I might, it is
true, have gone a-fishing, as I have done
before on a wet August morning ; but then
there were glimpses of hope, bits of blue
breaking now and then through the clouds.
On this occasion there was no such hope ;
the sky was leaden all around, and so we
stayed at home.

There were a dozen girls and boys, ranging
from seven to fourteen ; a country parson
and his wife, on a visit from a distant
county ; and two other married couples.
What could be done to amuse such a party
on such a day in such a place .''

A bright and enthusiastic youngster of ten
suggested that we should all go to the barn
and have a swing ! — and to the barn we went.
The distance was only across the fold, but
mackintoshes and umbrellas were needed
for the short excursion of a hundred yards.
The bam floor was soon cleared ; a strong
waggon rope was attached to the crossbeams
on either side, and so a capital swing was
made, a wisp of straw being tied on to form
a comfortable seat.

20 FRESH WOODS,

Our venerable, bald, and fat friend, the
parson, entered into the fun with zest, and it
was voted that, as he was the oldest and by
far the heaviest of the company, he should
have the first go ! If the rope and timbers
would bear his weight they would certainly
be quite safe for all the rest ; so the parson
was the first to mount the swing. Under
his weight the timbers creaked and the rope
stretched ; but all held firmly. The young-
sters swung the parson, and the parson
swung the rope till his toes before and his
heels behind kicked the rafters front and
back, and it certainly was amusing to see
this jolly old boy of twenty stone swinging
through the air to the children's song, varied
for the occasion : —

"The Parson, the Baker,

The Candlestick maker,

Spick, span, randerry Dan,

One for the Master, and one for the Man,

One for the King, and one for the Queen,

And a last toss over the bowling-green. "

Our parson laughed at the ludicrous ex-
hibition he was making till he grew red in
the face ; but it was only when he began to
show gasping signs of apoplexy that he was
gradually allowed to die down, and descend
from his perilous position. Then his wife,
as jolly and almost as fat as himself, was

A SWING IN THE BARN. 21

urged to take her turn : but she would nt)t
be persuaded.

When, " barring all pother, 'twixt one and
the t'other," we had all been kings and
queens of the swing in our turn, and had
had enough of it, we turned our attention to
" Egg in the Hat," " Turn the Trencher,"
" Blindman's Buff," and other juvenile
games.

Our parson was a grave and severe divine
— a local celebrity as a preacher and worker
— and we feared he would have lectured us
on our lightmindedness and frivolity, for he
had begun by patting a bright little girl, and
assuring her that " folly is bound up in the
heart of a child," and the youngsters all
feared lest he should seek to improve the
occasion in a more serious way ; but he
proved to be what they irreverently called
" a jolly old cock." He acknowledged that
he had not spent a merrier or pleasanter day
for many a year, than this time of enforced
relaxation from thoughtful study and hard
work on a rainy day in an old farmhouse.

That was the way we passed a wet day
long ago. Of the children of that time
some, alas ! are dead ; some are fathers and
mothers, and are scattered hither and thither
over the wide world. Now, let me tell you

22 FRESH WOODS.

how I spent last Friday, a day as like that
other day for steadiness of downpour as
could be.

Playing at chess with a young lady for two
hours helped me along agreeably enough till
lunch-time ; then, sheltered by my mackin-
tosh, I went out to the farmyard to look at
the animals and the bedraggled poultry, and
to watch three swallows feeding their lazy
young ones. They could fly just as well as
the old birds ; but they preferred to sit on a
rail in a row for ten minutes at a time, now
and then fluttering their wings to shake the
rain ofl", whilst the old birds busied them-
selves in the pelting rain by flitting round
for flies ; these they would drop while still in
motion into the greedy maws of the idle
young birds twittering and fluttering their
expectant wings on the rail.

Then I took an axe with the intention of
performing some Gladstonian feats in the
woodhouse ; of that operation I soon tired.
As a last resource and a happy thought, I
found an old scythe, and, in spite of rain, I
sallied forth into the orchard to mow thistles,
of which there was a too plentiful crop.
Now at last have I found my true vocation.
I astonished myself at the neatness with
which I could swing the scythe and "lay

SEPULCHRE OF A HUNDRED EWES. 23

low the slender " thistles ! I worked till the
perspiration poured through my mackintosh.
I came upon a strong bed of nettles. I was
going to attack them, but I was warned off.
There was a sad tragedy connected with
those nettles : they formed the covering of a
sepulchre ; they sprang from the bodies of a
hundred ewes buried underneath !

These splendid Shropshire Downs had
fallen victims to an epidemic which ran
through the country four years ago. They
all died in two days — a sad and sudden loss
to the farmer of nearly ;!^40O. I did not
venture on that bed of nettles.

After dinner another game of chess, and
so to bed, but not to sleep — my bones ached
too much for that. Swinging an axe or a
scythe is splendid exercise for the muscles,
but then the muscles have to become used to
such exercises — mine had not.

LETTER No. IV.

[1886.

ATURDAY was a fine and plea-
sant day, but my bones still ached
so much from the unwonted exer-
tion of mowing and wood chopping on the
previous day that I did not care to go a-
fishing. I wandered aimlessly about the
farm ; I watched the haymakers, but was too
lazy to take pike or rake in hand myself,
although in this catching weather hands were
badly wanted. Meadows of hay were still
out that had been cut for weeks, and the hay,
all but spoilt, was now being hastily opened
out to wind and sun.

This day should see a good deal of it in
stack or piled in large cocks ; some meadows
were still unmown. Hay-harvest is unusually
late ; but crops, if saved, will be very heavy.
Corn-harvest will come close upon its heels,
and give the farmer but little chance of his
brief holiday at the sea between the harvests.
The grass land on this farm is of the sort

WORKMEN'S WAGES. 25

that nourishes and fattens those beautiful
cattle, spme of which are at this moment
moaning and groaning on the Atlantic
Ocean. I felt pity for those cows as I saw
them for the last time innocently and uncon-
sciously cropping their last meal from their
native meadows. I wonder what they think
of it all now ! What a " muddle " the whole
system of creation must seem to them !

The workmen on this and the neighbouring
farms are fine fellows, and some of them are
handsome. There is nothing of the yokel
about them ; they know perfectly well what
their duties are, and they go about them in a
business-like way. They despise the " Three-
acres-and-a-cow " theory, and think them-
selves better off as they are.

On this farm the men get thirteen shillings
a week all the year round, a good, well-built
roomy cottage and garden rent free, and a
sufficient patch of potato ground ; a supply of
cider all the year, except from November to
January — quantity from four to six quarts a
day, according to the heat of the weather or
the thirst of the individual ; also two pounds
extra for harvest work. The cowman gets
his Sunday dinner all through the year ; the
shepherd an extra sovereign and a bottle of
gin for the lambing season ; and the wag-

26 FRESH WOODS,

goner gets five shillings for every live cart
colt that is foaled. These various items, put
together, are considered to be equal to a clear
eighteen shillings a week.

I met with a jolly old lady of eighty-five,
who entertained great contempt for the
luxuries and effeminacy of the present time.

" My feyther and mother," said she, " were
good, pious people ; they reardened ten chil-
dren, most on 'em in heaven now. I was
married very young, and I began to work
'ith my two bonds. I have had twelve my-
self; ten lived to be married, and some have
died since. I have sixty-two grandchildren,
and, laws ! I canna tell how many — I think
about forty great-grandchildren. We hadn'
no flowers nor flounces in them days ; it
was as much as I could do to get summut
clane to put on 'em. My husband worked
for twenty year on eight shillin' a week, an'
now tha' binna satisfied wi' thirteen shillin' !
We gotten one cow first, an' then after we
gotten three cows an' a bit more lond, and
then we gotten a small farm. My children
and gran'-children bin all doin' fairly well.
I've got enough to keep me, thank God ! I
worked as hard as ever till I was eighty, and
then I thought it was time for me to give up,
and take it easy-like for the rest of my days,

PLOVERS OR LAPWINGS. 27

nobbut what I can do a day's work an' get
my livin' now as well as ever, if needs be."

I was surprised to see the immense flocks
of plovers, or, as they are variously called,
Lapwings or Peewits, that hover about this
farm. In every country where this bird is
found it seems to get a name after its pecu-
liar cry. The French say the cry is perfectly
characterized by the two syllables dix-huitj
it is sometimes called re-wit and tre-wit. I
have never tasted plover.

There is a French proverb which says,
" He who has never eaten the right wing of
a lapwing has not eaten de bon morceauP
Bewick says that in the month of October
they are very fat, and are then " said to be
very excellent eating" — from which it may be
inferred that he had never tasted one, I
have not met with anyone who has eaten
plover.

" There's some kinds of fishes that's better
than others," says Mrs. Alenside, " but, as a
general rule, a fish is a fish, and if you catch
'em you can eat 'em ; but it's a very different
thing with birds. When you've never seen
'em before, how are you goin' to tell but what
they're some kin to an owl, a pigeon-hawk,
or a crow ? "

I had an idea that a plover was tainted

28 FRESH WOODS.

with some such relationship ; opinions, how-
ever, are divided on this subject. But of
plovers' eggs, who does not remember the
delicious flavour? The young farmers are
just becoming alive to the fact that plovers'
eggs are worth threepence each or more in
the market. Knowing gamekeepers used to
monopolize them by scouring the furrows in
the early morning ; but now that the boys
have discovered that during the season they
can make ten or twelve shillings a week be-
fore breakfast by keeping an eye on the
plovers, the gamekeepers' game is up.

Plovers, like wood-pigeons, are ignorant of
the art of nest-building : they deposit their
eggs on a few straws or dried grass in the fur-
rows of a ploughed field, and then trust to their
own ingenuity for their protection. They lay
four eggs of a dirty olive, spotted black. The
young run about swiftly so soon as they are
out of the shell. It is amusing to watch the
devices of the old birds to decoy you or your
dog away from their nests ; their pretence of
lameness or of a broken wing, rolling over
and over on the ground, always keeping just
out of reach of the exasperated dog, is quite
ludicrous — anything to make you believe the
nest is somewhere else than just under your
feet.

OWLS. 29

This, of course, is not the season for eggs,
but it is funny enough to note how these cun-
ning birds strive to keep their practice up by
making believe that they have still something
from which to divert your attention. They
seem to know exactly what a dog can do,
and how far a gun will carry, and they flutter
and hover about, always quite innocently,
but just out of range of dog or gun.

Owls used to be very numerous about here ;
but since the old barns were pulled down,
and new ones erected, they have almost dis-
appeared. They seem to belong to a dying-
out race, and cannot put up with such inno-
vations as brick-built and slate-roofed barns.
Old thatch-covered, tumble-down buildings,
with plenty of mice about, suit them best,
and as these old buildings give place to new
ones the old-fashioned race of barn owls will
disappear from the country.

" The mousing owl " is still to be heard in
the neighbouring woods complaining to the
moon. He is said by Gilbert White to hoot
in three keys — in G flat or F sharp, iqJB flat,
and A flat.

Sunday was a cites non, so far as this re-
cord is concerned. By Monday morning I
am myself again, beginning to feel quite at
home on the farm just as I am compelled to

30 FRESH WOODS.

leave it. This was really my day of return ;
but I was reminded that it was Bank Holi-
day, and the weather, hitherto so disastrous,
was now such as made it a pleasure only to
exist ; and the pretty little bright-eyed scarlet
pimpernel, here known as " the poor man's
weather-glass," ablaze on the banks by the
roadside, told of a continuance of this fine
weather, so I was easily tempted to postpone
my departure for a day or two, and in the
evening to make another attack on the fish.

It was too hot and bright, and the water
too low for even the most mendacious fisher-
man to avow, with any hope of being believed,
that he had caught, or could catch, a creel
full of fish on such a day, so I postponed my
last visit to this part of the Teme till the
evening, the river Lugg being, I am sorry to
say, too far away. I cannot describe what
I have not seen of the Teme, and I have
only now seen that bit of it which winds
through the water meadows from Lingen
bridge to Leintwardine. It rises in the
mountains that divide Radnorshire from
Montgomeryshire, flowing eastward, past
Knighton, and through the Vale of Brampton
Brian.

Here it is but a small stream, and in dry
seasons is almost absorbed by its gravelly

FLY-FISHING IN THE TEME. 31

bed. Of itself it possesses no special claim
to beauty or attractiveness ; but its surround-
ings are very charming. It has a lovely back-
ground formed by the village of Brampton
Brian, the handsome brick-built mansion of
Squire Harley, the owner of the estate, and
the ruins of an old castle, half hidden
amongst the abounding tall trees and lower
foliage which encompass it ; the pine-clad
heights of Brampton Brian Park limit the
view in that direction. It is to the courtesy
of the owner of this beautiful estate that I
am indebted for permission to fish in this
stretch of the Teme.

Looking to the south and east, the wide,
open valley of Leintwardine is bounded by
the hills which surround the old town of
Ludlow, and the range which trends south-
ward to Bircher Common, Croft Ambrey,
and Pokehouse Wood. The grey tower of
Leintwardine church stands well up from the
village, which nestles in the north-eastern
corner of the valley. Just above Leintwar-
dine bridge the river Clun pours its waters
into the Teme, and thenceforward the Teme
becomes a large and important stream,
wending its crooked way among the hills,
beneath Caesar's Camp, past and amidst the
lovely scenery of Downton Castle, to Oakley

D

32 FRESH WOODS.

Park, the scene of Milton's " Comus," to
Ludlow, and so —

" by many winding nooks it strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean."

Two Gentlemen of Verona.

i Now to my fishing. I set up my tackle in
a meadow on the Buckton Park Farm. My
leading fly was probably a novelty in this
water — a small Dun fly with a Red Tag,
called by the learned " Yates's Fancy ;" my
second was a fly with a bright green body
and light wings, called the " Emerald Dun."
At my first throw I rose a fish, and this filled
me with courage and hope. I threw again
in a rippling stream, and allowed my flies to
float gently down over the spot where they
had before attracted a rise ; and now he
comes again ! I gave a firm but quick up-
ward movement to the rod, and hooked him.
Off he darted up stream till I gradually
wound him in ; (my trusty and too enthusiastic
young friend Chris, had gone to the Post-
office). I had nearly brought him within
reach, when the sight of my net gave him a
fresh start, and off he went again. I once
more hauled him in, and a beautiful grayling
swam into my net, with ''Yates's Fancy"
firmly hooked in his upper lip. This was
encouraging. .

AN AWKWARD CATCH. 33

Instead of confining myself to the bank, I
waded for the most part up the shallow
streams, and before Chris, arrived I had two
more fine grayling in my basket — all victims •
to the seductiveness of the Red Tag on
" Yates's Fancy."

On we went, buoyant with hope ; but I
fished for an hour without another rise.
Luck seemed to desert me when Chris, came
on the scene ; he was too eager, and kept
too close behind me. Once I made a beau-
tiful cast intended to captivate a rising fish ;
luckily it was but a gentle throw, for it
hooked poor Chris, by the chin, and gave
him a slight scratch only. Had it been one
of my long and vigorous casts, " Yates's
Fancy " would certainly have been imbedded
in his flesh, and I should have been com-
pelled to perform a severe and doubtless
clumsy surgical operation ; this incident was
a lesson for both of us.

Shortly afterwards I had another rise, and
hooked my fish ; this time it was a trout that
had a fancy for my green-bodied insect, and
we got him ashore nicely. Again I fished
for half an hour, and was rewarded with
another grayling, and so my fishing ended.

LETTER No. V.

TURKEYS AND PEACOCKS.

" Should I, however, in the course of my loiterings about
this old mansion see or hear anything curious that might
serve to vary the monotony of this every-day life, I shall not
fail to report upon it for the reader's entertainment." —
Bracebridge Hall.

URKEYS, especially at a certain
season of the year, appeal with
irresistible attractiveness, not only
to anglers, but to all men ; and as for pea-
cocks— does not their delicate plumage con-
tribute largely to an angler's beatitude ?

Its English name is said to have been given
to this bird from a mistaken notion that it was
originally brought to England from Turkey ;
and in the account of the battle given below
I have assumed that the turkey is a Turk in
his origin ; but I believe it is now well known
that he was imported from America — pro-
bably by Sir Walter Raleigh — and it is pos-

TURKEYS. 35

sibly true, as our venerated master, Izaak
Walton, quotes from Sir Richard Baker : —

" Hops and turkeys, carps and beer,
Came into England all in one year."

There was a time, not so very long ago,
when turkeys, about Christmas time, used to
walk up to London from distant counties,
not so much of their own accord or for sight-
seeing, as to be seen and eaten. I have seen
hundreds of them come in large flocks. Now
they come in thousands by rail, and van, and
market cart.

Of the delicate flavour of turkey, roast or
boiled, or its digestible quaHties, I need not
speak — they are already not unknown ; but
the powers of digestion which a turkey pos-
sesses are perhaps not so widely under-
stood.

The ingenious Spallanzani made the follow-
ing experiments of this bird's capacity : —
Twelve strong needles were firmly fixed in a
ball of lead, the points of which projected
about iin. from the surface ; thus armed, it
was covered with a case of paper, and
crammed down the turkey's throat ; the bird
retained it a day and a half without showing
the least symptom of uneasiness ; the points
of all the needles were broken off close to the

36 FRESH WOODS.

surface of the ball, except two or three of
which the stumps projected a little. Another
instance may be mentioned, in which twelve
small lancets, very sharp, were fixed in a
similar ball of lead, which was administered
in the same way to a turkey-cock, and left
eight hours in the stomach. The organ was
then opened ; but nothing appeared except the
naked ball ; the twelve lancets having been
broken to pieces, the stomach remaining
perfectly sound and entire. I am not pre-
pared to say that these are not " crammers "
in another sense.

The following instance of the turkey's
pugnacity came under my own observation.

I was loitering about the farm one morn-
ing, when I witnessed a scene which was
novel and curious to me, and, so far as I
could learn, had rarely been seen by the
people about the place. I was watching the
farmer's flock of turkeys, about a score or so,
industriously at work under the apple trees
in the orchard — at work with a sense of pro-
prietorship of the land they occupied, which
gave dignity and repose to their movements ;
just as every cock knows his own dunghill,
and is the lord and proud master thereof.

I have observed, by the way, that all the
animals and poultry about a farm seem to

BATTLE OF THE TURKEYS. 37

know, by intuition, the limits of their own
fields ; where they have a right to go, and
where they sometimes go without any right.
On their own ground they have a look of
self-importance and honest pride that would
scorn an evil deed ; but when they go where
they know they ought not to go, they look,
and I am sure they feel, like sneaks and
humbugs, however much they may try to
disguise that consciousness. A pig in the
farmyard is a pig in satisfied possession of
his rights ; but if by accident a gate has been
left open, and he sneaks into the kitchen
garden, he knows perfectly well that he is a
burglar. How excitedly he pegs into the
young potatoes or luscious green food, how
well he knows that his opportunity is short,
how cleverly he makes the best of it, and
how quickly he scampers away at the bang
of a door or crunch of a footstep.

The Sultan of our Turks was strutting
about in an excited manner, and working
himself into a tremendous passion. Some-
times I have noticed that he ruffles himself
up in this way out of a feeling of pride and
vanity, for the purpose of showing himself
off to the admiring gaze of his family ; but
on this occasion he was animated by passion
and insulted dignity. His long coxcomb (or

38 FRESH WOODS.

whatever else it is called) and his scarlet
wattles hung down over his beak and from
his cheeks like flaming flags of wrath ; he
stamped about with his feet, and trailed the
points of his down-stretched wings along the
ground. He was in a rage, and I wondered
what on earth, in that peaceful scene, sur-
rounded as he was by his happy family,
could possibly have aroused his ire.

Looking over into the adjoining field I saw
our neighbour's flock, and the Sultan thereof
was strutting about in the same preposterous
way, now and again uttering a loud note of
defiance, which sounded more like bother-
other-other-ation than anything else. Pre-
sently a hen turkey made her way through a
glat in the hedge, and began picking about
in our orchard, in a make-believe-uncon-
scious way, as though she had a perfect right
to be there, but knowing all the time that she
was a thief and an intruder.

She was immediately followed, one by one,
by the whole family, last of all by the com-
mander-in-chief himself; and they spread
out in skirmishing order, pretending to be
innocently picking up worms. This was
altogether too much for our already-excited
Sultan ; it was aggravating enough to have
defiance hurled at him over the hedge, but

BATTLE OF THE TURKEYS. 39

to have his own territory invaded in this
impudent way was altogether beyond his
Turkish endurance. Foaming with indigna-
tion, he shouted his war-cry, and set his
army in battle array. He did not form a
square, in accordance with the warlike
method of his adopted country — he preferred
the plan of his native land ; he disposed his
troops in a long single line, and then, in
trumpet-like voice, "Show me," said he,
"whose men you be, that hunt so boldly
here ! "

Meanwhile the wily chief of the opposing
forces had not been idle ; he, too, had mar-
shalled his men. If their arms were a score,
" their hearts were but one," and he hurled
back his defiant reply : —

" We list not to declare," said he,
" Nor show whose men we be :
Yet will we spend our dearest blood.
Thy chiefest hens to slay. "

Our Sultan swore a solemn oath, and thus in
rage did say : —

"Ere thus I will outbraved be,
One of us two shall die.
Let thou and I the battle try
And set our men aside."

But the young cocks and hens on either side
were as eager for battle as their chiefs, and

40 FRESH WOODS.

wouldn't listen to a single-handed combat ;
so at it they went — not by any means in a
helter-skelter sort of way, as one might have
expected from these hot-headed, hare-brained
birds.

They marched straight up in single line,
the two chiefs at the head of their respective
columns, until they came within a yard of
each other, face to face ; then our gallant
leader gobbled something which sounded
like—

" . . , . Come on, Macduff,
And cursed be he that first cries, ' Hold— enough ! ' "

And so they strutted, and swore, and spat
at each other, and the battle began, but
in a wary, deliberate fashion. I was amused
to see them bowing to each other, in
what seemed a poHte, gentlemanly way,
but really they were only manoeuvring ;
it was curious to see their heads bobbing up
and down, and I wondered when they were
going to begin. But turkeys don't fight in a
vulgar way, with their whole bodies, beaks,
spurs, legs and wings, like " tame villatic
fowls." These fought on scientific principles,
and only with their beaks. I soon discovered
that their method was to try to get hold of
each other's lower jaw, and the moment one
opened his beak his opponent would dart at

THRASHED, BUT DEFIANT. 41

him and endeavour to seize that jaw in his
mouth. And woe betide him when that hold
was got ; it was the grip of a bulldog — it
seemed as if nothing but death would un-
loose that grip.

They were equally matched as to numbers,
and the battle raged long and furiously ;
nearly every bird got hooked by the jaw in
this way, and the great struggle was to tug
themselves free.

So far as I could see, they used no other
weapon ; they made no attempt to strike
with their wings or their legs. " When Turk
meets Turk then comes the tug of war," and
for a long time victory hung in an equal
balance ; when all of a sudden the invaders
threw up the sponge, turned tail, and beat a
dignified, slow retreat.

The conquerors had seemingly had enough
of it, for they did not pursue the vanquished ;
they allowed them "bag and baggage" to
pass in single file through the glat by which
they had entered, and I don't think they will
soon return.

Chanticleer, it is said, never makes more
noise than " quand il est bien battu," a re-
mark equally true of that thoroughly-thrashed,
but still defiant, turkey-cock ; for no sooner
has he got back to his own domain than " he

42 FRESH WOODS.

stoutly struts his dames before," makes a
louder botheration than ever, and boasts
that he was the conqueror, and all his young
cocks and hens believe him.

>Y >!< >:< *

" The matchless plumage of the peacock,"
says Buffon, " seems to combine all that
delights the eye in the soft and delicate tints
of the finest flowers, all that dazzles it in
the sparkling lustre of gems, and all that
astonishes it in the grand display of the rain-
bow."

These birds were originally brought from
India, and thence have been diffused over the
civilized world. We are told that King Solo-
mon imported them in ships from Tarshish,
which brought him " gold and silver, ivory,
and apes and peacocks."

The peahen is destitute of those dazzling
beauties which adorn her lord. She lays five
or six eggs in some out-of-the-way, secret
place beyond the knowledge of her hus-
band, who has a mean habit of smashing
them. His doing this causes a domestic rup-
ture of many days, during which his fine
feathers and his coaxing, croaking entreaties
are displayed in vain. His wife treats him
with haughty disdain, and will not be seen in
his company.

THE PEACOCK,

43

The females sometimes assume the plumage
of the male. This is said to take place after
they have done laying. A specimen in this
state of transformation is preserved in the
British Museum.

In this connection I may remark that Dr.
McCormick, in his great work, " Voyages of
Discovery in the Arctic and Antarctic Seas,"
describes a similar lusus naturcB in the case
of a tame Aylesbury duck, which he had reared
from a duckling. She laid 120 eggs the first
year, and so continued until her tenth year,
when she ceased laying, and then assumed
the curled tail-feathers of the drake. A most
amusing and interesting account of this duck
will be found at page 359 et seq. of Vol. II. of
the above-named work.

"When pleased or delighted, and in the
sight of his females, the peacock erects his
train and displays the majesty of his beauty.
All his movements are full of dignity ; his
head and neck bend nobly back, his pace is
slow and solemn, and he frequently turns
slowly and gracefully round, as if to catch
the sunbeams in every direction, and produce
new colours of inconceivable richness."

So says Thomas Bewick ; but I have
sometimes seen the peacock in a less digni-
fied and less satisfied state of mind. Did

44 FRESH WOODS.

you ever watch a peacock as Wordsworth
describes him ? —

" The peacock in the broad ash tree
Aloft is roosted for the night,

He who in proud prosperity
Of colours manifold and bright
Walked round affronting the daylight."

This is fine, but it is poetical rather than
precise, and one of the oddest things I have
seen about a farm is a peacock going to roost.
Then does he present a most comical com-
bination of wounded pride, vanity, humilia-
tion, imbecility, and indecision. I think it is
just one of those occasions on which he hates
to be watched, or even looked at ; he seems
to know he is going to make a fool of him-
self. He is far too proud to take up his
lodging on the cold ground, or upon a gate,
upon the rafters or top of a shed ; nothing
less than a strong branch of some tall tree
for a roost will suit his dignity and self-im-
portance, and I fancy the great trial of his
life is that nightly ascent which he seems
bound to make, but always in dread of some
great disaster either to his neck or his pre-
cious tail. It is laughable to see him peck
round, as he gradually nears the tree, now
and again glancing up, then pecking round,
then making believe that he is going to start,

PEACOCK GOING TO ROOST, 45

and, while he is hesitating " 'twixt the will
and deed," madame, his wife, comes along,
and, without any fuss, " takes the leap at her
full speed " and reaches the branch ; but he
still exhibits the most ludicrous indecision.
Pecking, or pretending to peck, round about,
he makes endless attempts to start ; he half
opens his wings, and then thinks better of it.
Thus have I watched him —

" Letting I dare not wait upon I would
Like the poor cat i' the adage " —

for more than half an hour at a time. His
courage is at length screwed up ; he seems to
think it must be done, but he cannot venture
to make a start from level ground. Like
Peter Wilkins's " Flying Woman," he always
selects a tree near a steep bank, off whose
edge he can launch himself with the least
chance of danger to his tail, and so, in the
uncertain hope of going up, but always with
the accompanying fear that he may go down,
away he goes at length, and, really, as he is
flying up, he has nothing to be ashamed of,
for his floating, rather than flying (when
once he gets off the ground), with his tail
partly spread out like a sail, is most grace-
ful.

If he and his wife happen to be on a friendly
footing, he condescends to land himself be-

46 FRESH WOODS.

side her on the same branch ; but, if there
has been a tiff between them, as very fre-
quently happens, he seeks another and a
higher branch, and roosts by himself. I
have never had the pleasure of seeing him
come down from his perch ; he gets up, or
rather comes down, much too early in the
morning for me to witness his descent.

LETTER No. VI.

[1886.

BY TEME-SIDE, AT LUDLOW.

I' mony a vow " to return at first
convenient season, I tore myself
away from The Old Farmhouse
where, in spite of wind and weather, I had
passed a pleasant week. Before leaving the
country I decided to spend a day at Ludlow
and to make another attack on the Teme in
that neighbourhood.

Ludlow, as you know, is a picturesque old
town, beautifully situated on a hill, partly
surrounded by hills, dominated by the tall
tower of the fine old church and the ruins of
the Castle, which command lovely views on
all sides. I am not an antiquarian, and I
am not going to poke about amongst the old
walls of this old Castle ; I am going to angle
in the Teme, which here has grown into a
fine stream half encircling the town, and is
backed up by the rocky cliffs of a delightful

48 FRESH WOODS.

hill called Whitlift. Everybody knows that
Ludlow Castle is the place where " Comus "
was first performed before the Earl of Bridge-
water, and that Samuel Butler once dwelt in
a corner of it and wrote " Hudibras " there.
Surely that is fame enough for any old castle.
Now I go a- fishing.

I started about six o'clock in the evening
of a lovely summer's day, my destination
being the grassy meadows below Ludford
Mill. As I was crossing the quaint old
bridge at the bottom of the town my attention
was arrested by a curious figure in the water ;
it was a sweep fly-fishing, and as he fished
there in the middle of the broad and shallow
stream, under the shadow of the high cliffs
of Whitlift, he formed the centre of a weird
picture which Gustave Dore might have de-
lighted to paint. His face was as black as
soot could make it ; the hat he wore was,
naturally, a " chimney-pot " ; but it was not
all a hat — part of the brim was gone, and the
crown was battered in. His breeclies were
tucked up above his knees, and bare-legged
he waded in the river. His rod was of an
ancient make, and must have been in the
family for a generation or two ; but it was
strong and pliant, and he wielded it with the
hand of a master.

SWEEP FLY-FISHING, 49

How I admired the perfect ease with which
he cast his flies upon the water. He was
fishing up stream, and while I watched him
for a quarter of an hour or so, he hooked, but
did not land — he pocketed— three fine trout.
He had no landing-net, but wading as he was
in mid-stream, he played his fish with con-
summate skill, and gradually wound him up
within arm's reach, then unhooked and
quietly dropped him into the capacious
pocket of his ragged but useful jacket.

A glint of satisfaction in the white of his
eyes, which shone out of the blackness of his
face, and a grim smile, which showed his red
lips and a perfect double row of "shining
ossifications," were all the signs of excite-
ment he displayed, and to work he went
again.

I am sorry I could not get near enough to
speak to him ; he was too far off, and in the
middle of the river. I should have been glad
to examine his flies ; these Til warrant were
as home-made as his rod. His was doubtless
a lifelong experience ; he must have fished
that selfsame spot when he was a boy, taught,
no doubt, by a paternal sweep before him.
His skill was hereditary ; and with him, in
another part of the same water, was his son,
a lad of twelve or thirteen, a chip of the old

50 FRESH WOODS.

block, " an innocent blackness," as sooty, as
ragged, and almost as expert as himself.

The boy was naked up to the thighs ; his
head was bare, but covered with a shock of
tangled hair —

" And through its folds the wild winds sang a song."

He got no rise while I was looking on, but
he threw his fly with a neat and tender hand.
Truly he had been well educated ; there was
a sureness, a certainty, a satisfaction in his
cast which betrayed long experience and in-
born aptitude. I would back him against
many of your scientific anglers.

These are the born fishermen, who, if truth
were told, do ofttimes help to fill the baskets of
which you so loudly boast ! Happy sweeps !

After watching this scientific display of
native genius for some minutes, I humbly
wended my way down stream to my own
fishing-ground.

I began with my accustomed vigour. \
have learnt to throw cautiously and carefully,
and sometimes, when the wind is with me and
the space is open and free from trees and
bushes, I can make a very fair cast indeed ;
but somehow I can never be certain about it.
My fly frequently goeth where it hsteth, not
where I list. There seems to be a peculiar

A TEME FISHERMAN TREED. 51

twist of the wrist, a knack which has not come
to my unaccustomed fist. I think I know
how to do it, but somehow I don't do it.

I fished down two or three meadows for an
hour or so, and I hooked and landed one nice
trout and one grayhng. I did not become
excited, and exhibit my trophies to all passers-
by, as in my youthful " Dove Dale Days." I
quietly dropped them into my basket, and re-
sumed my sport with businesslike gravity.

On the opposite side of the river was an-
other sportsman, and I am happy to say that
although he was a dweller in the town of Lud-
low, and probably a Teme fisherman all his
days, he certainly was a thorough " muff."

He flogged one hole for a quarter of an hour
in a most outrageous way, and then, to his
extreme bewilderment, he got hooked in the
upper branches of a tall tree. He began by
flinging up big stones and sticks in the vain
hope of dislodging his flies. Then he shouted
across to me, and asked me if I would mind
staying where I was, and keep a look-out for
the safety of his basket, rod, and treed flies,
and see that they didn't fly away while he ran
home, a mile and a half or so, to get a ladder.
I told him I didn't much mind. I fished about
there for some time, but with no more success,
till I was tired, and, as it was getting late and

52 FRESH WOODS.

he did not turn up, I felt no compunction in
leaving his things to take care of themselves.
I was marching off across the meadow when
I descried him and another man traihng an
immense ladder, and I confess I felt some
elation at the thought that there are more
duffers than one in the angling world.

LETTER No. VII. [1886.

OSTERLEY PARK LAKE ON A BANK HOLIDAY.

" Much for my sport I cannot say.

Though, mind, I like the fun ;
Here have I sat the livelong day

Without extracting one."

.Frank BucklancTs Life.

NCE upon a time I found myself a
solitary unit amongst a couple of
thousand joyful holiday makers be-
sieging the gates of the South-Western Rail-
way at eleven a.m. on Bank Holiday. I had
taken a first-class ticket, and eventually be-
came the sole occupant of a first-class smoking
compartment ; but I was not long sole pos-
sessor, for the crowd surged in. Jack opened
the door, followed by Tom, Bill, and 'Arry,
their sisters, their cousins, their mothers and
their aunts, with a few babies. On seeing the
ladies, I ventured to remark that it was a
smoking compartment. Yes, they all knew
that ; there was nothing they liked better ;

54 FRESH WOODS.

and the males of course lighted up their pipes.
The compartment was crammed to suffo-
cation, and I lamented that I had thrown my
money away on a first-class ticket, when less
than half would have given me the same ac-
commodation.

I was not before aware that all the carriages
are "mixed promiscuous like" on Bank Holi-
days, and the greatest fun of all isto get a first-
class seat for a third-class fare. My destina-
tion was nowhere in particular, so I landed at
Isleworth ; and seeing before me a piscator
laden with creel on his back and rod and
landing-net in hand, I followed his lead, know-
ing he would lead to some pleasant place.
After two miles plodding through rain and
mud, he reached the gates of Osterley Park,
and there he vanished from my sight.

Osterley Park Lake was besieged on Bank
Holiday by a small army of, say a hundred,
piscators, all armed to the teeth. Their sport
was not the most exhilarating ; but every-
body knows what British perseverance
means : it is exhibited alike among the
Afghans of Asia, the Zulus of Africa, and on
the banks of rivers and lakes in Old England.
On entering the park I was guided in the di-
rection of the lake by perceiving in the dis-
tance (at very frequent intervals and forming

A HUNDRED ANGLERS. 55

nearly a circle) small columns of blue smoke
curling upwards, which, on approaching
nearer, I found to arise from the hundred en-
thusiastic anglers. Every man Jack of them
had a pipe in his mouth, and was smoking
away as if in obedience to a law of his mas-
ter, the venerable Izaak Walton.

In an army of heroes there is always one
superlative hero who comes to the front. In
Osterley Park the hero of the day commenced
warlike operations against the finny tribe at
six o'clock in the morning — and what a
morning it was ! — the rain fell continuously,
and for the most part in torrents, up to
twelve o'clock ; after that time the sun burst
forth gloriously, and the anglers were re-
warded for the drenching toils of the morn-
ing by a splendid afternoon.

I saw our special hero at three o'clock in-
tently watching for a nibble on the identical
spot he had occupied from early morning — at
that time his perseverance had been rewarded
by two, perhaps three, small roach running
three or four inches in length, and of propor-
tionate girth ; when I left the scene of his ex-
ploits he was still cheerfully labouring away,
and he evidently meant to continue till the
shades of evening closed over him ; indeed,
it would not surprise me to learn that he re-

S6 FRESH WOODS.

mained in close proximity to the lake all night,
and was found doggedly and joyfully at work
next morning by sunrise — such is the tenacity,
such the perseverance, of your true angler !

I own to my shame that I belong not to
the gentle craft. I am merely an " amateur."
Chance had led me to this jolly anglers'
resort. I sauntered several times round the
charming lake, enjoying the beauty of the
scenery immensely, and glancing furtively
at the happy anglers as I went round. Many
of them had stripped off shoes, stockings, and
trousers, and were visible above the water
only down to the point where human unity is
lost in duahty.

Others had squatted down on the roots of
old trees ; some were fixed on camp-stools ;
others again had planted their rods on little
props, and left them to catch the fish which
did not come. Some were occupied in what
is called ledgering; some trolling with arti-
ficial baits and wonderful spinners ; some
with live bait — which means with a hook
stuck through the back of a poor little live
roach or perch, and jerked vigorously to and
fro, from air to water and from water to air ;
some with worms and floats, others with
wasp-grubs, &c.

Live bait, I was told, was a certain and

HURTING OR INJURING? 57

destructive bait, but it must have been ex-
tremely scarce, for never shall I forget the
shout of joy which arose from a small posse
of earnest anglers, when one of them, a young
gentleman with naked legs, safely landed a
little roach, which he kindly handed over to
a brother angler, who was anxious to try live-
bait fishing, but had before sought in vain for
a bait. A special pool was made for this
precious little fish to keep alive and kicking
in, whilst the proper tackle was being pre-
pared for him.

At length I had the gratification of seeing
him wriggling on the hook, and swinging
through the air into the water again, but I
saw nothing particularly destructive in these
gyrations, except the gradual destruction of
the little creature's life. I used the word
" gratification " just now because I was as-
sured, on the great and indubitable authority
of Izaak Walton, whom all piscators worship,
that the roach not only feels no pain, but
positively delights in this unwonted exercise.
He tells us that " a pearch is the longest lived
on the hook," and that " having cut off his
fin on his back, which may be done without
hurting him^ you must take your knife,

1 This curious notion that the mutilation of a living
creature does not give it pain has probably arisen from the

58 FRESH WOODS,

which cannot be too sharp, and betwixt the
head and the fin on the back cut or make an
incision, or such a scar as you may put the
arming wire of your hook into it . . . and so
carrying your arming wire along his back . . .
draw out that wire at another scar near to his
tail," &c . I will not presume to differ from
so supreme an authority ; still I own the extra-
ordinary wriggling and gasping of the little
fish struck me as a curious manifestation of
pleasure. I am aware that all anglers act
upon the conviction that none of these cold-
blooded creatures — roach, perch, frogs, or
worms — can possibly feel anything like
agony when their knives and hooks are
forced through their vitals in the way above
described. Of course for a warm-blooded
mortal like the venerable Izaak the sensation
would be different if —

" That quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it."

Don Jjian.

In wandering amongst these jolly anglers
I felt, I confess, a good deal like a " fish out

gradual misuse of the verb "to hurt" — whose signification
was originally limited to "to injure," — and had no reference
to suflfering inflicted by the injury. Without hurting him
in Walton's time meant without injuring him for the purpose
for which he is intended — in other words, without making him
dead instead of live-bait.

A CORrK SEAT ON A WASPS' NEST. 59

of water." I was hungry and I was thirsty,
and I had thoughtlessly omitted to provide
for such contingencies. Around me on all
sides were provisions in baskets and tins and
boxes, and beer in bottles and stone jars,
and whisky in flasks and casks — beer and
whisky everywhere, but not a drop to drink
for me.

It seemed to me that when an angler is not
fishing he is sure to be smoking, and when
he is not smoking he is sure to be eating or
drinking. It must of a certainty be hungry
and thirsty work. Imagine how delighted I
was, then, to discover two angling friends
under a tree, earnestly smoking and fishing,
as became them.

Their welcome of me was cordial, though I
cannot say it was very much so. They have
got the impression that I not only cannot
catch fish myself, but that my very presence
is the cause of their not catching any ! They
think there is something antipathetic betwixt
me and the fishes, and on river banks they
prefer my absence to my company. Any way
they regaled me handsomely, and I felt re-
freshed. They spread a cork seat for me on
the margin of the lake.

I had no sooner reclined thereon than I
was startled by a buzzing round and round

6o FRESH WOODS.

my head, the sound of which I knew too well.
I was reposing on a wasps' nest ! I do not
accuse my friends of knowingly placing me
in this position — it was, I feel nearly sure,
unconsciously done by them. Wasps are
uncommonly intelligent insects — they know
by a glance whether you are a friend or an
enemy. If you have gunpowder in your
pocket, they can smell it, and woe betide
you ! I passed through a trying scrutiny ; it
was found that I had neither a rod in my
hand nor powder in my pocket, nor any of
their grubs in my possession, and I was
generously permitted to beat a safe retreat.

I then betook myself to the stump of an old
tree to finish my sandwich, but no sooner
had I fixed myself than my ears were again
assailed in the same unpleasant manner.
Here was another wasps' nest under my very
feet ! Again had I to pass through the same
ordeal, and I was thankful to have got clear
of these little soldiers without wounding their
pride or being wounded by their daggers.

I observed amongst the piscators a youth
making notes in a pocket-book, doubtless of
the day's proceedings. He was probably
getting up a report for an angling journal of
the doings of the members of the different
clubs represented on the banks. I cannot

RESULTS OF THE FISHING. 6i

say how far his report and mine may tally. I
can only say that during the two or three
hours I had closely watched the doings of
these hundred rods, I only heard of one
nibble, and saw caught the little roach I have
already mentioned.

When weighing time came I do not, on my
conscience, believe that the whole bulk of
fishes which fell to the hundred anglers would
turn the scale to one single pound avoirdupois !
But those merry fellows were as happy as
crickets, and enjoyed themselves thoroughly.
It seemed to me that Osterley Park Lake is
a famous place to fish in if you don't expect
to catch any fish !

LETTER No. VIII.

[1886.

IN A SUBURBAN GARDEN.

" And so you have a garden of your own, and you plant,
and are dirty and amused. Are you not ashamed of your-
self?"

" Dear ! how charming it must be to walk out into one's
own garding and sit on a bench in the open air, with a
fountain and leaden statue, and a rolling stone, and an
arbour ! Have a care of sore throats, though, and the agoe"
— Grays Letters to Rev. Norton Nicholls.

AM, as you know, a busy City man ;
the never-ending duties of business
keep me at my desk for ten hours
a day — often more, seldom less ; so, you see,
my angling experiences are limited to two or
three weeks in a year. But my suburban
garden is with me all the year round — not
that I see very much of it, the. City mill is too
exacting.

During the winter months, when all out-
side is cold and dreary, when the sky is leaden
and the sun never shines, I am contented

IN A SUBURBAN GARDEN. 63

enough in my business, which has much in it
to interest and amuse me ; but when —

" 'Tis a month before the month of May,
And the spring comes slowly up this way," —

when my lawn begins to look green with the
fresh young grass, when my early peas and
beans are beginning to peep from underneath
the fresh mould, and the pear and apple trees
put forth their buds and blossoms — then, I
confess, the bonds of never-ending business
begin to be irksome ; for it is only in the
early mornings, on Saturday afternoons, and
on Sundays that I can watch and rejoice over
these natural developments.

" I never had," said Cowley, " any other
desire so strong, and so like to covetousness,
as that one which I have had always — that I
may be master of a small house and a large
garden," and I am of the same way of think-
ing.

I have a really pleasant little suburban
garden ; it is quite delightful when the golden
laburnums and white and purple lilacs are in
full bloom ; and although I live considerably
within the postal radius, surrounded on all
sides by houses, my garden is sometimes
alive with the songs of many birds.

I am quite as ignorant as a City man may
be expected to be of the natural history of
F

64 FRESH WOODS.

birds, but I hope I may be permitted to love
tiiem without a scientific knowledge of their
habits, manners, and migrations. I welcome
them when they pay me a visit, and it
pleases me in leisure moments to watch their
antics, and their Httle bright-eyed, tricky
ways.

I am constantly reminded of the country
by the songs of blackbirds and thrushes ;
robins and wrens are regular visitors. Occa-
sionally I see in my apple trees chaffinches
and green linnets, while starlings on my lawn
and tomtits in the silver birch and mulberry
trees are always quite at home. I have also
seen, in the summer months, a pretty, shy
little bird with a wailing note, breaking out
sometimes into a sweet and clear warble,
which I take to be " the garden warbler." It
is very difficult to get sight of this bird, for it
sings in amongst the leaves, and the moment
one begins to look for it, it stops short in its
song and is off like a dart.

In the little field in front of us we frequently
have a pair or two of skylarks, though why
they should come away from the beautiful
meadows in the far-off country and pour forth
their "music sweet as love" in the murky,
foggy sky that generally overhangs that field
1 know not, unless they come out of pure

BIRDS IN MY GARDEN. 65

loving-kindness to us poor City mortals, to
gladden our hearts with their sweet notes.

This year they began on the " Feast of St.
Valentine," a cold and foggy morning ; and
it was pleasant as surprising, from one's
dressing-room window, for the first time this
year —

" To hear the lark begin his flight.
And singing, startle the dull night
From his watch tower in the skies.
Till the dappled dawn doth rise. "

Only, unfortunately, the dawn was not dap-
pled— the little songsters could be heard but
not seen ; their music came down through a
dense fog, perhaps all the more thrillingly
and with more chastened melody on that
account.

Swallows, swifts, and martins occasionally
venture so far over the surrounding chimney-
pots as to float about over that meadow —
surely more for our pleasure who see them,
than for any special advantage to themselves ;
but they never stay long, nor have I ever
seen them alight on rail, or tree, or housetop.

Now and then, when old Charlie, our cat,
is away, I have had the pleasure of seeing
half-a-dozen rooks at a time come down to
my lawn to pick up the worms, or the crumbs
I had thrown out to tempt them. These

66 FRESH WOODS.

rooks are uncommonly cautious, diplomatic
birds. I notice that whenever there are six
on the lawn, there is always a signalman
perched up on a high branch of a neighbour-
ing tree, and no sooner does a biped or
quadruped approach within what his obser-
vant eye deems to be the radius of danger,
than he gives a loud caw-caw, and off they
go for a short time ; but if they happen to be
hungry, and the worms or crumbs are plenti-
ful, they are sure to return — first to the tallest
trees, then, if the coast is clear, they drop
down one by one and resume business, but
always leaving one sentinel aloft.

I was startled one afternoon lately from a
doze in the summer-house by a great scream-
ing and caw-cawing in the apple trees. On
looking up I found the noise was made by an
impetuous, hungry young rook whose mother
could not feed him fast enough. She had got
one of my mellowest apples in her clutches
and was pecking bits off it ; she ate none
herself, but crammed the bits down her son's
throat as fast as she could separate them,
which was no easy task, for she had to clutch
the apple with one foot and hold on to the
branch with the other. I forgave her for
stealing my apple on account of the motherly
affection she was showing to her noisy and

BIRDS IN MY GARDEN. 67

greedy young son, who was strong enough to
help himself.

As to the migration of certain birds there
still seems to be a good deal of doubt amongst
learned ornithologists ; my rooks certainly
do not migrate very far. I have no idea
whence they come or whither they go ; but
they are constant visitors all the year round,
and I have been surprised that they don't
build and have a real home in the tall trees
which surround my garden. I wish they
would. I should like to compare notes as to
the habits of these cockney rooks and those
country ones I used to watch half-a-century
ago. But my trees are poplars, and I have a
notion that rooks don't like poplars for build-
ing purposes : their nests would be swung
about too much in a strong wind.

Starlings bother me a good deal as to their
comings and goings ; they seem to be here
to-day and gone to-morrow all the year round,
except, perhaps, in the spring, when they are
less numerous, and I suppose many of them
are off somewhere in the country about their
nest-building business — at the very time I
want them most, to help the sparrows to eat
the nasty green grubs that devour the leaves
of my gooseberry trees.

Sparrows, I am afraid, don't do much in

68 FRESH WOODS.

the spring by way of eating grubs to com-
pensate for the damage they do to my goose-
berry trees in the winter. If they would only
eat the grubs now as industriously as they ate
the fruit and leaf-buds in the winter, I could
forgive them. On many of the trees the
branches are bare of leaf and fruit just so far
up as the twig would bear the weight of a
sparrow, and the leaves and fruit are found
only on the tips which they could not reach.
Just now as I am writing I can see two of
them in our best pear tree pegging away —
they have nearly eaten a whole pear while I
am looking on. On the whole, I think
sparrows are a nuisance — they are as mis-
chievous as they are impudent ; but I don't
dislike them.

One Sunday in January, a very cold, frosty,
and foggy afternoon, I noticed scores of star-
lings sitting in twos and threes on the top
branches of the naked trees, their feathers
ruffled up as if they were " a-cold," and occa-
sionally uttering a low wailing note, subsiding
into crooning little guttural songs. They
seemed to have given up their business for
the day as hopeless labour on the frozen
ground ; but when I threw down a few hand-
fuls of bread-crumbs, the lawn was soon alive
with starlings and sparrows.

BIRDS IN MY GARDEN. 69

It is curious to see them at work ; there is
no talking or chattering then — every one
pecks away for himself, or steals a choice
morsel from his neighbour. They seem to be
proud of the society of the rooks, and spar-
rows are never so busy on the lawn as when
the starlings are there ; then they seem to
imagine themselves to be starlings too.

Of an evening, when their craws are full —
and they take a deal of filling — they muster
together on some tall trees and have friendly
chats about our wicked old Charlie and the
business and adventures of the day. They
don't roost on the trees ; when their confabu-
lation is over they start off somewhere else
to bed, probably to some far-off fields in the
country, where they were bred and born.

They are not imaginative birds ; a red rag
is a red rag to them, and nothing more. My
neighbour has hoisted a series of red rags
on a long pole which reaches to the top
of his mulberry tree, thinking thereby to
scare the birds — but sparrows don't mind it,
and as for starlings, there is one at this
moment sitting on the top of the pole keeping
guard whilst half-a-dozen others are in
amongst the leaves, pegging away at the
mulberries.

Now, as I am writing, there are three little

70 FRESH WOODS.

groups on the lawn — one old bird and three
young ones in each group. The old one is
pecking away in the grass, and the young
ones following her with their beaks open, each
one getting a worm in his turn. The young
ones are quite as big and strong on the wing
as the old ones, but I suppose their beaks
are not yet sufficiently hardened to dig into
the hard ground.

It has been a matter of surprise to me, that
although at different times we are visited by
so many birds, they never think of building
their nests in the trees and bushes about our
place. Once, indeed, a poor little pair of
robins did build and hatch their young in the
ivy under the eaves of the toolhouse — a safe
and inaccessible place, one would have
thought ; but our rascally old cat had his eye
on them. I found out their nest by seeing
them carrying in worms. Unluckily, Charlie
saw them, too ; and when he thought the
young ones were fat enough he scrambled up
one night and made a meal of them, and
cock robin as well, the old villain ! That is
the only nest I have seen. I suppose cats
are the cause.

Charlie is a very large and remarkably
handsome cat, of a mild and benevolent
aspect ; he is very popular amongst his fra-

OUR CHARLIE AND STRAY CATS. 71

ternity, consequently my garden has become
the regular rendezvous of all the cats in the
neighbourhood. Here come highly respec-
table, prudish-looking cats with little leather
straps or ribbons and tinkling little bells
round their necks, properly educated and
genteel-looking, and here is also the favourite
resort of many stray cats, wild and villainous,
sneaking, lurching, evil-minded, thieving
cats, whom nobody owns — poor, outcast,
miserable starved wretches.

One of these I found last autumn beneath
a broken glass shade under which she had
crept, and there become the mother of two
kittens. There we left her ; we could not
find it in our hearts to drive her away, so
fondly did she tend her little helpless bant-
lings. She was perfectly wild and un tame-
able. We used to put outside her nest a plate
of bread and milk, which she immediately
consumed when we were out of sight.

One morning, when the kittens were a
month old, we found her stretched out dead,
and the poor little orphans scrambling over
her ; they were so wild that we could not
approach them. Goodness knows, we didn't
want any more cats about the place, but we
felt bound to feed these little motherless
creatures. We could never catch them.

72 FRESH WOODS.

there are too many bushes about ; but they
soon got in the way of coming out regularly
morning and evening for their bread and
milk, which they would lap on the sly, but
never would they let us get near them. They
were amusing, happy little things. One of
them bore a striking resemblance to Charlie,
the other favoured his mother. We were
only allowed to see them at a distance ; the
moment a footstep was heard they were out
of sight. Charlie, who seems to have no
paternal instincts, treated them with lordly
contempt : they might die of starvation for
aught he cared.

One wet and cold morning their bread and
milk was unconsumed, and we found them in
the bushes curled up, locked in each other's
arms like the babes in the wood, both dead.
I don't accuse our old gardener of having had
any hand in the death of these innocents — I
only know that he hates cats !

Well, with all these cats about, how can
we expect birds to build in our bushes 1
Charlie can climb like a squirrel, and the
remains of many a starling and many a spar-
row have I found about the paths.

Thus for a few weeks — sometimes but for a
few days — in the early spring my town-sur-
rounded garden looks charming and inviting;

GRUBS ON GOOSEBERRY LEA VES. 73

then somehow there seems to come a blight
upon all that is green — smoke from the sur-
rounding chimneys and railway engines on
all sides (for where can you find a place close
to—

" The smoke and stir of this dim spot
That men call ' London ' " —

where steaming engines do not snort and
whistle ?) ; and " blacks " from the smut-
laden atmosphere probably explain why the
young green leaves begin so soon to shrivel
and grow weak.

" God the first garden made.
And the first city, Cain."

That, of course, means a country garden,
which is free from this smoky blight ; but I
fancy that neither country nor town garden
is free from another terror which besets my
garden in the early spring. I mean the locust-
swarm of young grubs which devour the
leaves of my gooseberry and apple trees so
soon as they are out. The golden laburnums
and lilacs rarely retain their full beauty for
more than three or four days ; the leaves of
the pink and white May trees are promptly
consumed.

Last year I spent many an hour in what I
then regarded as the needful but nasty opera-

74 FRESH WOODS.

tion of picking thousands of these little grubs
off the gooseberry leaves, throwing them into
a basin of salt and boiling water.

This spring I had begun, before they had
made their appearance, to ask myself the
question, What shall I do with the grubs that,
from the curling leaves, I saw were coming.
It was then by chance that I came across a
little book which answered my question
exactly by asking another rather startling
one : Why not eat the?n ? ^ Good heavens !
Eat these slimy little beasts, the very sight
of which, devouring my leaves, had created
in me such a feeling of unutterable loathing !

I had salted and parboiled many a basin-
ful of them with a grim feeling of revenge for
the mischief they had wrought me ; but eat
them I — faugh !

I read this well-written, earnest, and amus-
ing little pamphlet from beginning to end,
and then I said, " Well ! why not .? "

"Them insects eat up every blessed green thing that do
grow, and us farmers starves."
"Well, eat them and grow fat ! "

These lines appear on the title-page of Mr.
Holt's book. You see I had already uncon-
sciously made some progress in this direc-

1 "Why Not Eat Insects?" By Vincent M. Holt.
London ; Field and Tuer.

INSECTS GOOD TO EAT. 75

tion, having already cooked my grubs ; but
this was last year, and Mr. Vincent Holt had
not then enlightened me, therefore it never
once occurred to me that the next best thing
for me to do was to eat them ! Had I done
so, I might have been ahead of Mr. Holt in
springing a new delight upon the jaded appe-
tite of the epicurean world. Like " that great
lubberly boy, Bobo," the first who ever tasted
" crackling," unable to restrain my delight at
the savoury dish I had discovered, I might
have been found rushing round my garden
and my neighbours', seeking and picking all
the grubs I could find !

Of all the " insects that are good to eat," I
have the assurance of Mr. Holt that "the
sawfly" (which, in its larval stage, is the
hitherto despised creature that plays such
havoc amongst the gooseberry bushes) is one
of the " nicest to eat ! " I shall bear this in
mind !

Amongst the other insects strongly recom-
mended by Mr. Holt as good for food are
bees and wasps.

" From bees," he says, " we already derive
a delicious sweet in the form of golden honey.
From wasps we might, if we chose, derive an
equally delicious savoury. What disciple of
Izaak Walton, when he has been all the

76 FRESH WOODS.

morning enticing the wily trout with luscious
wasp grubs baked to a turn, has not suspected
a new and appetizing taste imparted to his
midday meal of bread-and-cheese or sand-
wich ? ... At any rate, it will sometimes so
happen to every fisherman to get the taste
and smell of cooked wasp grubs with his
meal, and I have never noticed that it in any
way spoilt his appetite. Attracted by the
said taste and smell, and having no prejudices
against insect food, I have myself spread the
baked grubs tip on my breads and found their
excellent flavour quite sufficient to accotcnt
for thefo7idness of the trout for this particular
bait:'

The italics are mine, in order to emphasize
the information for anglers during the coming
wasp grub season. Wasps' nests, it may
safely be predicted, will soon become as
scarce and as precious as Chinese birds' nests !

When Mr. Holt's little book has been
widely read and studied, the insect world
will find that a new danger hangs over them.
Let cockchafers and wireworms beware —
beetle larvae, sawflies, moths, and caterpillars,
woodlice, bees, wasps, spiders, slugs, and
snails, take heed ! whether raw or cooked,
you are all good for human food — for soups,
curries, fricassees, nothing can surpass you !

CAT EATING A ROBIN. 77

With reference to our cat's slaughter of the
robins mentioned in my last letter, a cor-
respondent asks " Whether Charlie ate the
whole of the cock robin ? "

"The reason I ask is," he goes on to say,
"that I have seen cats catch robins many times
and oft, but they never devom-ed the whole
bird, as they would sparrows, linnets, &c. In
other cases, though they would catch they would
not touch the bird, but simply leave it where it
was slaughtered. For my part, I would sooner
eat one sparrow than ten starlings, and to the cat
there may be as much difference in the flavour of
robins and sparrows as there is in sparrows and
starlings to me. Well, sparrows roasted are
delicious. From what I have noticed there is
evidently something in a full-grown robin cats
strongly object to ; just as much as some of them
like the hind legs of the common frog. This
makes the circumstance mentioned the more
remarkable, unless it was that Charlie had a
stomach of steel."

My correspondent is altogether too literal
in his interpretation of my words. I ought,
perhaps, to have said that Charlie slaughtered
those robins, for I saw their mangled remains
afterwards. Charlie is a well-fed cat, and
gets all the tit-bits of the house, so his
massacre of these innocents was committed

78 FRESH WOODS.

not for want of food, but simply out of the
ferocity of his feline nature.

It was a bit of original sin cropping out of
him — had he given himself time to think, I
am sure, knowing as I do his polished edu-
cation and general amiability of manners, he
would not have done it. If the murder had
been committed by one of the many wolfish,
starved cats that infest our garden, the crime
might have been looked upon as justifiable
avicide ; but for the sleek and glossy Charlie
it was " worse than a crime — it was a fault."

My correspondent seems to know a good
deal about the likes and dislikes of cats ;
their peculiarities of taste don't seem to be
confined to the flavour of different birds, for
it is said of cat-mint —

" If you set it, cats will eat it ;

If you sow it, cats won't know it ! "

I never had the pleasure of tasting either
sparrow or starling, so can express no opinion
as to their comparative merits ; but according
to Mr. Vincent Holt we have only to get rid
of our early prejudices, and a new gastro-
nomic world is opened up to us. Already
we eat gooseberries — sawfly larvae eat goose-
berry-leaves ; sparrows eat larvae — we eat
sparrows. Why should we not eat larvae.?

PVIIV SHOULDN'T WE EAT CATS? 79

And, to follow up this chain of argument,
cats eat sparrows — why shouldn't we eat cats ?
Really, there is no knowing whither Mr.
Holt may not lead us ! Frank Buckland has
not gone quite so far as Mr. Holt, but he
says that "a field-mouse is an excellent
bon bouche for a hungry boy ; it eats like a
lark."

»

LETTER No. IX.

IN A SUBURBAN GARDEN

{continued).

NE Saturday afternoon at the end
of May I noticed an old thrush and
a young one sitting on the top
branches of an acacia. The young one
began fluttering its wings in a beseeching
kind of way, which said plainly enough, " I
want a worm, father ! " Said the old one,
" You sit there and watch me, and I will show
you how to get one."

He then flew down to the lawn, and began
picking ; presently, after looking about to see
that Charlie was out of the way and that he
was not being watched, he plunged his head
deep into the grass, and tugged away might
and main, his wings spread out, his head
down and his tail up by turns. It was a
struggle betwixt our great Mother Earth on

A FIGHT FOR A WORM. 8i

the one hand, and this valiant little thrush
on the othet ; the object of the fight was a
worm. The " great globe itself" held its firm
grip on one end of the worm ; the thrush
pulled away at the other, and at last came off
conqueror. When he had fairly drawn out
this long and wriggling prey, he killed it, laid
it out flat on the grass, and began promptly
to search about for another. Meanwhile the
young thrush, excited no doubt by the battle
he had witnessed from the tree, and in dis-
obedience of the paternal command, flew
down upon the grass and stood staring with
open mouth at the active old bird, who on
seeing his son came running back, and
picking up the dead worm, put it into the
young one's mouth, and it was at once swal-
lowed. Worms seemed to be plentiful in the
grass, perceptible to the parent bird's quick
eye, although I could see none. When the
young one had had enough, they both flew
up into the trees, and began to clean their
beaks by rubbing them on the branches.
The young chap seemed to be quite as strong
on the wing as his parent, though on the
ground he was very stupid and ignorant, but
he watched his progenitor's performances
with an inquisitive eye ; this seemed to be
his first lesson in worm-hunting. I said

82 FRESH WOODS.

"father" just now, because I fancied this
was the male bird from his dark colour and
handsome slim proportions ; the female I
take to be a little more dumpy in form and
lighter in colour.

Gilbert White tells us that the song thrush
{tiirdus shnpliciter diciu) begins to sing in
February and sings on into August. If that
is so, I hope to hear my thrushes for a few
weeks yet, but I have noticed that for the
last few days their song has been heard only
very rarely ; it has given place in a great
measure to the cheery chirpy little garden-
warbler^ which has one or two notes almost
as loud and clear as the thrush's ; and for a
week past he has exercised his vocal organs
almost incessantly from four o'clock in the
morning until late at night ; but what a shy
little fellow he is — he cannot bear to be
looked at.

Birds are my garden pets ; now for a few
words about my garden nuisances — cats.

On two or three occasions during the past
week, when all had retired to bed but myself,
and while I was sitting in my library, I had
heard a very feeble squeak. I made diligent
search in every corner, and in the adjoining
rooms, without discovering anything ; at last
I found a closet door, which on being moved

KITTENS IN A CUPBOARD. 83

made a noise not very unlike the sound I
had heard, so I concluded the squeak must
be connected somehow with the door. The
library door opens upon the lawn, and leaving
it open I went out next morning for a stroll
round the garden. When I returned, I heard
a miaul under the table, and there I found a
wretched brindled cat looking very fierce
and inclined to be pugnacious ; it was one of
the strays that haunt my garden, a friend
of Charlie's. I was not sorry, when I opened
the door, to see it dart off, for had I attempted
a battle with closed doors I should certainly
have come badly off: the brute was quite
prepared for a spring at me. I drove her
out of the garden and thought no more about
her.

My daughter, who had been from home
for ten days, went this morning to a cup-
board in the library in which old newspapers
are kept, and which so far as I know could
not have been opened during the whole ten
days of her absence, and there she found a
litter of four kittens ! seemingly about a fort-
night old and all alive and well ; theirs were
the squeaks I had heard.

How the little creatures subsisted the
whole of that time is a mystery. The mother
could not have sneaked into the room except

84 FRESH WOODS.

on some such unusual occasion as that I have
mentioned, and then she could not have
opened the cupboard ; and yet these kittens
after ten days' imprisonment were alive and
well. Before I got home in the evening our
housemaid had consigned them to a watery
grave, and when I saw them they were float-
ing dead in a pail of water, but looking
plump and fat. All this evening, since I
have been at home, the steps leading to the
lawn have been haunted by that poor old
mother, uttering now and again a most piti-
ful wail and looking the picture of unutter-
able woe; when I have gone to drive her
away, she has given me a look which says
plainly enough, " O, you cruel, cruel, old
man ! " Had I been at home before the
young ones were all drowned, I am afraid I
should have been tempted to leave her one
alive. I could easily have slipped it over the
wall into my neighbour's garden, where its
grateful mother would quickly have followed ;
but perhaps it is better as it is— those four
innocents have been saved from a world of
trouble — and I rather think my housemaid
is laying plans, in conjunction with our
gardener, by which it will not be their fault
if the mother does not quickly follow them.
Certainly it must be admitted that a cup-

CHARLIE THE CULPRIT. 85

board in one's library is not exactly the place
where one can feel any satisfaction in finding
a brood of kittens belonging to a cat that
does not belong to one's self; but, O Charlie !
Charlie ! you are the culprit again.

LETTER No. X.

WOOD-PIGEONS, MAGPIES, AND ROOKS.

N the days that were earher," pro-
bably about the time when the
ape's tail began to grow " curlier,"
and long before a man or even a thumb had
been evolved from him, there seemed to be
a stirring of evolution in the slow-minded
wood-pigeon (or quist, as we call him in our
country), and he desired to improve the archi-
tecture of his dwelling ; so he besought the
cunning magpie to give him a lesson in
house-building.

" Pray tell me," said the quist, " the way
in which you build your nest so strong and
so fine."

" Well," said the magpie, " I don't mind
instructing you if you will pay attention ;
first, you place one stick so — " "I know,"
said the quist. " And then you put another
across it so — " '' I know," said the quist.

WOOD-PIGEONS' NESTS. 87

And then you put another crossways so — "
" I know," said the quist.

" Oh ! very well," said the magpie, with a
wicked oath which I won't repeat, " if you
know already, why do you come to me ? I'll
teach you no more ; " and away he flew.

In consequence of this conceited impatience
of being taught, the quist to this day has
never known how to build a nest properly.

I have generally found their nests in the
forks of old apple trees or pollards, or in the
midst of a very thick and ancient white-
thorn, always fashioned in the same old
primitive style, about a dozen twigs mixed
up anyhow, and on these comfortless twigs
the hen lays her two eggs and sits till she
hatches them, whilst her mate sits up aloft
singing—

" Coo-coo ! how many eggs have you ? "
and she replies —

" Coo-coo ! I've only poor two ! "

Now the magpie is really a splendid archi-
tect, and if the original quist had had sense
enough and patience enough to take his
lessons with less conceit and greater zeal and
discretion, he would have had a more com-
fortable abode ; and who knows what the
consequence might have been ? His wife
might have produced more than the two eggs

88 FRESH WOODS.

to which the species seems now to be limited,
and wood-pigeons might have become as
plentiful as rooks. This would not indeed
have been an unmixed blessing, for although
pigeons when "baked in a pie" are good
eating, and rooks are not (except when just
fledged), they are far more destructive to
crops than the too-much-abused rooks, for
the latter always prefer worms and insects to
seeds, while a quist will carry away in a day
the weight of his own body in peas, or beans,
or turnips.

There must be some other reason for the
multiplicity of birds than the number of eggs
they lay, for magpies, notwithstanding the
magnificent nests they build, and the in-
accessible places in which they build them, and
although they lay at least half-a-dozen (some-
times eight) eggs, certainly do not increase
in anything like the same ratio as pigeons.^
It is true that, owing to their murderous and
thieving propensities, they have made man

1 Frank Buckland says that " the increase of wood-
pigeons is due to the over-preservation of game. Hawks
are shot down in order that pheasants may be preserved ;
the consequence is that the natural enemy of the wood-
pigeon being destroyed, they at once increase in a ratio
which could not take place if the hawks were allowed to
continue their natural functions of keeping down their
numbers."

MAGPIES' NESTS. 89

their inveterate enemy, and they are ruth-
lessly destroyed whenever they can be caught.
This will account, to some extent, for the
comparative paucity of their numbers. With
so many persistent enemies any other tribe
of birds would long since have been exter-
minated, but the magpie knows how to take
care of himself. Magpies generally build
their nests in the topmost branches of the
tallest trees they can find,' and many a time
as a boy have I climbed to those giddy
heights among the weak and slender boughs,
frequently only to be disappointed.

When you get up to the nest it by no means
follows that you can get your hand into it, for
it has a broad and firm base nearly a yard in
diameter, and it is strongly covered over with
a crown of prickly thorns, the access being
on one side only under this canopy, and with
a perversity of cunning, as I used to think,
that opening always happened to be on the
side most difficult of approach. This was a
point evidently well considered by the astute
builders in laying the foundation. Now, if

1 "A pair of magpies in a district where there were no trees
made their nest in a gooseberry bush, and surrounded it
with brambles, furze, &c., in so ingenious a manner that no
one could get at the eggs without pulling the materials to
pieces."— Jesse's Notes, White's Selborne.

90 FRESH WOODS.

you cannot get your hand round to the
opening it is better to give it up ; for what
with the swaying of the small branches to
which you are clinging and their tendency to
snap, especially if they happen to be ash or
pine, or even elm, there is a chance, if you
attempt to twist yourself round to the open-
ing, of your coming to the ground with more
speed than you ascended, in which case your
climbing in this world will be finished.

Rooks are very good builders, that is, they
build good comfortable nests, strongly made
and well lined with wool, but none of that
diabolical cunning is exhibited about the
rook's nest which you find in a magpie's.
They are quite open to the sky above, and
are rounder and more compact at the base,
besides not being defended by pricldy thorns,
and although built on the tops of tall trees,
they are far more accessible than the nest of
the magpie.

I remember reading an amusing little
article in the " St. James's Gazette," some
months ago, on the subject of rooks building
their nests, which reminded me of my boyish
days, and the large rookery on the old farm.
Many a time of an evening have I watched
them coming home from all quarters, and
hovering over the trees in such numbers that

DO ROOKS SAY " CAW, CAJV"? 91

the sky was darkened with the great black
cloud.

I used to wonder why they could not go to
bed quietly and at once without making such
a clamour. I fancied that each bird had his
own particular and favourite perch, and the
great argument was to find it, or perhaps the
late comers found their favourite perches
occupied, and so made a diurnal disturbance
about it.

The " St. James's Gazette" writer says that
rooks don't really say caw-caw^ although they
are constantly trying to say it ; the nearest
they can get to it is au-au, or sometimes awr-
awr. Very likely he is right ; but then his
rooks were suburban cockney rooks, and
what cockney ever spoke his own mother-
tongue correctly? Surely, if a cockney-man
cannot help calling raw^ rawr^ it is excusable
for a cockney rook to say awr when he means
caw.

But my rooks live hundreds of miles away ;
they are country-bred gentlemen, and they
speak their own language purely and without
mincing affectation. I am certain that a
well-bred country rook would never say awr-
awr when he means to say caw-caw.

When I call my country rooks gentlemen,
I must qualify the statement by admitting

92 FRESH WOODS.

that they are not a bit the less thieves and
vagabonds than their cockney relations, and
that they are as well inclined to tear each
other's nests to pieces ; but with less excuse, for
they live in the midst of woods where building
material is abundant, and stealing from each
other seems to be more bother and trouble
than picking up twigs for themselves. But
they do speak their traditional language very
clearly and distinctly, caw-caw, and of course
that dual word is only the key to their very
extensive vocabulary. They have words of
love and words of hate, words of cursing and
words of swearing — words, too, of preaching
and exhortation, and, as Gilbert White says :
" in the breeding season they attempt some-
times, in the gaiety of their hearts, to sing,
but with no great success." But at all times
caw-caw is the root of their language.
I ought to know, for —

" When I was young, ah ! woful when !
Ah ! the change 'twixt now and then ! "

many a time have I, at the peril of my neck,
scrambled up from the shoulders of a com-
panion to the first branch, and by gripping
the tall trees with arms and knees, to the
very tops amongst their nests, and then did
I not hear the thousand caw-caws of the old
ones flitting round me.'' and I am certain

DO ROOKS SAY ''CAW, CAW? 93

that nothing could be more distinct than
their pronunciation of caw-caw.

Besides, have we not the authority of Thos.
Ingoldsby on our side ? If a daw says caw^
surely a rook may do so. And who has not
heard of the pious Jackdaw of Rheims ?

" If anyone lied or if anyone swore, —

Or slumbered in prayer-time and happened to snore,

That good Jackdaw would give a great ' Caw ! '
As much as to say, * Don't do so any more ! ' "

LETTER No. XI. [1887.

A DAY WITH THE MAY FLY-FISHERS.

" In lowly dale, fast by a river's side,
With woody hill o'er hill encompassed round,
* # # * #

It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground ;
And then a season atween June and May
Half-prankt with spring, with summer half-embrowned."
Castle of Indolence.

HE art of May Fly-fishing has in
these latter days been elevated to
a science. When I was young, all
we had to do was first to catch our fly, fix
him wriggling, and, if our dull senses could
hear, screaming in agony on the hook, and
cast him on the water, when up would come
the unsophisticated, uneducated trout, seize
his natural food with abounding confidence,
and be pleasantly landed on the grass. There
was no nosing about, no suspicious glance
askant, no hesitating nibble — he saw, he
came, and was conquered. Now, his mind

MAYFLY-FISHING. 95

is sorely exercised ; he sees something float-
ing on the top of the water which looks the
very picture of a May Fly, but yet there is
something strange and uncanny about it.
He examines it with a critical eye ; sometimes
he gives it a flap with his tail. Again he
looks, he hesitates, he makes a half-hearted
rush at it, feels a prick in the edge of his lip,
and is off.

Monday last was my first experience of
May Fly-fishing in these degenerate scientific
days, and then I did not fish myself — I only
went to look on. It was a lovely June day —
in my youth the May Fly always used to
come up in May — we were on a delightful
stream, not 100 miles away from Canterbury.
The clubmen were out in full force ; I saw
seven of them in one pleasant meadow. They
were not more than a hundred yards apart ;
the May Fly came up splendidly, and the
trout flopped up greedily after them. Each
angler selected his own trout, and stuck to
him steadily from morn to eve. It was a
sight to see those enthusiastic anglers, each
intent upon his own fish, and firm believer in
the killing qualities of his own particular
imitation of the natural fly, and its destructive
power. How keenly they watched every rise
of their particular trout ! How vigorously
H

96 FRESH WOODS.

would they swing their rods, half-a-dozen
times or more, to get their insect perfectly-
dry and floatable, and then let him swim,
wings erect, with the most delicate precision,
just over the very centre of the ring made by
the rising trout ! How tantalising, then, to
see a real May Fly glide down over the same
spot, and the big trout come straight at him,
and scorn the scientific impostor ! Thus did
these enthusiasts, single-handed and double-
handed, swing their rods the livelong day ;
they were perfect adepts in the art, and it was
a real pleasure to see how cleverly they tried
to deceive these cunning fish. Occasionally,
to the disgust of the patient angler, a stupid
roach would be beguiled ; but of the educated
trout, what shall I say ? So far as I was able
to ascertain, four good sizeable fish were the
sole result of all this desperate striving, and
one of these was blind of one eye ; these had
all succumbed to the skill of one of these
redoubtable anglers. This very remarkable
want of success was, of course, quite unusual ;
for these anglers were all men of experience,
their arms were as accustomed to the swing-
ing rod as the thresher to his flail^ or Mr.
Gladstone to his axe. Sometimes one would
have a try at another man's fish during his
temporary absence, in the vain hope of good-

ARTIFICIAL V. NATURAL MAY FLY. <)^

naturedly triumphing over him (for the utmost
cordiality and good nature prevailed amongst
these experts), but to no purpose. Where
one could not succeed, his friendly rival was
sure to fail. I can hardly say how they ex-
plained to themselves their singular defeat.
It could not be said that the trout were feeding
on some other flies, because we had the
evidence of our sight of the natural May Fly
sailing down right into the mouths of these
big trout. Here was the water in splendid
order, a very gentle westerly breeze blowing,
the May Fly abundant, and every man's own
particular fish coming up and gorging himself
sixty times an hour throughout the day, but
always fighting shy of the angler's fly, laugh-
ing in his gills at him, winking at him with one
eye shut, and saying : " Don't you wish you
could catch me?" I fancy there must be
among them a sentinel fish, whose duty it is
to sail up and down the stream, crying,
^' Look out to-day ! There are seven of 'em
all of a heap ; keep your weather-eye open !"^
At the finish, these seven fishermen, having
nothing else to boast of, boasted of the number

1 Izaak Walton tells us of carp or bream that whilst
" most of them are seeking food at the bottom, yet one or
two will lie on the top of the water, rolling and tumbling
themselves whilst the rest are under him at the bottom ;
and so you shall perceive him to keep centinel."

98 FRESH WOODS,

of times the fish " came short " at them, and
deplored the ill-luck which rendered their
striking ineffectual, and how they ought to
have caught so many brace, but didn't. They
vowed to come again to-morrow and have it
out with these knowing fish, not a man of
them in the least disheartened. I hope they
had better luck on the morrow, but I was
not there to see.

I enjoyed the pleasant stroll as only one
can who so rarely finds the opportunity. I
occupied myself for some time in witnessing
the birth, life, and death of a single May Fly.
I am not an entomologist, so I cannot tell
the average period of the life of a May Fly.
The particular one I took note of struggled
up to a new life from the bottom to the
surface of the water, shook himself free of
his watery shroud, spread out his wings, and
fluttered to fly; but I suppose, in the first
exuberance of his newborn existence, he was
too eager. His fragile wings got wet and
heavy ; he could only lift himself two or
three inches from the surface of the water,
and then fall back. I followed him down the
placid stream for a quarter of a mile or more ;
he struggled hard for some time, but at
length lay flat. He seemed to have quite
given over the fight for existence, and I

LIFE AND DEATH OF A MAY FL V. 99

thought he was drowned ; but presently the
stream landed him on the leaf of a water-
weed.

I noticed that a yard before that floating
lifeboat was reached he showed renewed
energy, as though conscious that relief was
at hand, and he was to have another fight for
the bright and beautiful world he had as yet
only caught a glimpse of. Landed on the
leaf, he fluttered his wings, which soon dried
in the hot sun. At length he floated joyously
upward, singing, I am sure, as merrily as any
lark, if one could but have heard him. I know,
of course, that there are insects much smaller
than he— the mosquito, for example, whose
piercing little song can make itself heard to
the terror of a regiment of soldiers — and it
by no means follows because we cannot hear
it that the delicate, airy May Fly does not
possess an organ too refined to reach human
ears. But, alas ! if he was singing, his song
was soon cut short. Not ten yards had he
floated away down stream when an envious
sand-martin came dashing up, and his song
and his life were ended. Thus, ere sin could
touch or sorrow blight this young May Fly,
was his brief life closed in the crop of a sand-
martin !

May Flies, like men, seem to be born to

100 FRESH WOODS.

trouble, but some have more of it than others.
I dare say, while under the water, from the
time when the egg falls from the surface to
the bottom, and through the various stages
of their aquatic existence, their life is tran-
quil enough. It is when they come to the
surface that their fate is varied like that of
mortal men. Some, like the fly whose tragic
history I have tried to tell, meet with nothing
but trouble and sorrow from the cradle to the
grave ; while others seem to be born into the
very exuberance of light and life and song,
dancing and singing in the sun their life-
long day.

LETTER No. XII. [1887.

THE MAY FLY.

RITING last week on the subject
of the May Fly, I remarked that,
as I am not an entomologist, I could
not tell the average length of its life. I sug-
gested " its life-long day ; " but I was unaware
that this is still a matter of doubt. Since
then I have consulted two or three learned
authorities ; but it seems to be a point on
which the learned are not agreed, and May
Flies are said to be unsatisfactory insects
from a collector's point of view on account of
their extreme fragility. Aristotle, speaking
of ephemera in general, and apparently with
special reference to May Flies, says : " On
the river Hypanis, which flows into the
Bosphorus, may be seen in the sunshine
chry sales, which, in breaking from their en-
casement, give birth to an animal furnished
with four wings and four legs. These beings

I02 FRESH WOODS.

live and fly, grow weak as the sun inclines
towards the west, and die when it sets." The
learned M. Pictet says that the insect is
furnished with six legs, Aristotle having
mistaken their fore-legs for antennae. R.
McLachlan says : "These insects (May Flies)
are more attended to by the angler than by
the entomologist, and much poetry has been
written on the taken-for-granted supposition
that the romance of their few hours of exis-
tence is founded on fact. Possibly, however,
some few only live a day or two as perfect

insects ; but these are exceptions The

males of some species dance in swarms over
the streams ; whereas the females are only to
be found among the herbage or taking short

flights Some species are so abundant

as to be used for manure, and even for feed-
ing pigs (!) on Continental rivers."

Mr. McLachlan, however, does not tell us
how long May Flies really do live. It seems to
me that, whether their life above water lasts for
hours or days, their true life lies below ; there
they live, toil, and perform all the drudgery
of existence ; and when they come up en-
dowed with gauzy, temporary, ephemeral
wings, it is, in fact, only to get married ; their
nuptials are performed in the air, and whether
their honeymoon lasts for a day or a week,

NATURAL HISTORY OF MA Y FLIES. 103

or is cut short in an hour by the swinging
swift or darting swallow or hungry trout, it is
soon over ; their hours in the air are few,
their life below is comparatively long. .

I think myself fortunate, being absent from
town and from any library, in having access
to this superb work, " Histoire Naturelle des
Insectes Nduropt^res." Par F. J. Pictet.
Geneve, 1843. The work is illustrated with
the most exquisite engravings of insects I have
ever seen. I also happen to have before me
a volume of Buffon, " Histoire Naturelle des
Insectes, Ndvropt^res." Par M. P. Rambur.
Having no English work to refer to except
the little pamphlet by Mr. McLachlan, " In-
structions for the Collection and Preservation
of Neuropterous Insects," I make no apo-
logy for translating a few passages bearing
on the subject of the May Fly {Ephemera
vulgatd) from these works.

Pictet's account of the birth, life, and
death of a May Fly is very interesting. He
says : " The female flutters just above the
water, and there lets fall one or two little
groups of eggs which absorb the water and
sink to the bottom. The eggs are completely
abandoned to chance, and one does not see,
among the Eph^merines, the instinct so re-
markable with some Phryganidas, which,

104 FRESH WOODS.

although insects of the air, go to the bottom
of the water to choose a place convenient to
lay their eggs, sacrificing thus their own lives
for the safety of their posterity. For the rest,
the ephemera does not gain much by its
maternal indifference, for it does not survive
the egg-laying, and the two sexes die always
very promptly when their role is finished."

" This extreme brevity of life," continues
Pictet, is one of the characteristics of this
family which has most struck ancient ob-
servers, and it is worth saying a few words
about. In the ordinary state of things, the
same day, as Linnaeus says, includes for the
ephemera, its birth, its creation of a new
family, and its death ; often even half a day,
sometimes a few hours, suffice for that.

In the summer days one sees these insects
shake off their envelope towards three o'clock
in the afternoon, fly upwards for a few hours,
couple, lay, and die when the sun disappears
below the horizon. Still, it is not necessary
to believe that this brevity of life is the result
of the organization of the ephemera. These
insects, and it is a fact already recognized by
M. de Geer, can be made to live many days,
and for that it is only necessary to prevent
reproduction. - If at the moment of its birth
one takes an ephemera and shuts it up alone.

NA TURAL HISTOR V OF MA V FLIES. 105

it can be made to live for eight days ; but in
its natural state it cannot resist the fatigue of
egg-producing.

Rambur tells us that matrimonial arrange-
ments being completed, " the female deposits
her eggs simply on the water or on submerged
plants, holding herself a little above, and by
a quick movement, or else by settling on the
plant and plunging her abdomen into the
water. She appears to drop her eggs sepa-
rately, but as they are sometimes found in
masses they must also be thus deposited.
The number of eggs must be very consider-
able, and in some species may be estimated
at many thousands. The larvae would appear
to remain about a year to acquire their full
growth. The appearance of the perfect
insect varies much according to the species.
Some are met with throughout the summer
season."

Pictet says : " It is difficult to form precise
ideas as to the time which passes from the
birth of the larvae to their metamorphosis.
Swammerdam gives to the larvae of the
Palingenia longicauda a duration of three
years, and Reaumur thinks that those of the
Palingenia virgo live two years. I have not
been able to make direct observation on this
subject, because the larvae of the Ephemera

io6 FRESH WOODS.

vulgata^ the only ones I have been able to
observe in this division, are very difficult to
keep for a long time, and I have only been
able to preserve them for a few months."

Concerning the manners and customs of
these EphemeridcB during their subaqueous
existence, it is very interesting to learn from
Pictet, in relation to the metamorphoses
of these insects, that there are great diffe-
rences between the species. Some, long and
cylindrical, armed with strong and trenchant
claws, can dig out galleries for themselves in
the earth. Others, large and fat, are incap-
able of digging, live always in the open water
attached to stones, and are easily caught.
Others, again, thin and delicate, are supplied
in their pliant tail with an instrument for
swimming, and these find retreats in mosses
and aquatic grasses. Besides these, there
are others still more feeble, and the latter,
being unprovided with the means of swim-
ming, lie in ambush, and seize their prey by
strategy.

The larvae of the Ephemera and the Palin-
genia have very marked differences in the
form of their mandibles and respiratory
organs, but they have also many similarities ;
both are long, subcylindrical, with a small
pointed head. They seek standing waters,

NA TURAL HISTOR V OF MA Y FLIES, 107

or those parts of the rivers where the current
is least strong. Although these larvae are
poorly provided with the means of swimming,
they can manage by serpent-like movements
to make fairly rapid progress ; but their short
legs and long bodies make it difficult for
them to stop when the current draws them.
The water rolls them over and carries them
off, unless they can manage to attach them-
selves to a stone to resist its action.

The first care of the young larvae is to con-
struct a house. These retreats consist of
tubular galleries, straight or slightly curved
and horizontal, dug out of the clay or mud.
They dig with their mandibles and fore-feet.
The diameter of the tube is a little larger
than that of their body, but nevertheless not
sufficient for them to attain their full growth.
As they grow they change their galleries,
which are generally very slight and of little
durability. In some places even the move-
ment of the water obliges them to change
more often still, for they do not like to be far
from the surface ; still, they must be in the
water. When the river has a variable height,
these insects have to change their habitation
frequently. Thus the turning on and off the
water for a mill stream must be a source of
great trouble and inconvenience to these little

lo8 FRESH WOODS.

workers, never for a moment taken into
account by the miller.

A correspondent attributes our want of
success to the extraordinary hatch this
season. He says : —

"To this wonderful— I might almost say ab-
normal—profusion is due, I think, the disappoint-
ment of this year's May Fly-fishing. The trout
were literally crammed with the pupae, which they
took as they rose to the surface of the water to
assume the sub-imago state (this I proved by ex-
amination), and the fish so gorged were extremely
fanciful and capricious in taking the fly in its
mature or sub-imago condition, and when they did
so, rose lazily, repeatedly missing the fly.

*' In taking the artificial fly the same capricious-
ness and laziness continued. I found the best
time was at the commencement of the hatch, when
few flies were on the water. At one time none
but floating flies would take ; at another none but
drowned flies. Such was my experience. For
example: On Saturday, June ii, in the morning
the drowned fly prevailed — in the afternoon only
the floating fly ; on Saturday, June i8, the drowned
fly took all day, the floating fly being useless, and
both were fairly tried.

*' The fly last week was literally in myriads, and
the heaps of the dead were in such quantities that
where they accumulated a very unpleasant odour
prevailed."

LETTER No. XIII.

[1887.

JUBILEE FLY-FISHING.

" Some better pleased with private sport.
Use tennis ; some a mistress court ;

But these delights I neither wish.

Nor envy, while I freely fish."

IzAAK Walton.

HEN fools go a-shooting, wise men
go a-fishing ; " so says Charles
Kingsley, or, rather, so says " Old
Marks." Just now, while I am writing, a
good deal of Jubilee powder is being blazed
away, and to-morrow — the grand day — there
will be a good deal more. I hope I am as
loyal as most people, but circumstances have
prevented my joining in any Jubilee festivi-
ties. I am not, on that account, going to
assert that shooting off blank cartridges is
not as wise a way of proving one's loyalty as
going a-fishing. As a rule I should agree
with " Old Marks " to the extent that angling

no FRESH WOODS.

is preferable to shooting, but not in Jubilee
days. I have consoled rather than prided
myself on superior wisdom, by roaming be-
side a beautiful river.

I am not aware of the doings of other
fishermen on other rivers during the late
May Fly season, but on our stream I think I
may say that, on the whole, the season has
been a failure.

Four days out of the six working days of
last week we journeyed, Piscator and I,
forty miles a day from our seaside resort in
the hope of retrieving in some measure our
bad fortune of the previous week, when
the May Fly were in full feather, and the
big trout gorging themselves with them, but
refusing to look at our superb imitations.
Be it known, however, that I did not carry a
rod (not being a member) — the Angler's Club
rules forbid that ; I carried the basket ! I
acted as a sort of shadow, or, let me say, a
" boy," to Piscator ; so when I say we^ you
will clearly understand what " we " means.

On Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and
Saturday we made these long excursions ;
but almost in vain. On the first day the
May Fly was still on in considerable num-
bers, and we accounted for our want of
success by assuming that the trout were

FISHING IN AN EAST WIND, in

occupied in digesting their last week's feast
of green and yellow " drakes." The wind
was easterly, but I was told that an easterly
wind was good for this stream. It has been
easterly ever since, and getting stronger and
colder on every visit.

When I go a-fishing again I shall remem-
ber the good aspiration of our venerable
master, and trust that I may not have an
east wind ! It may be good for the fish,
but it certainly is not pleasant for the fisher-
man. Quite apart from our chance of catch-
ing fish, a strong, biting, easterly wind con-
siderably lessens the pleasure of being on
the banks of a charming river in the leafy
month of June.

Generally, by the time the sun had dis-
appeared behind the distant hills, the wind
would subside to a gentle lullaby, and then
occasionally, and by earnest watching, we
might see here and yonder a solitary rise ;
but few and far between they were, and our
train left our station — a mile off — at nine
o'clock, so that our only hopes lay in that
precious half-hour between sun-down and
time to start for the train ! Then, when our
flagging spirits began to rise with these few
rising fish, down would come shoals of weeds
which had been cut in the upper meadows,
I

112 FRESH WOODS.

or the miller above would turn the water off
for his mill-stream, and our river would sud-
denly sink a foot or two, and the rising trout
with it.

But despite these troubles, up to the very
last moment the train would give us we
hopefully fished on. Our chance (and for
the last half-hour on Saturday night we
really thought we had a chance) was swamped
by some urchins on the opposite side, who
amused themselves by throwing stones, and
by villagers bobbing for eels in the cream of
the water. Beyond an occasional decent
fish, and the catching and returning of one
or two under the thirteen-inch limit, our
excursions last week were fruitless. True,
we did not begin fishing until after five
o'clock.

The conclusion we have come to, Piscator
and I, is, that noted as this charming stream
is for big trout, it is not very well stocked
with them ; for one trout that we saw, there
were shoals of big i lb. and 2 lb. roach, such
as would delight the heart of a London or
Sheffield club angler. They were easy enough
to catch, and when hooked on a light fly-rod
would now and then fight well ; but we did
not want them — we could only be content
with big trout. Anything shorter than 13 in.

AT THE SEASIDE. 113

has, by a law of the Medes and Persians
who preserve this water, to be returned
to its native element, in order that it may-
enjoy its liberty for another year, and grow
bigger.

I fancy we made a sort of personal
acquaintance with nearly every one of the
big trout in the club water. We know their
haunts— we spotted them ; and some day,
when wind and weather are more pro-
pitious, we mean to have at least a few of
'em. We — that is, Piscator and I— are not
the sort of fishermen to acknowledge our-
selves beaten ; my old shoulders are still
stout enough to carry a heavyish basket.
Our holidays are too brief for us to neglect
our precious opportunities, so we mean to
come again.

For the benefit of a rising generation we
have been obliged to make our headquarters
at a very popular, if not a very fashionable,
seaside resort, and our off days are spent
with spades and buckets on the sands. These
are our penitential days, days of propitiation
offered to the female portion of our small
community. Not for a moment would I
have them think I do not thoroughly enjoy
making mountains and castles and moats on
the sand for my grandchildren ; but, apart

114 FRESH WOODS.

from this enjoyment, I am bound to say
that I have a positive aversion to loafing
about or lying flat on the sands for hours, as
I see multitudes of my species doing.

I think I would almost rather take to " beer
and skittles " for my holiday entertainment,
than to such a way of passing the time. It is
true, nevertheless, that on our sands there
are not wanting abundant sources of amuse-
ment for those who have the spirit and pluck
to enjoy them ; there are ponies and donkeys,
nigger minstrels, archery targets, cocoanuts
to be won by bowling at them ; and then our
town boasts of a menagerie, " the finest col-
lection of animals out of London," says the
announcement.

In earlier days I used sometimes to take
my young folk to the Zoological Gardens in
Regent's Park. There everything seemed
gay and joyous ; there was no sense of im-
prisonment and captivity. The animals were
cheerful and happy, and were as well pleased
to see us as we were to see them. What
a melancholy contrast does this collection
oifercB natiwce present to us ! I took my
grandchildren to see the garden. We were
but a small party, and we were alone with
the wild beasts. It was truly depressing to
see those solitary birds and beasts caged up

IN A MENAGERIE. 115

in ramshackle cages, half-starved, filthy, and
malodorous.

An eagle and a vulture, caged together,
treated us with scornful contempt ; a polar
bear swung his melancholy head like a pen-
dulum, as if wound up by internal machinery
and could not stop till his clockwork had run
down. There was a real white elephant,
made white by rubbing himself against
his newly-whitewashed walls. Large and
splendid lions and tigers, weary of the heart-
less, hopeless life they were doomed to live,
lay sleeping on their floors, sometimes lazily
lifting an eyelid and closing it again as ex-
pressive of their supreme scorn of the human
race.

Even the monkeys were not lively ; but the
saddest, cruellest sight of all, was that of a
noble hound shut up in a miserable cage with
a mangy wolf. How that beautiful dog
barked and howled, and, as we approached,
begged, entreated, implored us to let him out
of that accursed cage, and away from his
villainous companion ; one could not help
wondering what business he had " dans cette
gallre?" What crime could he have com-
mitted that he should be doomed to such a
prison and such foul companionship ? It was
not easy to feel sympathy for the imprisoned

il6 FRESH WOODS.

wolf— he looks as if he deserved his fate ; but
one could have shed tears for that poor cap-
tive dog. He was the only animal in the
large assemblage that seemed to have spirit
enough left in him to utter a sound ; all else
were silent as the grave. The inharmonious
couple may have been, doubtless were, in-
tended to realize the Apocalyptic vision of
the lion and the lamb lying down together.

There are many other attractions besides
birds and beasts in these grounds. There
are swings, merry-go-rounds, and shooting
galleries ; the finest show of waxwork in the
world, dioramas of the siege of Paris, &c.
We left all these delights with a feeling of
sadness that we had enjoyed them all by
ourselves — there were none to share our en-
thusiasm.

Then, again, we have our noble jetty, and
the ruling passion being still strong in us, we
fished from that jetty. From fly-fishing for
trout in a meadow to fishing for dabs and
catching only crabs from the lower steps of a
jetty, what a descent it is ! The one is
sublime, the other is truly ridiculous ; and
yet there are many enthusiasts who spend all
their precious time here fishing for dabs.

To-morrow is Jubilee day. I wonder whether
it will be considered loyal to go a-fishing on

THE CUCKOO. 117

Jubilee day. I think we must risk it. We
have done what we could to show how loyal
we are : we have bought a superb banner,
bearing, not the strange device " Excelsior,"
but the familiar words, " God Save the Queen
— Long Live the Empress," and suspended
it from the drawing-room window of our
house by the sea, and as the worshipful
mayor has not invited us to dine with him,
we shall take train early in the morning, and
once more, and for the last time for many a
day, try our hands at those cunning trout.
The wind, alas ! far from being variable,
seems to have taken up permanent quarters
a trifle north of east, so that we are rather
hopeful than sanguine of success. If anything
comes of this last excursion it shall be re-
ported. Anyhow, I can assure myself of this
consolation — that it is pleasanter to have
the east wind blowing into and all round
you, over a green and yellow buttercupped
meadow than round the corners of dusty
streets. I would rather recline

" Beneath the milk-white thorn
That scents the evening gale,"

and listen to the birds in the bushes and the
skylarks overhead, and the cuckoo far away,
than listen to any German band or negro
minstrel that haunts the sandy shore.

il8 FRESH WOODS.

" Oh, cuckoo ! shall I call the bird.

Or but a wandering voice ?
While I am lying on the grass

Thy loud note smites my ear !
From hill to hill it seems to pass,

At once far off and near."

With reference to the cuckoo, the old saw
used to run —

" The cuckoo sings in April,
The cuckoo sings in May,

The cuckoo sings in July,
But only on the day,"

Gilbert White says he is first heard about
April 7, and last on June 28. Bewick says,
" The well-known cry of the male is com-
monly heard about the middle of April, and
ceases at the end of June."

P.S. — I regret to conclude this letter by
saying that circumstances were too strong
for us. We did not go a-fishing on Jubilee
day.

TWO MORE DAYS ON A FARM.
LETTER No. XIV. [1887.

AN AFTERNOON WITH THE RABBITS.

HAVE been staying for a day
or two at a farmhouse, not so far
away from the metropolis as to
prevent our seeing the lightning and hearing
the distant roll of the thunderstorm which
burst over London last week, while we our-
selves were high and dry, our meadows and
our turnips hungering and thirsting for the
rain which seemed to be falling all round,
but which never came near us.

Our farm stands high, and looks down
over the Thames valley ; the towers of
Windsor form a fine picture in the back-
ground. Not a drop of rain has visited this
farm for many weeks, so there are no crops
to speak of, and the harvest, such as it was,
was soon gathered in. Nevertheless, in a
picturesque sense, it is a charming place.

120 FRESH WOODS,

Turnips and mangolds are few ; but
rabbits and hares abound. When I tell
you that with thirty cartridges my young
host killed twenty-eight rabbits one morning
as they ran out of the wheat before the
reaping-machine, no better proof of their
abundance could be given, and he may
reasonably claim to be regarded as a good
shot. There is no fishing in this neigh-
bourhood, so one day we went a-rabbiting ;
Venator with his gun, I with my walking-
stick, Joyce with a brace of ferrets and two
terriers, Spot and Vick. Vick is not much
larger than a rabbit, and can wriggle a long
way into a moderate-sized burrow ; she is,
however, not so easily extracted ; Joyce had
to pull her out by the tail.

Following the hedgerows, Spot soon
marked a rabbit, and Vick gave tongue in
the bush ; out came the rabbit, bang went
the gun, number one was bagged ; and
so the game went on. At length a rabbit
popped out and into a hole too quickly for a
shot. Now it was Bob, the ferret's, turn — a
dark, savage little brute, whom none but
Joyce could venture to handle, and he only
with a stout glove.

I was becoming excited with the sport.
My scruples about killing a rabbit were

AFTERNOON WITH THE RABBITS. 121

easily overcome by the surrounding evidence
of the damage they had wrought for the
farmer. I vow I had not fired a gun for
forty years. Venator handed me his breech-
loader. Without a licence, I boldly seized
the weapon. I felt that sort of trepidation
which is said to creep through the nerves of
an African hunter within range of a lion on
his path, as I breathlessly watched that Httle
rabbit hole.

Joyce was sitting at a distance, a dog
under each arm, and for fear of accident
Venator stood close behind me. For ten
long minutes we all intently watched. Spot
and Vick, with eager eyes and ears pointing
forward, could scarcely be restrained. I was
outwardly calm and firm as a rock, while in-
wardly I trembled like a leaf moved by the
breeze. I knew not what might happen.
Suppose by some strange twist I should shoot
Joyce, or Venator, or the dogs, or myself!
I conjured up all manner of terrible pos-
sibilities, or I thought of what had chanced
to many a wild sportsman before me. I was
just trying to decide how I should act sup-
posing the rabbit were to run between the
legs of the mistress's favourite old Alder-
ney cow, which was quietly browsing not far
away, when all of a sudden out comes poor

122 FRESH WOODS,

bunny, with a tremendous dash, making
straight for the cow. In an instant, and just
like the bold lion-hunter aforesaid, my nerves
became perfectly calm. I took a steady,
deliberate aim : I fired, and, to my astonish-
ment, bunny rolled over on the grass — dead
as a doormat ! I felt like a murderer.

This was triumph enough for one day ; no
more shooting for me. I returned the gun
to Venator. To say nothing of my moral
scruples, I did not want to endanger the good
impression I must have made on Joyce's
mind by this efficient display of sportsman-
ship.

Then we had trouble in getting Bob, the
ferret, out ; he would come to the mouth of
the hole and sniif round, wondering what
had become of the rabbit, and then rush
back again. Joyce, who is full of expedients,
and understands and delights in this sort of
thing, threw the dead rabbit into the hole,
and squealed just like a live one ; out comes
Bob, seizes the rabbit ; Joyce seizes Bob, and
bags him.

Subsequently two rabbits took refuge in
one hole ; Bob was put in after them. He
managed to kill one, suck his blood, and then
no doubt he rolled himself up comfortably for
a nap. Spade and pick-axe had to be fetched.

AFTERNOON WITH THE RABBITS. 123

It was a sight to see Joyce thrashing away
with pick and spade, smashing the rocks, and
tearing up the roots with his hands, throwing
himself down at full length, and thrusting
his arm into the hole ; he could touch fur,
but could not get hold. Up again, with
spade and pick, (the latter he broke in his
desperate energy,) till at last, after an hour^s
almost superhuman toil, he drew forth, first,
the dead rabbit, with the ferret hanging on
by his teeth, and then, from another corner,
a live one quite uninjured. We gave him a
chance for his life ; but it was a poor chance
— Venator's aim is too deadly.

We finished by running another bunny
into his hole under a bush ; the active Joyce
was down at full length, and in a jiffy drew
the rabbit out, at the same time disturbing
the calm repose of a wasps' nest just above
the hole. Joyce got a "kick" in the arm;
but what cared he ? He drew out the dagger
like a hero, and thought nothing of it.

You have all been invited in your time to
the Grasshopper's Feast and the Butterfly's
Ball, and I hope none of you have forgotten
those festivities. I have to offer you an
evening party with hornets — an occasion on
which Joyce's heroism was even more con-
spicuous.

AN EVENING WITH THE
HORNETS.

LETTER No. XV.

[1887.

" O, it is excellent to have a giant's strength,
But it is tyrannous to use it like a giant."

Shakespeare.

HE hornet, so called from its
antennce^ or horns, is only a big
wasp. As Chang, the giant, is to
an ordinary Chinaman, so is Vespa crabro to
Vespa vulgaris. It builds in decaying hollow
trees, under the eaves of barns, &c. Its nest
is composed of coarser materials than that of
the wasp {Vespa vulgaris). Gilbert White
says that wasps make their nests with the rasp-
ings of sound timber ; hornets with what they
gnaw from decayed bark. These particles of
wood are kneaded up with a mixture of saliva
from their bodies, and moulded into combs.
Reaumur asserts that the hornet uses the bark
of living trees ; but Kirby and Spence say

AN EVENING WITH THE HORNETS. 125

decayed wood. If the hole in the tree is not
large enough the insects gnaw the sides of
the interior. The antenn(2 of the male are
curiously notched on the outside.

The children were playing under a large
elm on the lawn, when I noticed a number of
hornets busily at work on the interstices of
the bark, or flitting and buzzing round the
tree, and I got them away with all speed. We
napped one or two of the insects with a
board. Shortly afterwards, unnoticed by
anyone. Toddles, a three-year-old, started off
to the tree by himself, with his seaside
paddle, and banged away at the hornets,
shouting, " Me kill de nasty hornets, too ! "

I was terrified, but I scrambled up the little
bank at the foot of the tree, and carried the
child off with half-a-dozen hornets buzzing
round us ; being cowardly, they did not
venture to attack us. If they did but know
the immense power they wield, who could
withstand them? Certain it is that they
possess "a giant's strength," and it is credit-
able to them that they do not " use it like a
giant." Scripture tells us that the hornet was
employed "to drive out the Hivite, the Ca-
naanite, and the Hittite." I am not sure, after
all, that cowardice is the real cause of their
forbearance ; their dagger is their life. They

126 FRESH WOODS.

know that when they have given the fatal
stab their own life is forfeited. I have
often heard this said of wasps, and yet the
pugnacious wasp is ever ready with his sting.
He seems to think nothing of his latter end.
Shakespeare says of the humble-bee : —

" Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing,
Till he hath lost his honey and his sting ;
And being once subdued in armed tail,
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail."

Troilus and Cressida.

And Sir John Lubbock of the bees: —
"Though bees which have stung and lost
their sting always perish, they do not die im-
mediately, and in the meantime they show
little sign of suffering from the terrible injury."

Possibly in stinging hornets suffer as much
pain as they give ; that, however, is only
surmise. Anyway, it is not nice to have
them in one's garden for children to play
with.

I watched them, and seeing one strike a
bee-line, I followed ; but he only flew a hun-
dred yards away to a neighbouring lime tree
in the orchard, under which the children
were used to play.

The body of this lime from the ground up
to the branches was alive with hornets. I
suppose they were after the sweet gum that

AN EVENING WITH THE HORNETS. 127

exudes from the bark ; or it may be that they
were still engaged in building operations, and
were carrying away bits of bark with this
object, as Rdaumur suggests. They seemed
to be spiteful enough to each other ; when
one found a choice morsel, another would be
down upon and clutch him ; both would then
tumble clumsily to the ground.

The victor would rise first, and with his
prize, whatever it was, in his strong mandi-
bles, would make a line (I felt sure now) for
home, and I resolved to find out where this
home was, and discover, if possible, with
what material it was built.

Away he went, mounting high in the clear
sky, over shed and barn, stack and tree.
He was soon followed by one and another.
I saw that this was a grand highway — a
regular train going and coming always in the
same direction — for when one would occa-
sionally make a circuit round the trees, as
if to deceive me, he was sure to come out
'twixt barn and sky on the same track.

I started off beyond shed, and barn, and
stackyard, away down to a large pond sur-
rounded by a coppice. I had not long to
watch there before I saw these winged
soldiers high up in the air above the bam,
and, one by one, down they came towards the
K

128 . FRESH WOODS.

corner where I was standing. I had spotted
them so far pretty accurately. Now to find
their nest.

In the corner of the meadow, just over the
fence, are three pollard willows. In the
head of one of these I soon observed a big
hole, in and out of which a constant stream of
hornets passed. The bulk of them seemed to
come from the orchard ; but some arrived
from the opposite direction. One of the
orchard hornets recognized me, I feel sure ;
he came buzzing about my head unpleasantly,
as much as to say, " Go away, naughty old
man ! I am sure you are up to no good, and
this is dangerous ground ! "

I had tracked them home. They had
selected their domicile with remarkable de-
fensive instinct against attack from their
natural enemy — man. Three sides of the
little corner on which the tree stands is sur-
rounded by a moat full of water 6 feet deep
and lo feet wide ; the fourth side is formed
by the tall park paling, over which I was
looking at them. This little island of about
thirty yards in circumference would have
been practically unapproachable, but for
some posts and rails, which made an in-
secure passage at one end.

It is a curious fact that not one man about

AN EVENING WITH THE HORNETS. 129

the farm had ever taken, or seen taken, a
hornets' nest. "Waspy's" nests they had
often taken, but never a hornets'. I had to
teach them. I took council with Joyce, who
is an apt scholar.

As a boy, I had assisted at the storming
of many a hornets' castle. We knew them
to be, or at all events we acted in the full
belief that they were, arrant cowards. Half-
a-dozen boys would stand round the tree
with a long leafy branch in one hand and a
bat in the other, and swish or nap them
down as they approached the hole, and when
we had sufficiently thinned the outsiders and
scared those inside, a kettle of boiling water
poured into the hole finished their business.
We never attempted to get at the comb.

Never do I remember any boy being
stung ; yet we took no trouble to cover our-
selves, and we were all aware of the popular
tradition that "nine hornets can kill a horse."

This time we did not adopt so foolhardy a
plan ; indeed, the situation did not admit of
it, for there was no room for a run, and I
have been followed by a hornet for a quarter
of a mile, swishing and batting all the time. I
am sure he could easily have stung me if he
had wished. My opinion now is that he was
only amusing himself by frightening me.

I30 FRESH WOODS.

Certain it is that hornets are the most
magnanimous of insects, or else the most
cowardly.

Mr. Srnee ("My Garden") says: "Dr.
Ormerod mentions the case of a country-
woman who patronized hornets because they
rid her rooms of flies whilst she was confined
to bed."

We all looked upon this proposed attack
of ours as a very serious business indeed ; the
female portion of our community entreated
us to let the wicked things alone, and not go
near them. Nothing but the risk the children
ran in the garden would have induced them
to consent to the risk to our precious selves
down in the corner of the meadow.

We provided ourselves with some coarse
rock powder ; this we moistened with saliva
and formed into a cake the size of a hen's
tig% ; a wooden skewer was stuck into the
thick end of it, the other end was dusted
over with dry powder, and our torpedo was
complete.

On the previous night I had watched the
premises till a quarter past eight, which was
as late as I could see ; but still they were
hard at work going and coming, and I won-
dered if they meant to work all night.

We decided, however, to commence the

AN EVENING WITH THE HORNETS. 131

siege at half-past eight ; by that time it was
as dark as it was likely to be for some hours,
for the young moon, a day old, was shining
as brightly as it could be expected to do at
that early age.

We did not like to put a ladder against
the tree for fear of arousing the sentry. We
found a rotten old pair of painter^s steps, and
this Harris, our bailiff, trailed down to the
island ; it was heavy and lumbering, and he
had to scramble along the shaky posts and
rails. When he was half-way across, the two
parts of the steps separated, one piece falling
into the water with a great splash, which
certainly disturbed the sentry and some of
the guard, for there was much buzzing about
afterwards. Therefore, I presume, they pos-
sess the sense of hearing, which has been
questioned as regards bees and ants. Thus,
after all, we had to place the steps against
the tree as gently as it could be done.

Joyce was the hero of the occasion. He
put on a thick pair of leather gloves, and I
tied the cuffs of his coat over them ; then I
covered his head and shoulders with a thin
white gauze, which he could see through.
Thus equipped, he cautiously mounted the
steps to inspect, and as quickly descended,
for there, at the mouth of the hole, was a

132 FRESH WOODS.

whole regiment of soldiers on guard, wide
awake, with their formidable weapons in
readiness/ There was also a considerable
buzzing about overhead ; the stragglers were
not all in even yet.

We decided to postpone the attack for
half an hour, and meanwhile go into the
wood and take the wasps' nest in which
Joyce had come to grief that afternoon.

Another and smaller squib was soon made
and applied to the hole ; it was satisfactory to
find that this acted splendidly — a good omen
for the hornets' torpedo. A turf was quickly
and firmly fixed on the hole ; we gave the
" waspys " a little time to suffocate comfort-
ably, and then Joyce set to work with his
usual vigour to dig out the nest. But he was
beaten this time ; the roots were so thick,
and the rock so immovable, that he had to
give it up.

We were a party of four, and if Joyce
looked like a ghost when he mounted the

1 " If a nest of wasps be approached without alarming the
inhabitants, and all communication be suddenly cut off
between those out of the nest and those within it, no pro-
vocation will induce the former to defend it and themselves.
But if one escapes from within, it comes with a very
different temper, and appears commissioned to avenge pub.
lie wrongs, and prepared to sacrifice its life in the execution
of its orders." — Kirby atidSpence.

AN EVENING WITH THE HORNETS. 133

sally tree, we all now looked like robbers or
murderers in the midst of a wood, with dark
lantern, pick, and spade, digging a grave in
which to bury a dead body, the pale moon
shining on the lake below us.

Now we made another attack on the strong
fortress on the island. Joyce sprang over
the fence like a young antelope, and Harris
followed with lantern and matches. Joyce
was soon equipped again in his headgear
and gloves. With squib in one hand and
turf in the other, he mounted the ladder,
while Harris, barefaced, barehanded, and
cool as a cucumber, held the lantern up,
struck a match, and applied it to the end of
Joyce's squib. It fizzed splendidly. Joyce
put it quickly into the hole, then firmly
dabbed on the turf and descended the ladder
in triumph, without wound or scar.

We thought we had bagged all the hornets,
so we left them " stewing in their own juice."
Next morning early I went to the elm on the
lawn and the lime in the orchard, and there
were my hornets, as thick and as busy as
ever, going and coming over the barn as if
nothing had happened ! I started off for the
island as fast as I could go, and there I saw
a notice up, " Business carried on as usual
during the alterations "

134 FRESH WOODS.

I am quite of opinion that they had already
commenced building another nest in an ad-
joining rotten old pollard more inaccessible
than this one, for it had partly fallen, and its
head hung over the very middle of the water.
Here I could see bits of fresh debris con-
stantly dropping into the water — a sure proof
that the builders were at work laying the
foundation of a new nest.

There were scores of hornets buzzing
about the tree — they were evidently puzzled ;
one came straight at me, but only to give me
a parting malediction. When he was within
a yard of my nose he turned suddenly away
and flew over the barn to tell his friends on
the lime tree of the terrible disaster that had
befallen the castle.

No doubt those that were at home when
Joyce stormed the fortress had been suffo-
cated; but my impression is that many of
the insects carried on business in the lime
tree all night, or were away on some maraud-
ing expedition elsewhere, or they may have
been friendly neighbours come over to con-
dole with or mourn over their murdered
relations.

I was obliged to leave for town the same
morning ; but Joyce has vowed that he will
have that hornets' nest if he has to fell the tree.

AN EVENING WITH THE HORNETS. 135

I have since learned that the enthusiastic
Joyce got up the next morning at four o'clock
to take the nest, when he found the tree on
fire. The long drought had rendered the
rotten interior dry and inflammable. It must
have been inwardly burning or smouldering
all the day after I left, and the following
night ; the nest was, of course, quite de-
stroyed. The hornets are still as thick as
ever round the trees in the garden and
orchard.

Joyce discovered another nest high up in
an ash tree in the park. At this he laboured
from nine o'clock at night till half-past one
in the morning. He triumphed at last, and
sent the nest to me in a box next day. On
unpacking it, I found that it contained
several revived hornets. Before examining
it more closely, I sent box and all to cook
in an oven.

Now, at last, I have the nest before me ;
but alas ! it is browned and charred. It has
been baking too long, so that it is difficult to
discover what it is made of. My judg-
ment, however, must be in favour of " de-
cayed wood " rather than " the bark of
trees." It contains three circular tiers of cells,
the lowest being three and a half inches in
diameter, the second four inches, and the

136 FRESH WOODS.

upper four inches. These three circular
tables are firmly held together, but half an
inch apart, by a double central stem. The
cells are full of grubs — now partly cooked.
They were all alive and wriggling uneasily
when I first opened the box. The tiers
must have been originally surrounded by
a thick encasement of the same material,
forming an almost circular ball, but part of
this has been broken away. Joyce promises
to send me a more perfect nest next time.

CHISWICK PRESS :— C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

W^hat shall we do with our Boys ?

"FRANK'S RANCHE."
" If you want to know what's to be done with our boys.
Here's a capital book that one really enjoys !
For of life in the Rockies— the smooth and the rough-
In ' Frank's Ranche ' is the story told frankly enough.
With adventure and travel 'tis brimming — in short,
'Tis a fund of good spirits, statistics, and sport !
You should read it at once, for there's not the least doubt
That ' E. M.' knows full well what he's writing about."

Punch , April lo, 1886.

Now Ready. Fifth Edition.

One Volume, /cap. Zvo, printed at the Chiswick Press, cloth.
extra, bevelled boards, with 40 Illustrations, price 5y.

FRANK'S RANCHE;

OR,

MY HOLIDAYS IN THE ROCKIES.

BEING A CONTRIBUTION TO THE INQUIRY INTO WHAT
WE ARE TO DO WITH OUR BOYS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF

"AN AMATEUR ANGLER'S DAYS IN DOVE DALE."

Brief Extracts from Reviews.

The Athenaeum.— "The author of 'Frank's Ranche,' a
writer whose acquaintance with literature appears to be exten-
sive, and whose literary method indicates that he is an accom-
plished man of letters. . . . His present venture is a small book
on a great subject, and he presents it as a contribution to the
solution of the problem, ' What to do with our boys.' He has
certainly written an interesting and very useful work, but he has
not answered the question."

Daily News.— "Last among our travellers comes that
pleasant writer of thinly-veiled anonymity, *E. M.,' who last
year went, sertcs studiorum, to fish in Derbyshire, and wrote

'An Amateur Angler's Days in Dovedale.' , . . Frank's draw-
ings, here engraved, prove that he is not one of the ordinary
young men who think that wild life is all sport and indolence.
He can write, he can ride, he can draw, he can catch sea-trout
with a bit of red flannel for fly, he can fell trees and make fences,
and work in snow up to the waist, and have time to be anxious
for Gordon, who died one year ago. ... It is an excellent little
book.'

Morning Post.— " Brightly written. . . . Pleasant as well
as useful reading."

The Pall Mall Gazette.— "These lively and genial pages
are the record of the father's visit to the snug little ranche which
the peculiar son has built for himself at the foot of the Rockies.
But Frank is a good type of the high-spirited young English-
man, who prefers to split rails, fell timber, and make fences, to
the addition of figures. . . . Written with much humour, . . .
this pleasant and instructive little volume."

The Field. — " Parents who are driven to their wits' end to
know what to do with their boys, and young gentlemen who are
inclined to throw up some good appointment or employment in
order that they may try their fortunes in the ' Far West,' will
do well to read this little book."

Pictorial "World. — "The book is one for every parent to
consider and reflect over, and no young aspirant to colonial life
should omit to peruse it. Its lessons are priceless ; for it tells
the reader how to work for success and how to win it. . . . The
little volume is also a very entertaining record of travel — the
harvest of an observant eye."

St. Stephen's Review.—" One of the chattiest and most
interesting little books of travel I have read for some time. . . .
The charm of the book lies, of course, in its complete ease and
unaff'ectedness. , . . Should be a great success."

Whitehall Review. — "The writer is one of the most sen-
sible men of the age. . . . Last winter he gave a charming narra-
tive of his experiences as an angler during a summer outing in
England ; this season he supplies as fascinating an account of
his holiday in the Rocky Mountains."

Illustrated News, Feb. 27.— "A sensible, brightly written,
and for the young man who wishes to pitch his tent in the Far
West, a most serviceable little volume. The letters Frank
writes home describe very graphically the difficulties and plea-
sures of the wild and solitary life he was forced to lead."

Manchester Examiner.—" This delightful volume. . . .
One of the brightest and pleasantest books which has come into
our hands for many a long day."

St. James's Gazette. — "That eminently readable little
book"

Houghton's Literary Bulletin {Boston, U.S.).—" One of
the freshest and most engaging books of travel."

Harper's Magazine. — "A small book on a big subject. . .
Easily, brightly written, with equal refinement and absence of
pretension, and flavoured with the humour of the ' Days in
Dovedale,' the author's story of his long journey is thoroughly
pleasant to read."

Le Temps (Paris), March 8.— "Voici un charmant petit
livre. . . . L'histoire, on le voit, est toute simple. Elle a le
rare m^rite d'etre vraie, d'etre actuelle, et toute chaude encore.
. . . Les Lettres de Frank refletent ses illusions, ses luttes, ses
espoirs. On les lit avec la sympathie qu'inspirent invincible-
ment la jeunesse, le courage, et la bonne humeur. . . . Tout
cela donne un livre ravissant ! Mieux que ravissant : un livre
utile et d'ou decoule naturellement la morallte la plus haute."

Daily Chronicle. — " Fathers and sons will find much to in-
struct and enlighten them in this sympathetic record of the
author's experiences with ' a peculiar youth ' who preferred the
free life of the prairies to the routine work of city business."

Lloyd's ^Veekly.— "The book is practically instructive, as
well as quietly amusing."

Sporting and Dramatic. — " It is not, of course, every
young man who emigrates that has so much courage and
adaptability as Frank, or every father that comes to the rescue
so patiently, but both classes may read this simple, often quaint
narrative with the greatest advantage. _ It will destroy much
dangerous sentiment and bring the practical side uppermost."

The New York Nation.— "The attraction of this little
book is due to its great simpHcity and directness. • ; • ' Frank '
had a hard time of it, and his endurance, resolution, and the
buoyancy of his hopes in the most dismal circumstances stand
out in his free and straightforward narrative with delightful un-
consciousness. So fresh a nature is not often met with in books,
and in this is the charm of the whole. . . . The second portion
consists of the account of the father's journey to see his son. . . .
These sketches are interesting light reading, and breathe a spirit
of appreciation for things American which is at once spontaneous
and unbroken, and in an Englishman of sixty years is marvel-
lous."

Sheffield Daily Telegraph.—" The book is delightful read-
ing. . . . The charm of the book, which defies definition, carries
on the reader from chapter to chapter until the end, where his
wrath at E. M., for not having made the volume twice as long,
is only appeased by a feeling of thankfulness for what he has
got."

The Graphic. — " Young emigrants to the outlying parts of
Canada and the United States will find much to instruct and
amuse them in ' Frank's Ranche.' . . . Even in this age of
numberless travel-books has written a book which merits peru-
sal."

Evening Bulletin {Philadelphia). — "A pleasant fruit of the
recent visit to this country of the author, is a little book of
Western experience under the title of ' Frank's Ranche.' . . .
Will be of much interest to American as well as to English
readers."

Publisher's W^eekly {Nezv Fi9^,^).—" There are a number
of illustrations in the daintily printed volume, which is thoroughly
interesting."

Birnningham Daily Mail.— "A very readable and useful
little book. ... It may be earnestly commended to the atten-
tion of all young people who care to realize what they are about
when they enroll themselves amongst the pioneers of civiliza-
tion."

Galignani's Messenger.— "A small book, charming as a
brief narrative of a sufficiently wild, distant, and adventurous
holiday, snatched by a busy man, for the purpose of visiting his
son, a ranchero in Montana ; but is also valuable and important
as a critical and impartial contribution to general knowledge of
the working of such undertakings."

Book Chat {Nenv York). — "This easy, bright, and genial
record is the result of his observation and experience."

Connecticut Advertiser.— " It is suggestive of the great
variety and multitude of noteworthy objects that may be dis-
covered on a journey which the great majority take with their
eyes closed."

LONDON :
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON,

ST. dunstan's house, fetter lane, fleet street.

AN AMATEUR ANGLER'S DAYS IN
DOVE DALE.

Being an Account of My Three Weeks
Holiday in July and August, 1884.

Imp. litno. fancy hoards, is. ; limp leather-cloth,
gilt edges, is. 6d.

%* Also a Large Paper Edition, printed oft hand-made paper
parchment binding, price ^s. {all sold).

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

The Athenasum says : — " This is an amusing little booki
written with much brightness and considerable literary skill."

The Standard, Dec. 24, 1884 :— " It is written in an ex-
ceptionally bright and genial style ... his writings bespeak an
intense love of Nature and a keen power of observation. A
strong vein of quiet humour runs through the volume, mingled
with thoughts sometimes serious, sometimes playful. Altogether
it is one of the most pleasantly written little books which we
have read for a long time."

The Daily News says :—'• Herein is the charm of the
book. . . . For an amateur, he certainly saturates you
thoroughly with true Dove Dale flavour."

The Pall Mall Gazette :— " This is a pleasant book to read
'now that the fields are dank and ways are mire.' "

The World says : — " Not merely by brethren of the rod, but
by all who appreciate Nature in her prettiest haimts it will be
found pleasant reading."

The Illustrated News says:— "This charming bit of
personal narrative . . . will certainly be preserved on many a
shelf where Izaak Walton and Charles Cotton hold the most
honoured place."

The Graphic says : — " Written in a charming spirit, with
plenty of quiet humour in it."

Harper's Magazine, /««. 1885:—" He is serus studiorum,
he is only learning to fish, but he can write, and has made a very
charming though brief addition to angling literature."

The Field says:—" Anyhow, the result of 'The Dove Dale
Holidays ' is a delightful pocket companion. . . . The principal
charm of the little work is that it will be equally interesting to
anglers and non-anglers."

The St. James's Gazette:— "Every page of it is good —
a bright little volume. Worthy of gracious acceptance from all
sorts and conditions of readers."

The Daily Telegraph :— " The fisherman, who must be as
pleasant a companion by the waterside, as he is genial as
an author, tells us how he spent three weeks' holidays, &c. . . .
may employ very pleasantly half-an-hour of any angler's time. "

The Guardian, Nov. 19, says :— " Tells in a very pleasant
fashion how a delightful three weeks' holiday may be spent in
beautiful Dove Dale."

Glasgow Herald : — " Decidedly interesting and amusing.
It is gracefully and lightly written ... he tells the story . . .
with much quiet and quaint humour. . . . No angler should be
without this excellent little book."

The Whitehall Review :— " This is one of the most
charming little books we have met with for some time."

The St. Stephen's Review :— " No more charming little
work than this has been published for many a day."

Army and Navy Gazette :—" A very pleasant little
book."

Daily Chronicle :— " An entertaining little book."

Civil Service Gazette : — " This charming and interesting
little book."

The Bookseller :— " A dainty little volume. . . • The
author tells in a most charmingly simple style. . . . There is
much quiet humour in the book. . . . "The dedication is a little
gem in its way."

The Literary World :— " Others besides anglers will read
with interest this pleasant record of a holiday,"

The Sunday Times says : — " One of those charming little
quasi-extemfore books. . . . We have enjoyed a very pleasant
hour in readmg."

The Publishers' Circular : — "All lovers of this picturesque
scenery will welcome this fresh and natural tribute to its
merits."

LONDON :

SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON

ST. dunstan's house, fetter lane, fleet street.

>'C (2420