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FRANK'S RANCHB; or, My Holidays In the
Rockies, 1885. 5;.
This book went through Five Editions. The fifth
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ON A SUNSHINE HOLYDAY. Large Paper
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LONDON
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON AND COMPANY
Limited
FETTER LANK, FLEET STREET, E.G.
AN OLD MAN'S HOLIDAYS
An Old Man s Holidays
BY
THE AMATEUR ANGLER
Author of "On a. Sunshine Holyday"
"Days in Dovedale," etc.
For I have loved the rural walk through lanes
Of grassy swarth, close cropped by nibbling sheep ;
.... have loved the rural walk
O'er hills, through valleys, and by river's brink."
Cmvper.
Second Edition
LONDON
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON AND COMPANY
Ltmtttd
$i gtatutan's lionsc
FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.G.
1901
'~~*0 my son R. B. M. (Piscator Major), and to my
J. good friend G. Y. (The Professor), expert anglers
both, my frequent companions on my Angling
Excursions, 1 dedicate this little book.
The thoughtful care of the former in all that contributes
to my welfare, and especially in providing me with the
needful implements of destruction when I go a-fishing, and
the unselfish anxiety with which the latter, by good advice
and ready help, sought to save me from many a scrape into
which my juvenile rashness and inexperience must otherwise
have plunged me, surely deserve and demand this slight
recognition of their goodness, and I seize with pleasure the
opportunity which is here afforded me of expressing to them
my love, my gratitude, and my good wishes.
THE AMATEUR ANGLER.
LONDON,
August 1900.
908721
NOTE
MANY a year has gone by since I first bethought me of Angling
as an occupation for my brief holidays. It was in July 1884,
sixteen years ago, that I first cast my line on the pleasant
river Dove, where it winds through the enchanting scenery of Dovedale.
I was truly but an amateur angler then, and I claim to be nothing
more than an amateur now ; that I take to mean an unaccomplished
lover of the angle, for although the art of angling has ever since pos-
sessed for me a growing fascination, my opportunities have been so
rare that even now after sixteen years of enthusiasm I find myself
painfully deficient in the skilful manipulation that comes first by nature
(for one must be born to it) and then by continuous practice. I must,
however, in extenuation, hold the bad weather I most frequently had,
in a large degree accountable for the repeated failures herein recorded.
If I were called upon to tell why I have taken the trouble to print in
a book these holiday sketches, I could only say that I have done the
same thing before, and my efforts have been only too kindly appre-
ciated by a number of friends who have asked for " more," and also
by very many most friendly critics who have chosen to be "to my
faults a little blind, and to my virtues ever kind."
Since my last booklet, On a Sunshine Holyday, was published,
many of my old friends have taken the voyage
"Across to that strange country, the Beyond."
Among these, first and foremost, was my dear old friend, for nearly
forty years, R. D. BLACKMORE, who always took a most lively
interest in my books, and whose kindly letters about them I hold as
golden treasures. Not the least treasure is that singular little prose-
poem which he did me the honour of writing specially as a kindly
introduction for my book By Meadow and Stream.
Mr Blackmore was my junior only by a few months. Beneath a
portrait of him in my possession he has written the following quaint
and characteristic note of his birth
NOTE
" I was launched into this vale of tears on the "jlh of June, 1825
at Longworth in Berkshire. Before I was four months old, my
mother was taken to a better world, and so I started crookedly."
Then, or rather before him, in the order of time, WILLIAM BLACK
was called away. He died comparatively young, but my acquaintance
with him began thirty years ago, and to him I am indebted for many
most kindly and encouraging letters about my small literary attempts.
It has been a source of no small pleasure to me that the authors of
books so widely known as Lorna Deone and The Princess of Thule
should have given me so much encouragement, but it will be remem-
bered that Mr Blackmore was an ardent trout angler, and as for Mr
Black, I fancy he felt more pride in catching a twenty-five pound
salmon than in writing one of his best novels and he certainly did
not despise the superior art of fly fishing for trout ; there we were on
common ground.
Then again let me call to mind and to memory my old friend J. G.
MORTEN a most skilful trout and salmon angler, and all-round
sportsman he too, only a few months ago, went very suddenly over
to join " the great majority." It was in his good company that I spent
many a pleasant day on the Wiltshire Avon as recorded in this and
my previous volume, On a Sunshine Holyday. Lastly, among my
old angling friends, let me bear an old man's testimony to Doctor
JOHN WIBLBJ, who went to his rest only a few months ago. He was
seventy-five when I first knew him hale and hearty, happy and
joyous, an enthusiastic fly fisher, both for salmon and trout, who
wielded a mighty rod, heavy as a weaver's beam, as easily as I could
wield an eight-ounce Leonard. He it was who first introduced me to
the lichen, and there for several years we fished together and had very
pleasant times, the memory whereof will linger with me all my days.
He gave up fishing when he was eighty-two or thereabouts, and now
at the good old age of eighty-seven he too has crossed to ' ' the Beyond. "
These reminiscences, de senectute, in reminding me that I myself
am no longer young, suggested the title I have given to my book.
A. A.
NOTE TO SECOND EDITION
-pHE First Edition of "An Old Man's Holidays"
*- having been sold out at once, and the type dis-
tributed, I would fain have allowed it there to
rest, and been thankful. The urgency of, I fear, rather
injudicious friends, has, however, induced me, with some
misgiving, to venture on the production of a Second
Edition in a slightly altered form. The occasion of
the appearance of this new Edition gives me at least
this satisfaction, that it enables me to thank my readers,
and, I may say, the whole round of the Press, for the
extreme kindness and generosity with which my unpre-
tentious little book has been received.
THE A. A.
CHAP. PAGE
I. EASTER FLY FISHING ON THE ITCHEN . i
II. THE KODAK FOR ANGLERS . . .n
III. ANGLING THAT "PREACHETH PATIENCE" 13
IV. KINGFISHERS, SCARCITY OF . .19
V. ON THE ITHON, LLANDRINDOD WELLS . 23
VI. THE ELAN VALLEY AND THE BIRMING-
HAM WATERWORKS . . . .35
VII. GRAYLING FISHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES
GRAYLING FISHING ON THE ITCHEN . 44
VIII. SPRING RAMBLES 53
IX. OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL ... 63
X. OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL (continued) 75
XI. OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL (continued) 85
XII. IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY THE
GANDER AND THE MAY FLY . . 93
XIII. FLY FISHING NEAR SCARBOROUGH THE
FORGE VALLEY 107
XIV. FLY FISHING NEAR SCARBOROUGH
SCALBY BECK 113
XV. FISHERMAN'S LUCK 120
XVI. ANIMALS OF TO-DAY THE CUCKOO . 130
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE AMATEUR ANGLER . . . Frontispiece
THE OLD BRIDGE, RIVER ITCHEN . To face page 12
COTTAGE NEAR THE ITCHEN . . 16
ON THE ITCHEN 18
SHAKY BRIDGE, ON THE ITHON . 24
ALPINE BRIDGE, ON THE ITHON . 32
PONTYLFFON BRIDGE, ELAN RlVER . 34
CWM ELAN 36
IN THE ELAN VALLEY ... ,,40
WAITING FOR A RISE .... ,,58
ON THE ITCHEN ,,62
LAND'S END FROM THE SOUTH . 66
FIRST AND LAST REFRESHMENT
HOUSE IN ENGLAND ... ,,68
VIEW FROM THE "PARLOUR," KYN-
ANCE COVE ,,78
ZAWN-PYG CAVE, LAND'S END . 84
FISHERMAN'S LUCK. THRILLING
MOMENT . . 128
AN OLD MAN'S HOLIDAYS
CHAPTER I
EASTER FLY FISHING ON THE ITCHEN
April 1898
IT is now about seven months since last I
had the gratification of holding a fly rod
in my hand, and then it was in the rocky
bed of the pleasant Barle. We came down here on
April 6, " Piscator " and I, to our old quarters on
the Itchen I with the pleasurable anticipations of
an " amateur" he with the doubt and misgiving of
bottled-up experience. I looked forward to bright
sunshine, green meadows, the songs of birds, and
the hum of bees on the willow catkins. He, with
the wisdom of a sage, foretelling that, whatever the
weather may be, we were at least a month too early
for the aristocratic trout that inhabit the Itchen.
Our first afternoon was fine and breezy, but there
was no fly on the water, and, therefore, nothing for
1 A
2 EASTER FLY FISHING ON THE ITCHEN
trout to rise at, had they been so inclined ; but
there they were, with their tails flapping about in
the air, and their heads deep down amongst the
grass and weeds, showing a kind of contempt for
the mere dry-fly fisherman. In truth I am inclined
to formulate a little theory of my own about these
sophisticated trout. There is undoubtedly, and it
has been noticeable for some time past, a growing
scarcity of flies on our waters. Why is it ? Is it
not because our river is so persistently flogged for
trout all through the spring and summer, and for
grayling all through the autumn and winter, that
the fish have grown suspicious of these deceptive
insects floating above them, and so devote them-
selves more and more to the insect larvae which
they find below, and hence the scarcity of natural
flies on the surface ? This little theory will at all
events serve to explain the fact of the tailing we
did see on that first afternoon, and of the rise we
did not see.
It has long since become an axiom that if you
have a fine Friday a fine Sunday will as surely
follow as night followeth day ; and, indeed, it does
so frequently turn out to be true that an exception
only proves the truth of it. Last Friday was one
of the loveliest, brightest, sunniest days I have
experienced during the days that have as yet passed
of this present changeful year 1898. On Sunday
morning we were actually weather-bound. All
through the night a strong south-westerly wind
brought up from the sea, not many miles away, a
EASTER FLY FISHING ON THE ITCHEN 8
thick, drizzling sea mist, now and again breaking
out into heavy driving rain.
I am getting ahead of my story, for I might have
said that not only was Friday a lovely day, but it
was not altogether an uninteresting day for fishing.
When our trout do condescend to rise, we have
already found out that it is between the hours of
eleven and one, and it was between those hours
that I got a fine trout and a brace of grayling.
These grayling, which, with their bluish-purply
sheen, can be seen in pairs on the gravel beds, the
one dark and the other fair, are always only too
ready to make a dash at a floating fly.
It is a nuisance to catch them, although they
give lively sport enough ; but the trouble and
damage to their constitution, in getting the hook
out of their mouths in order to return them to the
water, more than counterbalance the sport of catch-
ing them. It is quite amusing to watch a pair of
these amatory thymy shadows ogling each other
down in the water, billing and cooing like a pair of
turtle doves.
The Major caught a brace of trout and several
troublesome grayling ; the largest trout was about
ij lb., and by this trout there hangs a tale.
When I was fishing in the same meadow last
June I lost many a trout and many a May Fly ;
now it so happens that in the gill of this trout was
found, firmly hooked, a very perfect May Fly the
G.O.M. with six inches of gut. He has worn and no
doubt been very proud of this distinctive decoration
4 EASTER FLY FISHING ON THE ITCHEN
ever since. It seems to me to be a very remark-
able thing that fly and hook should have been in
that fish for more than nine months, and now as
perfect and fresh as if it had been in my pocket-
book all the time ; the gut is rather rotten. The
gold tinsel round the body is as bright as ever it
was, one wing is slightly mangled, as if other envi-
ous trout had tried to nibble it. I fully believe that
fly is mine, that I lost that fish on that particular
spot last June ; the only doubt I have about it is
that I then estimated the fish I lost as at least
1 1 lb., whereas this one, after nine months' growth,
now weighs only ij lb. ; on the other hand, you
know how much larger are always the fish you lose
than those you take ! The fly is distinctly a G.O.M.
of Mrs Ogden Smith's make.
Saturday, April 9, I may fairly call hurricane
day. Fly fishing, dry or wet, was hopeless, and
to have attempted to cast a fly over the billows
quite useless, because firstly, it could not be
done with any degree of accuracy ; and, secondly,
because there was nothing over which to cast.
We had too jauntily concluded, because many
months ago our nets had captured a large number
of big pike and little jack, that we had cleared
the river of these destructive pests ; but we ought
to have remembered that what were mighty little
jack then, and so escaped the net, have been all
the while growing, till now they have become fair-
sized pike.
"This windy weather," said "Piscator," "is just
EASTER FLY FISHING ON THE ITCHEN 5
the right sort for pike fishing. Suppose we have a
go at them." "All right," said I, but I had no pike
tackle or pike rod, or, for the matter of that, know-
ledge how to use them if they had been in my
possession. I did, indeed, make one attempt to
cast from the Nottingham reel, and a nice fizzle I
made of it. It looks uncommonly easy in the hands
of the Major.
The Major was but ill provided, but he had a
good stiff pike rod and an artificial bait or two.
We started, I carrying a walking-stick. The Red
Phantom soon began to attract attention ; the first
that came was a small jack, and he quickly came
to grief then another, and, at length, spinning up
quietly under the bank on which we stood, dash
comes out what seems to me a monster, but, of
course, a mere babe, when thought of in connection
with Mr Jardine's 37-pounders. He struggled with
all the vigour and power of a fellow quite aware
that for him it is either death or victory. He came
in to bank at last ; but our small net was no good,
we couldn't get even his head into it, so I lifted him
out bodily on to grass. "Ten pounds," cried I.
" Seven pounds," said the Major.
" Shall I take him home and weigh him ? " says
our bright boy. Off he went, and presently came
back with the report that he only weighed 6 Ibs.
And so we piked on with more or less success till
we came down to our aquatic mansion, which is
at the limit of our tether ; there is a profound, if
not bottomless depth of water ; there our big trout
lie, and there also lurk, and always have lurked, a
big pike or two under the shadow of the now leaf-
less oak which spreads itself partly over our house
and partly over the water. There the Major, sure
of a fine run, made a long cast, the Red Phantom
spun through the air, but never again will it spin
through the water ! Yonder it hangs, suspended
on the topmost branch of that old oak, and there it
will hang and spin for ever.
And so home to lunch. Afterwards the Major
rigged up another and a smaller bait, which proved
no lure at all. He thought he had cleared the
river. I followed as a spectator for an hour or two,
but there is not much interest in such sport, so I
gave it up. No sooner had I departed than he
fitted up a rough old spoon-bait, and brought home
five large jack, so making eleven of this interesting
pike species out of our fancied immaculate stream.
If eleven could be caught in a few hours' fishing
with imperfect tackle, how many scores more must
there be lurking about in holes and corners and
carrier inlets. They must be looked after. This
finished our Saturday's work. Sunday, as I have
said, proved to be altogether terrible in the morn-
ing, but the sun came out in the afternoon, and
it was not unpleasant for a stroll in a still high
wind.
Easter Monday. " Heigho ! for the wind and
the rain ! "
No rain in the morning, nor, in fact, till about
four o'clock. I said the Red Phantom which had
EASTER FLY FISHING ON THE ITCHEN 7
spun out so many jack would spin on in the top
of the old oak for ever ; but the Major was of a
different opinion. For want of a better lure, he
ingeniously fastened two corks together and cut
them into a shapely minnow. He then peeled off
the gold leaf from the neck of a champagne bottle ;
this he gummed neatly round the cork, and
varnished it. Here was as glittering a gold fish
as ever swam in a glass bowl. To this he added a
strip of red stuff and affixed the tackle, and the
gold spinner was perfect. Necessity is the mother
of invention. Fly fishing on Easter Monday in a
sou'-westerly gale is not attractive, so he sallied
forth with his new impromptu invention, and
caught three jack before lunch. I followed after
with my rod and my flies, but really it was a
disheartening task. I never saw a rise from one
end of the water to the other, and I said I would
not come here again on Easter Monday. After
lunch, not feeling inclined to give in, I put on
a small Coachman, after failing to attract any
attention with Olive Dun and various other flies.
It is pain and grief to a dry - fly fisherman to
wander along by the waterside in a howling wind,
and to see absolutely nothing over which to cast ;
and it so happens that a south - westerly wind,
when it is blowing half a gale, is almost the worst
wind we can have on our side of the water, for
it is only at certain corners and twists and turns
in the river that one can have even a decent
chance, though I can manage to get through a
8 EASTER FLY FISHING ON THE ITCHEN
stiffish wind when I see any encouragement under
the opposite bank. And so I sauntered on down
to the pub, that place affords a somewhat sheltered
corner and there, knowing where a good trout
or two must certainly lie, whether on the feed or
not, I cast my Coachman over the spot, and to my
surprise, I may say my delight, a nice trout came
at me, and he came to grass. I threw again.
This time I allowed the fly to float down under a
barbed wire that crosses the stream (the Professor
knows it well), and there, two or three yards
below, one of those big fellows he wots of came
at me. I hooked him nicely, and I had to treat
him very gingerly, for it is no joke fishing under
barbed wire and dead against stream. He fought
like a true British trout (a rainbow trout couldn't
have fought better), and I gently manoeuvred
him up-stream for a long distance in fear and
trembling, for my boy was miles away with my
landing-net, peddling about among pink in a
carrier, never dreaming that I should do such an
unlikely thing as get hold of a fish. I had to
get him to a gravelly opening. All held well ;
and he came to grief, and to basket. He weighed
a pound and a half. Remembering my former
ill-luck, with which I had become slightly depressed,
I need not say I was now slightly elated. I fished
on lower down, and presently I caught another
trout nearly a pound. Then I heard "the band
play" in the village, two miles off, for the Easter
festivities were in full swing there, and then
EASTER FLY FISHING ON THE ITCHEN 9
the rain came down in torrents, and I sought
shelter in the hut. I pitied the Easterlings.
Meanwhile the Major had not been idle. His
golden spinner worked admirably, but it did not
attract like that old Phantom swinging on the top
of the oak tree. He longed for that destructive
machine, and he was determined to have it. Our
good friend the farmer carried down a light
ladder, and between them they managed, by the
help of the rod, to break the branch, and down
came the Phantom, and, of course, sank at once
into six feet of water. "Now," said I, "although
your Phantom was not doomed to be hanged after
all, he certainly was to be drowned ; " but the
Major was not to be so done. From his perch up
in the tree he could see the glittering Phantom
deep down in the water, so he determined to
fish for him. With his rod up in the tree he
let down the well- weigh ted Golden Miracle, and
by skilful angling caught hold of the little branch
in which the Phantom was fixed, and hauled it
up triumphantly. That Phantom pike slayer has
more work to do yet.
The rain was still pouring, or, rather, driving
before the gale. I went home, and left them to
further devices.
An hour or two later the Major turned up with
a 6-pounder and two smaller pike, making in all
seventeen of these destructive brutes for two days'
work.
Easter Tuesday. If a south-westerly gale is bad
10 EASTER FLY FISHINO ON THE ITCHEN
for our water, a north-westerly is worse. It finds
its way into every nook and corner ; it is impos-
sible to get away from it. This being my last
day, I made a final effort to get a fly on the
water, but up to lunch time nothing came of it.
Fishermen cannot control the weather ; they
must take it as it comes, and always look for
better luck next time. I do not complain ; far
from it. I came here with a bad cold, and now I
am quite well, and equal to any exertion befitting
one of the ancients.
It seems but yesterday, and yet it must be ten
or twelve years since our old friend, the doctor,
first drove me and the Major over to this river.
Ah ! what a pleasant time we had here in those
days. What a sumptuous luncheon he used to
provide for us in the dulce domum under the
blooming may tree ; what jokes he used to crack ;
he had long since retired from active practice, but
he used to call on his way here from Southampton
on several of his old patients, just to cheer them
with his genial presence ; his pockets were usually
crammed with sweets, and every child on the road
knew him, and looked out for a pat on the cheek
and a lump of barley-sugar.
The Major finished up his Easter fishing with
seven more pike, all lured by that wonderful
battered old Red Phantom.
CHAPTER II
THE KODAK FOR ANGLERS
THE Kodak, which has become so very
popular of late, is a pleasant little weapon
for an angler to put into his holster with
it he can constantly take shots which will be in-
teresting reminders.
In this way the Major got about two dozen of
such objects as presented themselves most of
them very sharp and perfect representations of bits
of river, meadow, and woodland scenery, or objects
about the farm. I am enabled to give a few speci-
mens here, not because they are in themselves of
any particular interest, only as showing what this
beautiful little instrument is capable of producing.
Sorry I am that we did not Kodak the Major
when he was up that tree angling for his
"Phantom" in that upper branch, and then fish-
ing for it from the same position in the deep
water over which he was suspended.
There on the seat beneath "the May" is the
Major, resting after his successful climb.* Here
is a picture of the G.O.M. May Fly imitation, after
it had been worn in the gill of a trout for over
* See Frontispiece.
12 THE KODAK FOR ANGLERS
nine months, as described in the last chapter. Of
course there is no particular novelty in finding a
fly in a trout's mouth ; but it is somewhat of a
novelty to be able to identify the fly, and also to
find it in such a perfect state of preservation after
so long a time of wear and tear.
This does not confirm Charles Cotton's experi-
ence, who says :
" But I am very confident a trout will not be troubled two hours
with any hook that has so much as one handful of line behind with
it, if it be in any part of his mouth only ; * nay, I do certainly know
that a trout, so soon as ever he feels himself pricked, if he carries
away the hook, goes immediately to the bottom, and will there root,
like a hog, upon the gravel, till he either rub out or break the hook
in the middle."
This was written almost two hundred and fifty
years ago.
Another example of the work of an idle moment,
when the weather was cold and windy, and the
Kodak came into action. The old man on the
bridge looks as though he were waiting for a rise ;
he was, in fact, admiring the grayling at play on
the gravelly bed of the stream.
* Mine was fixed outside the gilL
CHAPTER III
ANGLING THAT " PREACH ETH PATIENCE"
June 1898
ONCE a year our housemaid assumes do-
minion over our entire household : when
she opens her mouth no dog is allowed to
bark. We have to pack up and be off. Spring-
cleaning is on stair-carpets are torn up ; bed-
rooms made quite uninhabitable.
Once I tried to live through it at home all alone,
the rest of the family being at the sea, but I
don't want to try it again. I resolved for the
future to leave spring-cleaning to itself, so this
year, in the first week in May, we started off for
the Isle of Wight.
I am now writing in the middle of June, on a
bitterly cold day, without a fire a north-easterly
wind prevailing, as it has done for some days
and I find it difficult to realise now that five weeks
ago we had some bright and shiny days of lovely
summer weather.
14 ANGLING THAT " PREACHETH PATIENCE"
We had many long strolls and drives in the
pleasant interior of the lovely island where the
trees were all just out in full leaf the meadows
were green with lush grass, and golden with
yellow buttercups and the hedgerows were gilded
over with solid beds of gorse and broom in full
bloom and as to the birds, they were positively
rampant with their songs.
" . . .At the bent spray edge
That's the wise thrush, he sings each song twice over
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture." BROWNING.
These were our early days the nearer we
approached the month of June the nearer winter
we seemed to be getting the days and nights
grew colder and colder and at length, when we
left the island, we thought we had left summer
quite behind us.
I remember one very hot, sunny afternoon,
strolling along in a shady lane, I was surprised
to see a leather -bat dashing about close to my
head, and catching insects in the air. Never be-
fore have I seen one of these little night bats out
in the sun in this way.
After many pleasant bright days spent on the
island, I crossed the Solent, and found myself on
the Itchen. The weather had changed. It was
the last week in May, and I fondly hoped the May
Fly would be good enough to come up during my
stay. On the last two or three days I saw two or
three, and that was all. There was no rise of fish,
ANGLING THAT " PREACHETH PATIENCE" 15
as I suppose there seldom is before the great hatch
comes on. I had the smallest possible success,
wind and weather were against me. The big trout
were down amongst the larvae, with their tails
waggling out of the water. I left on the 3Oth, and
the next day and the following week they were up,
and the Major and the Professor were there and
a fine time they had of it. Their friends all round
the country lived upon Itchen trout all through the
week. On the whole it proved to be as prolific a
May Fly season, both in rise of insect and rise of
trout, as they had experienced for some years. But
I was not there to see it.
Friday, June 24. Arrived at my old quarters
on the Itchen, two o'clock. A very disappointing
day. I came here to fish, and I find a March wind
blowing, and at intervals driving rain not a bit
like the June that the poets sing about. Swallows
seem to be astonished at such rude weather ; they
can hardly breast the storm ; the birds are not
singing as they ought to be, and it looks dis-
couraging. I had lunch, and waited indoors for
two hours, cogitating on the ill-luck which so fre-
quently accompanies my infrequent outings ; then
I put on my togs, and away to the river. No
rise no fly for two hours. I saw only six rises,
but I brought two brace of fine grayling to bank
and lost one. I am satisfied.
Our water is too full of grayling, so I make no
scruple now about bagging them, for they are
really in fine condition, and they want thinning.
16 ANGLING THAT " PREACHETH PATIENCE "
The Major and the Professor played the deuce
with the trout in the May Fly time, when, alas ! I
was not here. Now, I fancy what few they left are
very shy ; at all events, I did not see a single rise,
and the Red Tag does not attract them as it does
the grayling.
Saturday, June 7.^. A boisterous morning, worse
than yesterday ; torrents of rain, intermittent sun-
shine, strong westerly wind. I went down to the
river ; water covered with floating islands of weeds.
I was not a bit down-hearted. I got what enjoy-
ment I could out of winds and weeds, and an
occasional shower. My young gillie found infinite
amusement in shooting in the air at the swallows
a small white seed, which he called darry (and
was careful to tell me how to spell it), out of a
hollow hemlock stem, not for the purpose of hitting
them, but to watch them darting after the seed
and enjoying the fun. Then he told me he had
seen a bird the other day that he had never seen
before all his life. It had a yellow head and
perfectly white wings and body ; it had a grub in
its mouth, and he searched diligently in the hedge-
row, but could not find its nest. I suggested that
he must have mistaken it for a yellow-hammer,
but he spurned the idea, as if he did not know a
yellow-hammer.
Then he became enthusiastic about a circus
the biggest circus that ever was seen. It is coming
on Monday, and costs sixpence entrance ; but he
can get in for threepence. He had seen the pictures
ANGLING THAT " PREACHETH PATIENCE" 17
on the walls ; they were stunning. And so we
passed the time till lunch. At that time I expect
the Major. By then I indulge the hope that the
wind will have whistled itself away that those
demons up above will have ceased cutting weeds.
They must know I am here ; but if they think
they are disturbing my equanimity they are mis-
taken I rather like it ! My good hostess always
very indulgent to me insists on my having a fire,
and so, in my comfortable arm-chair, I will read
myself to sleep, lulled thereto by the howling,
wintry wind outside.
The afternoon proved no better for angling
purposes, for the river was still green with fresh-
cut weeds. After much labour and intricate cast-
ing whenever we could see a rise in spaces between
the floating weeds, we only got two brace equally
divided between us and so we finished the week.
Sunday. A dies non as to fishing, alternated
between heavy rain and bright sunshine, thunder
and lightning.
Monday morning. Gloomy and dull, north-
easterly wind blowing down-stream ; water whitish,
being thick with chalk from heavy rains above.
Of course there was no rise. The Major gave
it up at once, and went home for his pike rod.
I sat under the pub. tree, and rejoiced over my
luck. Weeds on Saturday ; chalk soup on Mon-
day. Swallows, skimming in pursuit of an imper-
ceptible insect, left nothing to tempt a fish to
rise. It is simply delightful sitting here, watching
18 ANGLING THAT " PREACHETH PATIENCE"
and waiting. If the swallows would go away
for a little while, the trout may have a chance
of seeing through the foggy water something to
come up for. Mark Tapley's philosophy is nothing
to mine. Keeper, going by on the other side,
shouts, "There'll be no rise, sir, till about seven
or eight o'clock ; water too much like skim milk."
Yes ! What's the odds ? At eight o'clock I
shall be making tracks for the metropolis. It is
rather cold sitting here in face of a strongish
north-easterly wind. By Jove ! there's a rise. I
am afraid it's only a little one ; never mind, it
looks hopeful ; for exercise I will have a try for
him. I have him ; he is only lb., so I put him
back to increase in bulk by next June he will be
a fine young fellow. Heigho ! See yonder clouds
as black as midnight coming up with the wind.
A few big drops, and then a downpour. We are
caught in the open, and have to run for the nearest
hedgerow. How delightful it is to crouch under a
hedge, the wind driving the rain straight through,
and wetting you as much as in the open.
The hopes of the morning were not verified.
We reached home in another heavy thunderstorm,
with the impression on our minds that we will not
face wind and storm again this outing.
I may say, as indeed can easily be imagined,
we thoroughly enjoyed our bit of a holiday. Of
angling it may be truly said, as George Herbert
said of a dull sermon
" // preacheth patience."
CHAPTER IV
KINGFISHERS, SCARCITY OF
KINGFISHERS are said to be growing
more and more scarce everywhere. This
is partly owing to the fact that they have
the credit of being destructive enemies of young
trout ; the fact is, they do feed on little fishes, but
not so much on trout as on minnows, dace, stickle-
backs, miller's thumbs, and even leeches. Last-
springs, as they call young salmon on the Wye,
also afford them a dainty meal now and then, and
the consequence of this is that they find deadly
enemies in the water-bailiff and gamekeeper. The
brilliant plumage of this interesting bird is also a
fertile cause of its destruction, for it is frequently
killed for the adornment of ladies' hats ; it also
forms a pretty object when stuffed in a glass case ;
and anglers themselves find an additional excuse
for its slaughter, in that it furnishes them with
feathers wherewith to make their daintiest flies.
I have seen one occasionally on our water, flit-
ting, or, rather, flashing, down the stream. It
20 KINGFISHERS, SCARCITY OF
rarely happens that one can get a good view of
him on account of his extreme shyness and ex-
treme swiftness on the wing. I was fortunate one
day in seeing him swinging on a spray close to
the water in a most inaccessible place, warbling a
pretty little melody ; at a distance of nearly one
hundred yards he sang away, seemingly quite secure
from any intruder, and I thought of the pity of it
that such a lovely little bird should be doomed to
extinction partly on account of its having wrongly
got a bad character, and partly because of its
attractiveness.
Montaigne, in one of his delightful essays on the
sagacity of animals, has the following remarks
about the kingfisher
" But that which experience teacheth seafaring
men, especially those that come into the seas of
Sicilie, of the qualitie and condition of the Halcyon
bird, or, as some call it, alcedo or kingfisher,
exceeds all men's conceit. In what kinde of crea-
ture did ever nature so much prefer both their
hatching, sitting, brooding, and birth ?
" But God's decree hath been that all the watrie
wildernesse should be quiet and made calme, without
raine, wind or tempest, during the time the Halcyon
sitteth and bringeth forth her young ones, which is
much about the winter Solstitium, and shortest day
in the yeare : By whose privilege even in the hart
and deadest time of winter we have seven calme
daies, and as many nights to saile without any
KINGFISHERS, SCARCITY OF 21
danger. Their Hens know no other Cocke but
their ovvne : They never forsake him all the daies
of their life: and if the Cocke chance to be weake
and crazed, the Hen will take him upon her neck,
and carrie him with her, wheresoever she goeth,
and serve him even untill death. Man's wit could
never yet attaine to the full knowledge of that
admirable kinde of building or structure which the
Haitian useth in contriving of her neast, no, nor
devise what it is of.
" Plutarke, who hath seen and handled many of
them, thinkes it to be made of certaine fish-bones,
which she so compacts and conjoyneth together,
enterlacing some long, and some cross-waies, add-
ing some foldings and roundings to it, that in the
end she frameth a round kind of vessel, readie to
floate and swime upon the water ; which done, she
carrieth the same where the sea waves beat most ;
there the sea, gently beating upon it, shewes her
how to daube and patch up the parts not well
closed, and how to strengthen those places, and
fasten those ribs, that are not fast, but stir with the
sea waves ; and on the other side that which is
closely wrought, the sea beating on it, doth so
fasten and conjoyne together, that nothing, no, not
stone or yron, can any way loosen, divide, or break
the same, except with great violence ; and what is
most to be wondered at is the proportion and figure
of the concavitie within : for, it is so composed and
proportioned, that it can receive or admit no manner
of thing, but the bird that built it : for to all things
22 KINGFISHERS, SCARCITY OF
else, it is so impenetrable, close and hard, that
nothing can possiblie enter in ; no, not so much as
the sea water."
I have never seen a kingfisher's nest, but the
foregoing remarks evidently apply to the larger
species a sea-going bird specially found on the
Sicilian coast and this is, of course, the legendary
bird about which so much classic and poetic lore
clusters.
The smaller bird, familiar to all anglers on our
rivers, builds its nest in the bank in a hole dug
out by itself, and it is generally found to be lined
with fish-bones, and becomes very offensive by the
time the young ones are fledged. It has been
stated that they nest in old rat-holes, but I fancy
this bird is too independent and ingenious not to be
able to make a nest for itself. Dr Bull, describing
a nest found by himself, says
" The hole here was in a perpendicular bank, six
feet above the ordinary water-level. The entrance
was oval in shape, two inches and three-quarters
perpendicularly, and two inches and a half in its
horizontal diameter. It was placed about a foot
below the surface, was two feet in length, and in-
clined upwards to within two inches of the surface.
Here a wide space, some six inches in diameter, was
hollowed out for the nest of fish-bones. . . . The
nest of a kingfisher is often discovered by a dog
scenting its 'ancient fish-like smell' through the
soil."
CHAPTER V
ON THE ITHON, LLANDRINDOD WELLS
July 2, 1898
I MAY say that accident rather than pre-
meditated design led me to spend my
summer holidays at Llandrindod Wells,
which, though strictly speaking in South Wales,
may be said to be in Mid- Wales in Radnorshire.
An old adage, quoted in the guide-book, says
"There's neither park nor deer in Radnorshire,
Nor a man worth five hundred a year,
Except Sir William Fowler of Abbey Cwrahir."
I remember an old farmer quoting it, some sixty
years ago, rather differently
" There's never a park and never a deer,
And never a squire in Radnorshire,
But old Squire Rogers of Abbey Cwmhir."
I do not think that either adage applies to the
Radnorshire of to-day. I may add that Abbey
Cwmhir is a small ruin, on one side of which is a
pretty lake, formed by the river Clewedog, where,
24 ON THE ITHON
doubtless, the monks of old, as was their custom,
fished and fed upon carp, and possibly that prolific
demon fish, the chub the cooking of which is now
a lost art. The ruins, and the beautiful church, and
the mansion, are all situated in a most lovely nook,
surrounded by mountains of great height. It is
nine miles from Llandrindod a very charming
drive.
I did not come here with the view of drinking
waters. I expected to find an old-fashioned village
among the mountains. I found a small town of
newly-built houses, mostly of red brick or stone, all
seemingly on the latest principles of sanitation, and
lighted with electric light a town quite up to date,
only wanting a steam roller to complete its per-
fection. The streets, when I was there, were stoutly
carpeted with broken limestone, which were bad
for tender feet. I am not going to describe the
place in any detail. I can only say that I was
equally surprised and charmed with this delightful
oasis among the hills. The varied scenery is lovely.
One of the inducements to come here was the cer-
tainty of having pleasant rambles by rivers, whether
fish were to be caught or not.
" Lord, who would live turmoiled in the Court,
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ? "
King Henry VI.
Our first little excursion took us all along a rugged
road to have a first look at the Ithon, about three
miles away to the Shaky Bridge. This is a very
curious structure a bridge of wooden planks laid
ON THE ITHON 25
crosswise on two strong chains on the river ; visitors
are cautioned that not more than three persons
should go on it at one time. It wobbles about in
an alarming way as one crosses, but there is nothing
to be afraid of. I suppose it has wobbled in this
way for many generations, with an occasional patch
up, and people think it will go on wobbling for ever.
Frisky young fellows are much given to jump on it
in the middle, and so enjoy the screams of their
lady friends. The experiment is dangerous.
What a delightfully pretty spot it is ! The
river winds round in a semi-circle beneath wooded
heights, not unlike, in a smaller way, the Thames
at Clieveden. On the other side, at a meadow's
breadth, rises a conical rocky hill to a consider-
able height, called Cefyn-Llys, or the Court House
Hill ; supposed remains of a British fortress. I
and my daughter went there to look at it from an
angler's standpoint. It was on a lovely summer
evening, and the fish were beginning to rise freely.
There it was that I first wet my line in the waters
of the pleasant but alder-bound Ithon. Unluckily,
I could not stay long enough. I fished for half-an-
hour, and got a brace of small trout ; then we had
to trudge back over the hills and through woods.
It is a lovely, secluded spot, and I hope to pay it
another visit.
In the morning we had driven over to Builth,
about seven miles, through very picturesque
scenery, just to have a look at the Wye. It is a
grand stream there ; but, as I was told by an in-
26 ON THE ITHON
telligent fishing-tackle maker near the bridge, it
was not in good order for fishing, owing to its
peaty colour and flavour, inimical to fish. " Come
here," said he, " in April or September, and I will
promise you some good sport." So I gave up the
idea of fishing in the Wye.
The next day, Tuesday, July 6, fine, bright morn-
ing ; fogs or mists are said to be unknown here.
Llandrindod is seven hundred feet above the sea ;
it stands on an elevated plateau, and all round
in the distance the horizon is outlined by the
irregular tops of mountains. I went down to the
river. There was a fair rise, but I could not get
at the fish lost three good flies in the bushes, and
got one good trout, nearly i lb., and two smaller
ones.
The next day I started off for the river below
Lovers' Leap (so called, I understand, on account
of the tragic end of two young lovers, who fell
from the slippery rocks above into the pool below,
and were drowned), a prominent rock, beneath
which is a very deep salmon pool. I found the
river running in a deep bed, from ten feet to twenty
feet below the level of the meadow, and the same
characteristics of perpetual alders, with very few
open spaces for casting. Two meadows down I
came upon a high wooded precipice, over which I
had to climb with endless troubles. This brought
me at length down into a secluded glen, a little
paradise of solitude, only enlivened by the shrill
musical note of a curlew, a big brown bird with a
ON THE ITHON 27
long curved beak, larger than a pigeon or peewit.
I had never seen a curlew before. I was charmed
by the silver bell-like clearness of its note as it
flew over my head within easy gunshot, and it
evidently regarded me as an impertinent intruder
upon its lovely solitude.
" Round his grey head the wild curlew
In many a fearless circle flew." Lord of the Isles.
It has a variety of thrilling notes, but always as
it winged over my head the cry was coo-loo, coo-loo,
which I properly interpreted to say, " Go away,
go away, you ugly, featherless, two-legged thing."
Then it would alight on the topmost branch of a tall
tree in the distance, and continue its scolding in
singularly clear and unmistakable language. Its
note could be heard at an immense distance, and
it kept up its scolding, like the barking of a dog,
till I disappeared round the corner of the rock up
the river. I had found that this lovely meadow,
alder-bound as it was, was quite impracticable for
fishing. I managed, with the greatest difficulty,
to get along by the water's edge, which there ran
shallow over rocks and shingle, under the rocky
hill which I had previously so laboriously climbed
over. The one experience was as bad as the
other.
I was enchanted with all that I had seen, but, as
to fishing, I caught nothing but very small trout,
and one big one, as I fondly believed, till he came
into my net, when he proved to be a lovely chub !
28 ON THE ITHON
I can only say he gave as much sport as a trout
of the same size.
It certainly has a tendency to disturb your
equanimity when you fancy you have got hold of
a big trout to find that you have a chub. Follow-
ing Izaak Walton's advice when "Venator" had
a similar grievance, I did not hang him up on a
"Willow twig" ; I took him home, and requested my
good landlady to give him away with my blessing.
It is also a further disturbance to one's com-
placency to see big chub, 3 Ibs. or 4 Ibs. weight,
floating about a-top of the water in almost every
inaccessible place. No wonder this river is full
of chub, they told me that it is constantly poached
by netting. The poachers keep the trout and
throw back the chub ! A little legitimate netting
by the riparian owners, reversing the foregoing
order of things by keeping the chub and putting
back the trout, would be a public benefit.
Chub afford good sport, if but indifferent eating,
and as they roam about like thieves all over the
deep pools, one can catch them more easily than
the lordly trout. I fancy they drive the trout out
of such places. At all events, it is difficult to get
at any decent-sized trout.
Doubtless wading could be profitably done here
and there, but I had no waders with me ; there
are many whole meadows' length where, owing to
depth of water, even wading could not be adopted.
I reached home tired and footsore, but quite
conscious that I had gained pleasant experience.
ON THE ITHON 29
July 8. Notwithstanding my ill-luck yesterday,
I am as full of energy this morning as ever. I
find it impossible to lounge about on benches in
the sun and drink pump-house water all day as
most of the folk seem to do here. I must be doing
something, and surely angling is as innocent and
pleasant a diversion as has ever been found for
"the contemplative man's recreation." So away
I started for another part of the river. I began
at the Crabtree Green Bridge, and fished two or
three meadows up under similar circumstances to
those I have already mentioned ; the river still
runs deep, deep down away from the meadow's
edge, and still the everlasting alders bar the way.
There are places here and there where you can
get down about six feet on to an irregular ledge,
which sometimes gives you a little gravel space.
It was down such a place as this that I managed
to get a nice brace of trout, and hooked and lost
several more. Ah ! the tumbles and scratches
and escapes I had up and down those terrible
banks ! Sometimes getting along a sort of under-
cliff for one hundred yards, and then coming
suddenly on a quagmire, which plainly said : " Go
back, or I'll swallow you."
Returning homewards
"As one who long in thickets and in brakes
Entangled, winds now this way and now that,"
I had to scramble through a wood on a path over-
grown with brambles and briars. I was bitten by
80 ON THE ITHON
dun flies an awful pest I was stung by nettles,
pricked by standard tall thistles, which must be
gone through thistles, I mean, such as the Wye
farmer used to climb up every morning to look
for his cattle. My hands were scratched all over
with thorns, and I finally emerged into a field
which had no stile and no gate, and, as far as I
could discover, was entirely surrounded by treble
rows of barbed wire. I did force myself over this
accursed fence somehow, but not without scratches
and tearings, and very bad language.
July 9. Early to bed and early to rise is the
rule here, so I rose early and took my walk with
scores of others up to the Pump-room, which is
hidden away from the town, about an eighth of a
mile, behind a fine clump of trees.
In the middle of the grove I have generally
found a band playing at seven o'clock A.M. At
the pay-gate sixpence fee was demanded by the
manager. I demurred, as I only wanted to taste
by taking a single glass of saline. " One glass ! "
says he, " that will never do ; you must drink deep
or touch not this aperient spring. From five to
seven or eight large tumblers of hot saline will be
the proper thing, a single glass will only upset
you and do no good."
You take, say, two large tumblers full of saline,
and off you trot for a mile run round the beautiful
lake, and then back for more tumblers till the full
dole has been swallowed, then home to breakfast.
Invigorated thus by a few tumblers of this
ON THE ITHON 31
cheerful liquid, I attacked the river again, for it
has a curious fascination for me. I have not yet
solved the geographical problem in its connection,
for its winding ways round the town, and yet
almost entirely invisible from any point, are not
easily made clear to a stranger. I know a little
better now. I thought I would begin this day's
expedition by starting from Shaky Bridge and
fish up to Alpine Bridge. Now, it appears to me
that the Shaky Bridge may be taken as at the base
of a pothook thus, U and Alpine Bridge is up
one or the other of the sides.
Two young ladies accompanied me, and when
we reached the bridge we remembered we had
forgotten to inquire whether we should go up-
stream or down-stream. Judging by a rough map
I had, I decided for ^-stream ; so we took the right
stem of the pothook, and off we went, fishing now
and then without any success, but mostly occupied
in finding and fighting our way to Alpine Bridge,
through woods impenetrable, over fences purposely
made by the farmer as thorny and difficult as
possible, climbing up rocky banks, and having a
general scramble for more than two miles up-
stream, when, to our delight, one of us descried in
the distance a wooden bridge. Alpine Bridge at
last, we cried, for we had struggled along in a
blazing sun, scratched, torn, and footsore. We
found it to be a handsome wooden structure,
spanning the wide river, and underneath the
bridge we looked down, as we passed over, on
82 ON THE ITHON
the broad backs of a score of beautiful Hereford
cows, finding shelter from the fierce sun under the
bridge, placidly chewing the cud, and lashing
their sides with their tails to swish off myriads of
flies, particularly that abominable dun fly, and the
bree, which sticks to them like a leech and some-
times drives them almost mad.
We expected to be met here by a carriage to
take us back home, but no carriage was here.
We begged or bought some milk at a cottage, and
then we learnt to our dismay that we had arrived,
not at Alpine Bridge, but at the bridge of Bryn
Domas f We had travelled two hard miles in the
wrong direction. We ought to have gone up the
left stem of the pothook in order to find Alpine
Bridge. To retrace our steps by the river would
have involved a five-mile walk, but striking across
country over a wild common, from our point of
the pothook at the top of the right stem, we
struggled on "o'er moor and fen, o'er crag and
torrent," till we reached the old mill, where our
carriage had been waiting for us for two hours.
It was about two miles across, over a rough
common and through pleasant meadows, where
we again encountered the long-beaked, long-legged,
silver-tongued curlew, scolding us in a way which
haunts me still.
The Alpine Bridge is down-stream from Shaky
Bridge, not up, though it is much farther from
Llandrindod ; we found it to be quite new ; in
fact, a carpenter was just putting down the last
ON THE ITHON 33
planks a good, substantial bridge crossing a most
picturesque part of the river, replacing the ancient
one.
I was too tired to fish, but on a subsequent
visit I fished up from the Suspension Bridge to
this romantic dell, on a bright day, when there
was no hope of catching a fish ; but I saw a rise
in one of those pools below the bridge, and tried
him with three flies successively. He would not
look at my pretty Red Ant, nor my Cock-a-bondhu,
but when I threw Yellow Dun his way he seized
it greedily, and I thought I had him. A big
trout he was (I fancy about I lb.), but he did not
give me the pleasure of putting him in the scales.
He broke away between two of those big boulders
to be seen in the picture.
It is needless to remark that it is labour thrown
away to fish in bright sunshine when the water
is clear and low, and there is no sign of a rise.
This is knowledge gained by the experience of
this and many similar days ; but what matters
it ! We did not come here solely to catch fish.
We came here to be merry, and to revel in the
sweet scenes around us, and we laughed at our
misfortunes.
The fishermen's tracks by this river show what
bold and determined men they are. There are
many places where your only chance of getting
on is to cling to the grass on the upper bank, and
stick your toes in any crevice you can find in a
ten-feet height of crumbling mould if anything
84 ON THE ITHON
*
gives way, down you go ! I had more than one
such a tumble, and one desperately risky piece of
work for such an old customer as the "A. A." I
saw footholds here and there worn in the banks
by a succession of bold anglers, and some points
of rock above ; the descent was at least twenty-five
feet, quite smooth but for these footholds, and all
but perpendicular above a bed of rocks and gravel.
I made the attempt, rod in hand. I clung to
the points of rock above my head till half-way
across, when it was far more impossible to recede
than to progress, a big block, to which I was
clinging, to my horror, began to crumble under
my pressure, and fell over me in great lumps. I
felt myself going, and all but gone. My fishing
rod had to go, and luckily I put my hand on a
firm bit of stone. To this I clung with all my
weight till I could get another foothold, and so I
managed by the tips of my fingers and the tips
of my toes to get across this horrid place and
down to the waterside. The girls were alarmed,
and, of course, they could not attempt to follow.
By searching out, another long way round route
was found for them. This is only a sketch of one
of the many perils to which anglers on this lovely
river are liable.
CHAPTER VI
THE ELAN VALLEY AND THE BIRMINGHAM
WATERWORKS
July II, 1898
" With high woods the hills were crown 'd,
With tufts the valleys, and each fountain side ;
With borders long the rivers, that earth now seem'd like to Heaven."
MILTON.
AS a pleasant diversion from angling, we
accepted the advice of everybody that it
would be a sin to leave the Principality
without paying a visit to this wonderful valley.
Accordingly we started on this lovely morning for
a fifteen-mile drive up the valley of the Wye and
through the town of Rhayader to the Elan Valley
Hotel, at the foot of the works ; an enchanting drive
it was, through scenery of romantic character. I
am not going to say unequalled elsewhere, but I
am going to say that it is sufficiently varied and
romantic to make one feel that one's sense of the
beautiful is satisfied at every turn of the road.
Here and there we get glimpses of the Wye,
86 THE ELAN VALLEY AND
mostly hidden by fringes of alders ; sometimes
pretty cascades falling over and among great
boulders. It is now very low, but one can imagine
the grandeur of the scene when a flood comes
tearing down from the hills.
At Rhayader we part from the Wye and follow
its important tributary, the Elan, up its lovely
vale, so soon to be converted, higher up, into a
series of enormous lakes or reservoirs for the
supply to the good people of Birmingham of the
purest water which these surrounding mountains
can send down.
The Elan Valley Hotel is very charmingly
situated, being surrounded on two sides by pine-
clad hills, and on other sides by the valley below,
and the works going on above.
Mr Williams, the proprietor of the hotel, was
good enough to drive us up through the works,
which extend for about six miles, and described
to us many points of interest, which would other-
wise have escaped our notice as strangers.
It would be folly for me to attempt to describe
these works ; the great interest is to see this lovely
picturesque valley, now in its summer beauty of
rich verdure. Already this beauty is considerably
marred by the enormous works going on. First
passing along a splendid new road, which will
eventually form the boundary of the lake, which
will rise high up the sides of the hills, we come
upon, down below us in the valley, a town of
wooden houses, in one long street, built for the
THE BIRMINGHAM WATERWORKS 87
accommodation of over two thousand workmen.
Farther up we reach the first great dam, the
foundations of which are now nearly complete ;
our driver pointed out, on the other side of the
valley, a charmingly situated mansion, now occupied
by some of the engineers.
This house is called Cwm Elan, and possesses
a double claim to be mentioned ; first, because,
according to the guide-books, it was once the
residence of Shelley the poet, in July 1811, after
his expulsion from Oxford, and after the breaking
of his engagement with his cousin, Miss Harriet
Grove.
This is what Shelley says about this valley
"The scenery is divine, grand rocks piled on
each other to tremendous heights, rivers formed
into cataracts by their projection, and valleys
clothed with woods, present an appearance of
enchantment."
The grandeur of the scenery inspired the poet,
and was a solace for the "overwhelming woe"
which his matrimonial trials had caused him.
Mr Dowden, in his Life of Shelley, published,
for the first time in 1886, a poem which was
written during the poet's residence at Cwm Elan.
I can only afford space for a few lines
" The moonlight was my dearer day,
Then would I wander far away,
And, lingering on the wild brook's shore,
To hear its unremitting roar,
Would lose in the ideal flow
All sense of overwhelming woe ;
88 THE ELAN VALLEY AND
Or, at the noiseless noon of night,
Would climb some heathy mountain's height,
And listen to the mystic sound
That stole in fitful gusts around."
Its second claim to be honourably mentioned
is, that pleasantly situated as it now is, it is
inevitably doomed to be swallowed up by the all-
devouring waters which will some day come down
upon it, or, rather, rise up gradually and over-
whelm it. Before reaching this point we come
upon the church and churchyard, equally doomed.
We looked down the chimneys of several cottages,
and one could fancy what curious traps these
chimneys will make for trout which may find their
way into kitchens and parlours, and pantries down
below, but may have a difficulty in finding their
way up again.
I was informed that the ancient inhabitants of
these cottages are quite bewildered, and cannot
understand what is going on around them. Just
like the old dwellers in the bottom of Lake Vyrnwy,
they will not quit the ancient dwellings in which
they were born till the waters rise up around them.
On the Elan river there are four dams in course
of formation. There is another valley, Nantgwilt
I think it is called, down which the river Clearwen
flows into the Elan, where three more dams are
being erected.
Both Elan and Clearwen were formerly fine
salmon and trout streams before these works
began, but the two thousand workmen have now
taken full possession of them, and both rivers are
netted and fished in every kind of unlawful manner ;
of course it is impossible to prevent this being
done.
The Birmingham Corporation probably take
no interest in the fishing, and are powerless to
prevent this. Seeing, however, that the men will
inhabit this valley for many years yet to come, it
is a pity that the corporation cannot induce them
to adopt some close time, and other regulations,
to prevent the absolute depletion of these streams,
and so avoid killing the goose that lays for them
these golden eggs. Netting should be entirely
stopped.
These rivers are for miles the property of this
great corporation, and if some preservative regu-
lations were adopted by the men themselves, such
as I have indicated, they would soon have fish in
plenty, both for fly and bottom fishing. As it is at
present they get scarcely any fish at all.
Certainly the Elan Valley Hotel is a place at
which a few days may be spent with perfect enjoy-
ment, if only to watch the marvellous engineering
work now going on in the midst of these picturesque
mountains and valleys.
July 12. A dull morning, threatening rain, but
none came. I attacked another part of the river,
starting from Llanbadarn-Fawr Bridge intending
to fish down about two miles to Crabtree Green
Bridge ; but I did not get so far. I laboured amidst
the usual difficulties of water deep down, ten feet
40 THE ELAN VALLEY AND
or twenty feet below the meadows. There is, for a
wonder, in a meadow joining the bridge, a con-
siderable open space, and I should think, in proper
season, some splendid chances ; but I found the
river quite low and clear as gin no fly and no rise.
The flies come up in batches at certain times, and
then there comes a rise ; but I rarely can hit the
right time. Early in the morning and up to eleven
o'clock is, I think, the best time ; after then it is all
chance work. I caught a few small things and a
brace of good fighting chub, and that was all. I
spent three hours on the water, and then I had a
three-mile walk home. I tried new short cuts, and
found them very long ones. I got into a pathless
wood, with the usual briars and thorns. There I
saw flitting about from tree to tree, on soft, noise-
less wings, a pair of tawny owls. They reminded
me of boyish days in the woods, for I am sure I
have not seen a brown owl for sixty years. The
horned owl is, I am told, sometimes seen here-
abouts.
Ah me ! The troubles, the labours, the real
hard scrambling I have gone through this day, and
all to catch a brace of chub ! It took me two
weary hours to get over those three miles tired
and footsore, muddy and limping ; the wise people
seemed to smile at the angling maniac as I
shuffled along through the streets. I won't go
a-fishing to-morrow ; I will lounge about on the
common, and loll on seats, and do nothing all day,
like other people.
THE BIRMINGHAM WATERWORKS 41
I tried a variety of flies, but as none of them did
much execution I cannot speak of their special kill-
ing qualities. Many of them adorn the alders fring-
ing this terrible river. The Yellow Dun is evidently
the fly now on the water, and a very prettily made
Red Ant, by Miss Ellis, of Exmouth, certainly
attracted many rises too short to get hold. I
may say that I lost a large number of fair trout
through this way they have of coming short. This
was the fly that caught my blooming chub !
Thursday, July 14. I fished for an hour or two
in the Rock House Hotel water at a cost of half-a-
crown, and caught two chub ! I had previously
paid IDS. 6d. for six days.
The rector of the parish has the right over two
miles of the most charming bit of the river, and
to fish there his charge is only a shilling a day.
Surely two miles are as good as seven for one day's
fishing. There are also miles of this curiously
winding river close at hand, as it were, where the
fishing is quite free.
For anglers having no other ties, of course the
Rock House Hotel is the place to go to. I am
told by friends who have stayed there that it is
most comfortable in every respect, and the charges
are moderate. It is well situated for those who
want to take the benefit of the waters in a double
sense for those who fish, the river is close at
hand ; for those who drink, the Park Pump-room
is near by, where you can drink quarts of saline, or
sulphur, or chalybeate, for a few pence a day.
42 THE ELAN VALLEY AND
The lake is a lovely sheet of water, picturesquely
situated above the Pump House Hotel It lies at
the foot of a wood-clad hill, under which it stretches
away nearly as far as the Old Church. It has a
circumference of about a mile. The side adjoining
the common is the fashionable and favourite pro-
menade of those who drink the waters. There are
a dozen swans on the water, and it is interesting to
watch them on a bright summer evening, like
" The swan on still St Mary's Lake
Float double, swan and shadow,' 1
their portraits reversed in the water as clearly
photographed, and developed as sharply as their
individual shapes above it. There are also to be
seen on this lake a number of coots, moorhens, and
other water birds. The coots are comparatively
tame.
It is curious to watch a pair of them floating
about with three newly-hatched young ones, the
old ones alternately turning somersaults into the
water, and the chicks keeping a keen look-out for
their reappearance ; sometimes the dive is a blank,
and sometimes the swiftest swimmer gets a choice
bit. The lake is abundantly stocked with perch,
and young Waltonians (born to be great anglers)
find abundant amusement, and sometimes make
wonderful catches angling from the shore or from
boats.
Judging by the present list of visitors, three-
fourths of them appear to be Welsh, and it shows
THE BIRMINGHAM WATERWORKS 43
what faith they have in the curative quality of the
waters of Llandrindod Wells and the bracing purity
of their native atmosphere. One hears Welsh
spoken everywhere, and coming from the lips of
charming young ladies and pretty children it cer-
tainly has a most musical and agreeable sound for
unaccustomed ears.
CHAPTER VII
GRAYLING FISHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES
October 1898
THE persistent fine weather, at which it is
about time to begin to grumble, has not,
I fancy, been good for grayling fishing
anywhere. It was during the sham war on
Salisbury Plains that my good friend M. invited
me to spend a day or two at Amesbury, first to
witness the "grand review and march past," on
Boscombe Down, Beacon Hill, on September 8,
1898, and then for some fishing on "The Avon."
We reached Porton, our nearest station, on the
day of the great fight between the northern and
southern armies, called "the Red" and "the Blue."
We found the station a perfect impact ; vehicles
were there of every imaginable description, and a
traction engine drawn diagonally across the road.
The space in front of the station was full of hogs-
heads of beer, and these were being loaded on
vans to which the engine was attached. If the
ladder up which the casks were being rolled had
GRAYLING FISHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES 45
been lifted for two minutes we could all have got
by easily, but the officer in charge said the British
Army wanted its beer after the battle, and we
must wait till all the casks were up an hour's
work at least. He kept us patiently waiting for
half-an-hour, and then a glimmering of sense shot
through his dull brain, and he did what he might
just as well have done at first.
It certainly is not my intention to describe a
battle I did not see ; all I can tell about it from
personal observation is that as we drove across
the down homeward we met many stragglers, foot-
sore, weary, and sad-looking, covered with the
white, chalky dust. Hungry and thirsty, they
limped along under the hot sun, endeavouring to
find their different encampments, spread over the
plains and far apart, and doubtless anathematizing
the commissariat for leaving them in such a sad
plight. How eagerly those of them who were
blessed with a few coppers bought the fruit that
road vendors had to sell to them, and it was
pleasant to see these rich British warriors dis-
tribute their purchases among those who had not
the wherewithal to buy for themselves.
When we reached Amesbury we were glad of a
wash and brush-up, and we welcomed the pleasant
dinner that awaited us.
That night the constant rumble in the street
beneath my bedroom kept me wide awake ; the
heavy roll of traction engines, gun-carriages, and
munitions of war, the shouts of men and the tramp
46 GRAYLING FISHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES
of cavalry on the hard road, banished sleep, and
made night hideous for one who desired nothing
so much as a little peaceful rest. Following these
warriors and their equipments, as night was slowly
banished by the rising sun, came a long, never-
ending procession of country carts, broad-wheeled
farm wagons, market carts, donkey carts, and all
sorts of traps filled with men, women, and children,
which must have emptied every village and hamlet
for miles and miles away, and most of these
vehicles, in their turn, blocked the way by stopping
at the pub. next door to us, which seemed to have
had a special licence to supply thirsty travellers
all through the night. These were all on their
way to Boscombe Down. They started early to
secure good places to see the grand review and the
march past, which was to be at eleven o'clock.
Mine host had fortunately secured a one-horse
chaise long before the eventful day, so we were
safe. A young gentleman and his wife, who had
come all the way from Southampton, were not so
lucky. We had pity on them ; we found room
for them in our wagonette, and they proved very
pleasant companions. We crawled along in the
long procession up the narrow lane which leads to
Beacon Hill till we reached the open down, and
then we hurried along over the soft turf to secure
a place as near the flagstaff as possible. Our
young friends enjoyed, we all enjoyed, the bountiful
repast provided by my thoughtful host. We saw
the march past, which has already been described
GRAYLING FISHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES 47
in every paper a fine spectacle it was. As to the
splendid gallop of the Guards, I shall only make
one remark, and that not my own. A jolly, happy
fanner, standing up with all his family in his
wagon behind us, shouted as they shot past
" Hurrah ! That's the style. I bet them chaps
would like to shift a booze after that ! "
To "shift a booze" somewhat tickled us, for
none of us had ever heard it before, although it
may be a common expression in Dorsetshire or
Wiltshire.
We reached home about three o'clock, and as I
engaged the same conveyance to take me to Salis-
bury next morning at nine o'clock, my only chance
for a bit of fishing was this evening. I went to
the river and landed a brace of nice grayling, and
so home to bed but not, alas ! to sleep. No
sooner there than I was seized with such a grip
as I had never experienced before. What was the
matter ?
Was it the veal and ham pie ; or the truffles
with which it was garnished ? Or was it the cham-
pagne ? Or was it the scorching sun under which
I had moderately partaken of these luxuries ? Or
was it wading above my knees in indiarubber
boots to catch that brace of grayling ? It matters
not the cause, the effect was sudden and terrible.
I rushed out of my room, and in the dark knocked
at every door I could find to beg for a little
brandy. At last a Good Samaritan arose, put on
his clothes and came to my relief with a dose of
48 GRAYLING FISHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES
chloridine. My heartiest thanks are due to that
good friend. Several doses during the night at
last threw me into a sleep, from which I did not
awake till twelve next day. My carriage had long
since disappeared. I was due in London at one,
and now there was no train from Salisbury till
five o'clock, and no conveyance of any kind to
carry me to Salisbury ! In the nick of time, when
I had despaired of getting off that day, our good
friends of yesterday, hearing somehow of my
trouble, drove up and found me a place in a trap,
and we caught the train for London.
I am afraid I have dwelt too much on my
personal disasters. Notwithstanding these, I am
not the less grateful to my good friend for afford-
ing me the opportunity, recluse as I am usually,
of seeing so much of life in so short a space of
time. From subsequent experience among the
deceitful grayling, I now regard my evening's catch
of one brace as a marvel of success.
GRAYLING FISHING ON THE ITCHEN.
Three weeks later I ventured to run down to
the Itchen for a few days. When I have been
trout fishing there, a constant cause of complaint
has been that the river swarmed with grayling,
and grayling only could we catch when we wanted
only trout. Now I find the river low, as I might
have expected after the long drought, the deep
holes stagnant and apparently lifeless, cut and
GRAYLING FISHING ON THE ITCHEN 49
rotting weeds floating about everywhere, and you
may pursue the river for a mile with never a sign
that life existed below the surface.
It was in these hopeless circumstances that I
reached my old quarters on Saturday, the ist
instant. There I found my good friend the Pro-
fessor, who had already been there three days.
He was delighted to see me, for he sadly wanted
a companion in misfortune on whom he could
expend his eloquence, and pour out the vials of
his wrath against the elements which had con-
spired to prevent the possibility of his catching
any grayling. "The river," he said, "my dear
sir, wants oxidizing, it wants ozonizing, it wants
stirring up into life ; it is dead, and the fish in it
are already half-poisoned, languid, lifeless. Catch
a big grayling now and you will find him not as
he ought to be, plump and vigorous you will
find him limpid and sickly. There will be no
fishing till we have had several days and nights
of downpour of rain, so we may both of us as
well pack up and go home, and come again after
the rain." This was not encouraging, but it was
prophetic.
As we were sitting that Saturday night, playing
our last game of chess, between eleven and twelve,
we heard a quiet lifting of the latch of the hall door,
which, fortunately, was well barred. " Burglars,"
cried the Professor ; " where's the poker ? " Then
came a gentle tapping at our window. We knew
a burglar wouldn't do that, so we opened the door,
50 GRAYLING FISHING ON THE ITCHEN
and in marched a young soldier. Full six feet he
stood in his regimentals. I looked at him. " Why,
Victor," said I, "can it be you? You, the little
boy who, three years ago, used to carry my fishing-
basket ! " " Yes, sir," says he, " I am the same
Victor, only a little longer." Then he told us that
he had just come up from the training-ship at
Portsmouth to say good-bye to his parents before
going aboard the Majestic as a marine for a two
years' trip about the world. He had leave only till
the next day Sunday evening. The good people
in the house had all gone to bed long ago. Of
course he knew his way about the old home well
enough, and soon found a berth.
The next evening, before leaving, I saw him in
the gloaming walking alone round the garden,
now and then standing at a corner, looking over
the pleasant fields, the farmhouse, the farm build-
ings, and the cottage over the way, and he re-
minded me of the old song, the soldier standing on
the hill and taking
"A last fond look
Of the valley and the village church
And the cottage by the brook."
I called him in, and he came with a tear in his
eye, for it was hard to part with the dear old home
and all the pleasant associations of his childhood,
his boyhood, and his early youth. He was well
aware that in these perilous times and chances of
war, and on board such a ship as the Majestic, he
GRAYLING FISHING ON THE ITCHEN 51
may possibly never see the place again ; if a war
breaks out the Majestic is pretty sure to be in the
midst of it.
He was just now leaving the training-ship, where
he had already obtained his corporal's stripe. I
understand that he gave this up, and was going
aboard the Majestic as an ordinary marine. He
said he liked the life all but the living but one
gets used to it. At first he could not manage to
make a meal of three inches of fat, and sometimes
rancid, meat and sea-biscuits but one has to live.
He is only seventeen now, so he may yet add some
inches to his six feet a fine, handsome fellow,
with the ruddy bloom of youth on his cheeks a
good honest countenance. He is only a boy his
poor mother says he is only a child, and she is
broken-hearted at parting with him, but comforts
herself with the reflection that he will only be
thirty-seven when he will be free to quit the service
and come home and be happy ever afterwards.
I had many a pleasant day with him at the
waterside, and that is my excuse for so long a
deviation from the subject of grayling fishing.
I had looked forward to this grayling season
with pleasurable anticipations, which I confess
have not been realized. I was there, and I decided
to stay, always hoping that a change from hot sun
and persistent cold easterly winds to something
more genial would happen next day. I caught
only one grayling of \\ Ib. and a few smaller ones.
Red Tag, even Dr Brunton's Badger hackle, had
52 GRAYLING FISHING ON THE ITCHEN
no attraction for them. A solitary rise once in an
hour is not good enough to wait for with an
easterly wind at your back and glaring sun in your
face.
I changed my flies four times over one rising
fish, which I hoped was a grayling, but I feared
was a trout, from his position close under the
opposite bank. At last I put on a light blue
Silver Twist. He came at it at once, and I had
him. He leaped a yard out of the water, and
fought with more spirit than I had hoped for. He
came into the net a good ij Ib. trout ; the envious
Professor said he was only ij Ib.
It was October 8, 1 was reminded by the Professor.
So, after all the skill, time, and patience I had
bestowed on that lovely trout, I had to put him
back into the river. A few hours afterwards I
saw him again at the same old spot, rising as
freely as if he had never had the toothache. We
had no scales, so he could not be weighed before I
gave him his grateful plunge. The Professor and
I are still at loggerheads about his weight.
The Professor suggested that whenever by any
unusual chance we saw a rise, we should toss up
to decide which of us should have a go at him,
but nothing came of it.
I now put by my fishing implements with but
little hope of taking them up again for at least
six months and so, happy anglers, I bid you
farewell !
CHAPTER VIII
SPRING RAMBLES
May 1899
MY days for fly fishing are few and far between,
and when they come round they are
generally the worst days in the month.
Trout fishing on the Teme begins in March, so I
thought that by the end of April I might have a
chance. Having the privilege of fishing some
preserved water, I ran down there. I fished the
whole length, about two miles. I never saw a fly
on the water or a single rise. What can one do
with floating flies in such a case ? I met the
keeper he was fishing he said he had fished that
stretch of water, man and boy, for fifty years,
and he had never known such a season as this.
He had fished that morning for two hours, and,
like me, had caught nothing. He was fishing
wet fly, and he knew how to do it. I was
immensely consoled, for I had seriously begun to
consider whether it was my fault or the fault of the
54 SPRING RAMBLES
fishes, that I didn't catch them. The wind was
blowing cold from the north ; keeper said east was
the wind for him he could always kill fish in an
east wind.
I gave it up. I had only another day, and that
I devoted to long walks across green fields, through
rugged lanes with high banks sparkling with
primroses. I strolled through the park, lovely and
picturesque as could be found even in this pictur-
esque country of ours in the springtime of the year,
when all nature is alive with the singing of birds
and the springing up of buds and flowers. The
park lies on a hill, here and there clad with clumps
of pine and firs, and dotted with small enclosures
for game, and bosky dells inlaid with ferns just
throwing out their curly fronds above the brown
dead leaves of other days. There were small
herds of fallow deer scattered in different parts,
and browsing in the open glades. Climbing over
the top of the hill, under a spreading oak and
hard by a clump of firs, I came upon a singular
sight. Many of my readers, I am sure, have never
seen a dead donkey for it is well-known tradition
that they never die within the range of mortal ken.
I have never seen one, but here in the midst of the
forest I came upon what seemed to me to be a still
more singular sight, for there, under the oak, lay
the dead body of " a poor sequestered stag." It
must have lain there for some days, for the green
grass was springing up around the carcase. How
came he to lie there ? How was it that keepers and
SPRING RAMBLES 55
keepers' dogs had not long since found him out ?
Was he a victim "that from the poacher's hand
had ta'en a hurt," and then, lost by him, had
found a last refuge on this distant hill? Had
he died from some poisonous weed or wicked
reptile ? He was not a poor starved thing, exiled
intentionally from the herd : he was fat and well
liking. I am sure it is a case where an apt quota-
tion from As You Like It may be admissible.
Shakespeare's deer, it will be remembered, had
come to languish "under an oak, whose antique
root peeps out upon the brook that brawls along
this wood." Mine had fallen on the hill-top, far
away from any brook ; but then you may be sure
that there, as the melancholy Jacques bemoaned,
he
" . . . . heaved forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase.
". . . . then being there alone,
Left and abandon "d of his velvet friends :
' 'Tis right," quoth he : ' thus misery doth part
The flux of company." Anon a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him
And never stays to greet him. ' Ay,' quoth Jacques,
' Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ;
'Tis just the fashion : wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ? ' "
I left the poor stricken deer as I found him. Dead
he was, but how he came by his death is a mystery
I had no time to inquire into.
56 SPRING RAMBLES
I found my way down the pathless hill, disturb-
ing thousands of rabbits, through a wood, and
across green fields into the turnpike road. The
only thing I noted was what seemed to me a
curious fact, that rooks, those singular birds,
should have established a rookery at a corner
where four roads meet, in the elms overhanging
the turnpike road. Why could they not go away
into the woods, far from the haunts of men ? No,
here they were, here they had been for many
years, with their nests just over the heads of every
passer-by who chose to pot them or their young
ones sitting outside the nests the truth is they are
sociable birds, they love the haunts of men, in
spite of the instinct, the knowledge they possess,
that man is their worst enemy, and will shoot them
whenever they come within reach of his gun. It
is not as if they were ignorant they know exactly
whether it is a gun or walking-stick you point at
them. A quarter of a century ago a number of
pairs of rooks established themselves in some elms
above a new house then being built in the village
of Hampstead ; they were, of course, the cause of
its being called Rookivood, and there in those trees
they have nested and reared their young in un-
disturbed happiness till the beginning of this year.
Then it was that a large board was put up on the
garden wall announcing the fact that the place
their place was to be sold or let.
At this board they took great offence ; they
immediately gave notice that they would quit their
SPRING RAMBLES 57
ancestral trees. They began at once to pull down
their old nests, cleared them right away, and now
they have disappeared entirely.*
Last week my bad luck as to weather pursued
me down to Hampshire. Hitherto, to my old haunt
on the Itchen, I came, full of hope, for some Whit-
suntide trout fishing. I have had a bad beginning.
On Friday afternoon the wind and rain were dead
against me, and there was nothing doing to en-
courage a dry-fly man to hope for the most modest
success ; not a rise could be seen, and yet there was
apparently an abundance of flies, driven hither and
thither by the ceaseless wind. The swallows were
outrageously greedy. Over and over again would
they pick up my fly from the water, and drop it like
a nasty thing. I had armed myself, to begin with,
with the fly so highly spoken of by Sir E. Grey, and
which may be called Sir E. Grey's Black Spider.\
With it I soon captured a brace of grayling, which I
did not want. Thinking it was perhaps more attrac-
tive to grayling (which abound), I rashly changed it
for a nice Yellow Dun. I played at floating fly in a
" chuck-and-chance-it " sort of way for what else
can a dry-fly man do when there is nothing visible
* Last spring (that is a year afterwards) they came back to survey
their old home ; they did not build, but I have observed that ever
since then they come there every evening to roost probably next
year they will build again, they could not find a safer or more
charming abode.
t Sir E. Grey only recommends the Black Spider for a warm,
quiet evening, when the trout are rising, but refuse the ordinary
Dun.
58 SPRING EAMBLKS
over which to display his skill ? but nothing came
of it till I came down to the pub., that is to say, a
fine ash tree, now beginning to show its curling
leaves (away behind the oak, which is in full leaf).
Below this tree, lying just a-top of the water with a
bunch of weeds hanging on to it, a wicked barbed
wire crosses the stream, and there close up to this
wicked wire a big trout was rising, I might almost
say rubbing his nose against it.
It was a long cast, right in the teeth of the wind ;
and with the fear of catching hold of that accursed
wire, or being entangled in the weeds, always be-
fore me, I made many a cast before I could put my
fly over him. He saw my lovely Yellow Dun, he
came at it, and he was nicely hooked. He did not
like it at all. His first move was to spring out of
the water half-a-yard or so, and then into the weeds
below, and there I left him with my pretty Dun
sticking in his gills. That was the only Dun I had
of that exact pattern. " To-morrow," I said, " I
mean to have that Dun again, and you too, my
friend." And so I went home, for it rained and
blew, and there was nothing else to do.
Next day being Saturday, my good landlady
for she is good to me, looking after me like a
mother, though she is thirty years younger than I
am asked me what I would like for dinner, not
only for that day, but being Whitsuntide she had
to provide for Sunday and Monday as well. I
could only say, " My dear Mrs B , you know
exactly what I like, better than I know myself ; I
o. by Piscator Major.
WAITING FOR A RISE. p. 58.
SPRING RAMBLES 59
leave it entirely to you." That is the way we always
settle that important question when I am here alone.
Of course, when the Professor is here, things are
quite different, then he rules the roast.
And so, in spite of wind and despite of weather,
I and my little Sancho sallied forth again for further
adventures. It was a day ; if Friday was bad,
Saturday was far, far worse. Sancho valiantly
carried my impedimenta. The rain it rained, and
the wind it blew, and now and then the sun shone
out for a few minutes, and I cast my insect on the
troubled waters ; as well may I have cast it on the
turnpike road.
I came at length to the barbed wire, and there
was my friend as lively as ever, so I sent my
barbed betrayer to look after that Dun in that
trout's mouth, and, forgetful of the little game he
had played yesterday, he tried it on again to-day.
I hooked him, he adopted his old manoeuvre my
line and fly came away without the trout, and he is
still free to wriggle up against that barbed wire.
But Whit Monday is coming, and I don't want to
go home without that trout and the fly that is
in him.
We were glad to get out of the rain and into the
mansion sacred to fishermen. There we ate our
luncheon, and watched the dappled cows across
the water. My young philosopher told me all
about them. He gave me their names and fighting
qualities. " See that cow there, down by the water ?
she's called Draper. She's the leader of the lot
00 SPRING RAMBLES
if any other cow goes into her stall she'd kill her.
She fought her way to the top, and now they all
respect her as the head cow ; and so it is with the
second, and third, and fourth down to the last,
every one has had to fight for the position she
holds. See that red cow yonder? she is No. four.
She broke both her horns off fighting for that place.
Of course, she can't fight any more now, but she
keeps the place she won in fair fight."
Now, that was a lesson for me, for I had no
notion before that cows were so punctilious and
jealous of the position they had fought for. There
are a score or more of them, and each one of them
knows her own stall, and keeps it till she has pro-
moted herself by her valour. As a rule there is
perfect harmony amongst them when once the
question of precedency is settled.
Now let us home to dinner. It is a pleasant
thing to be hungry, and at the same time to know
that a good dinner awaits you. I knew that much,
but I had not the remotest idea of what that dinner
would consist and it was a dinner. Why, O Pro-
fessor; why, O Piscator Major, were you not there
to partake of it ? It was too good to be eaten
alone ! It was a feast for a round tableful of jolly
anglers. It was a feast such as I had not tasted, or
perhaps even heard of, for sixty years. What was
it ? It was four-and-twenty black birds baked in a
pie I I do not vouch, however, for the exact number
The last time I tasted a pie like this, and the flavour
of it remains with me to this day, was when, as a
SPRING RAMBLES 61
boy, I shot the birds myself (Anno Domini 1840),
and never have I tasted rook pie since. I had come
to regard the shooting of young rooks as a merci-
less cruelty, but now surely the end justifies the
means ! Let no angler in future compound for his
sins who hooks the trout by condemning man or
boy who shoots the rook.
Sunday a dies non for all anglers who have
conscientious scruples, or who respect the con-
ventionalities a lovely morning, soft and balmy,
no wind, only a gentle S.W. breeze, an ideal day
for fishing ; trout rising freely all down the river
as far as I could see. May Whit Monday be as
gracious ; but the evening is wet and ominous.
Whit Monday was really a splendid day for
holiday - makers in these parts, and I fancy for
anglers in some places. Between ten and eleven-
thirty there was a fair rise of small fish, after that
I saw scarcely any up to four o'clock, when I
left off.
Of course I looked after my trout at the barbed
wire there he was as lively as ever. I changed
my fly twice, and covered him fifty times, till at
last he came at me with a dash, seized the fly, was
hooked, and he made such a fluster in and about
that bed of weeds for he is a big one that his lip
gave way, and he returned my fly safe and sound.
He has taken up more than half-an-hour of my
precious time, and I am loath to leave him.
I hope when the May Fly is up I may have
another tussle with him. Three times have I had
62 SPRING RAMBLES
that trout within my grip, as it were, and thrice has
he eluded me. Surely it will be my turn next.
Tuesday morning, before leaving for London, I
walked down to the barbed wire (without my rod)
on the opposite side of the river. There I could
see him plainly, gay and frisky as ever. I think
I shall find him there when I come again, for,
happily, he has chosen a spot not easily accessible
to even an expert angler from this side.
My success has been of a negative kind, for I
lost several big trout and caught only one brace,
and two brace of grayling two of them big
fellows, but certainly under ^ Ibs. each. They gave
me a little sport, and I gave them their freedom.
I am not disappointed, because I did not expect to
do much. On the contrary, I have found " books
in the running brook, and good in everything."
Photo, by
ON THE ITCHEN. p. 62.
P!scator UTafar.
CHAPTER IX
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
August 1899
CORNWALL has many attractions, but it
cannot be said that any one solely on
angling bent would be likely to choose
the Duchy of Cornwall in preference to the
Principality of Wales, or Scotland, or Ireland, or
many a spot in the kingdom pf Great Britain ; but
I was not exclusively on angling bent. I only
hoped to pick up a little here and there by the
way, and so it was that we decided to find our
way to the end of England and gradually work
back from the farthermost west to the great
metropolis in the east.
On Thursday, July 20, memorable for its suffo-
cating heat, we started for a nine hours' journey by
Great Western Railway.
One of the attractions of going westward is that
you can place some reliance as to time on the
promises of the Great Western Railway. We kept
64 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
time at every station, and reached our destination
at the appointed minute.
On crossing the Tamar at Saltash we left the
kingdom of England and entered the Duchy of
Cornwall. I am told that the Cornish people
regard the peninsula, or island of Cornwall, as
a country quite independent of such a foreign
country as England, and that England is far more
dependent on Cornwall for its general wealth and
prosperity than Cornwall is on England. Cornwall
can do very well without England, but England
without Cornwall must soon come to grief.
What an interesting country it is that one gets
peeps of from the Tamar to Penzance ! We fancy
ourselves ^to be riding along the backbone of the
peninsula, for rising slowly up the steep inclines
and swiftly down the declines, we are surprised
now and then to come upon a, broad river like the
Fowey at Lostwithiel, when we thought we were
high up on the hills above. From Saltash to
Truro the scenery is surely as enchanting as any
to be found in Great Britain ; the hills are covered
with green foliage, the vales and dales always
changing, and the train skipping along viaducts
suspended high in the air from one point to
another. The railway passes high above, and
looks down upon the city and cathedral of Truro,
and thenceforward the scenery changes to open
and bleak moorland, dotted here and there with
the tall chimneys and accumulated piles of slag
from the numerous mines now silent and smokeless.
OUR HQLIDA Y IN CORNWALL 65
looking for the most part like relics and ruins of
a past age. The country between Lostwithiel and
St Austell seems to be devoted to another industry,
that of white clay, and it appears to be flourishing.
We reached Marazion * in the gloaming, and there
we caught a glimpse of St Michael's Mount stand-
ing out in solitary grandeur, a single light burning
on the summit, and so, wearied and hungry, we
soon reached our head-quarters at Penzance.
Friday and Saturday, 2ist and 22nd, we devoted
to taking our bearings ; the heat was sultry here,
as it was everywhere in those days. The lovely
Morrab Garden, with its numerous tropical plants,
smelt and felt like a furnace of suffocating delights,
but what a charming place it is in moderate spring,
autumn, or winter weather.
One of our drives took us through the little
village of Gulval, with its fine church ("the
prettiest in West Cornwall"), and churchyard
filled with flowering plants of great variety a
veritable garden in which it must be pleasant to
lay one's mortal remains when the troubles and
sorrows of life are over. Hereabouts is land
which gives the farmer three crops a year and the
landlord ^10 an acre.
On Tuesday (25th) we visited St Michael's
Mount, a mysterious, weird-looking rock, which,
as everybody knows, stands out from the main-
land at Marazion about a quarter of a mile.
* In pronouncing Marazion you must emphasize the penulti-
mate zi,
B
6 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
Sixteen hours out of twenty-four it is completely
surrounded by the sea ; during the remaining
eight hours there is a dry causeway by which the
island can be reached afoot.
The interior is interesting from its antiquarian
associations ; it was once a religious priory, a
State prison, and a fortress. Now it is the private
residence of Lord St Levan, who permits the
public to visit it at times during the absence of his
family. We went through the apartments, formerly
occupied by "monks, nuns, and intriguers," in
one of which, now a chapel, we were shown, under
an unsuspecting seat, recently discovered, the
entrance to an awful dungeon, in which the
skeleton of a man, supposed to be that of Sir
John Arundel, was found. Down into this fearful
hole, of course, I went. It is a stone box, probably
ten feet square, and when the door or lid is closed
there is absolutely no opening of any kind for
ventilation a nice place to spend a lifetime in !
I then screwed myself round a narrow, winding
staircase up to the top of the tower, two hundred
and fifty feet above the sea. No man over fourteen
stone need attempt it, unless his weight consists of
length not breadth he couldn't do it ! On the
leads of the square tower, of course, there is to be
had a grand view of surrounding sea and country.
The causeway did not serve us we had to row
from England to St Michael's, and we returned to
England by the same means.
The island is quite independent and self-
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL C7
contained. It has about eighty inhabitants, who
live, die, and are buried there.
Land's End is about twelve miles from Penzance.
The means of getting there are by sea or by four-
horse Jersey car (that is, what is called char-a-banc
in other places). As we did not want to be tied
to time anywhere we took a carriage, which for
three was not more costly ; and so we started on
a bright, breezy, sunshiny morning.
Our road was delightful, in many places running
through long avenues of gratefully shady trees,
though the up-and-down hills were trying for the
horse. We found our way through an ancient
village called St Buryan. In the churchyard is
an old and perfect Cornish cross ; there is also
one near the village inn, and a tombstone to
which your attention is specially requested by the
attendant, on account of the curious and suggestive
poem thereon, which I copied, although it is found
in the guide-books.
" Our life is but a winter's * day,
Some only breakfast and away,
Others to dinner stay and are full fed,
The oldest only sups and goes to bed.
Largest is his debt who lingers out the day,
Who goes the soonest has the least to pay."
On reaching Treryn Point we traversed some
fields, and, by the aid of a guide, scrambled over
rocks till we came in full view of the Logan Stone
an immense block weighing nearly one hundred
* The guide-book says summer's.
88 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
tons intermingled with groups of other rocks as
large, and of all manner of shapes and forms. The
peculiarity of this stone is that by a mere touch
of the hand it can be made to rock. We climbed
over the great granite blocks up to this stone.
Our guide satisfied us on the point of its shakiness
by giving it the needful push. Once, about seventy-
five years ago, an adventurous sailor, for a wager,
applying unusual might, actually did topple it
over, and it fell some feet, when it was caught by
other rocks. The adventurer had to pay for his
rashness by being compelled to replace it at an
enormous cost.
On we go to the End of this Land of England,
till we come to the Land's End Hotel the very
last place or the very first place where anything to
eat and drink is obtainable.
Our interesting guide always, from habit, ad-
dressed us, " Now, ladies and gen'leman, let me
point out."
We had already passed Pothcurno Cove, where
the Eastern Telegraph wire comes to land, and a
little further northward is the Atlantic Cable
Station, bringing messages from all parts of this
habitable globe.
" Now, ladies and gen'leman, away out yonder,
ten miles at sea, you will observe the Wolfrock
Lighthouse, and, looking straight ahead, you will
see in dim outline, for it is rather hazy, the Scilly
Islands, about twenty-five miles away ; sometimes
the cliffs are clearly visible."
FIRST AND LAST KKKRKSHMKNT HOUSK IN KNGI.AND. /. 68.
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL 69
Between this point of England and those cliffs
lies buried in the depths of the Atlantic the fabled
" Land of Lyonesse."
" That wide space of ocean was once solid land,
a rich and fertile country, dotted with no less than
one hundred and forty parish churches, the lost
' Land of Lyonesse ' ; and these countless isles of
Scilly . . . are the peaks and high grounds of that
vanished country, which stood up above the inrush
of sea waves that drowned the lower lands fathoms
deep beneath the ocean.
" Is there any truth in this old story ? Was
there ever such a land stretching westwards from
these cliffs?"
Mr Arthur H. Norway in his very interesting
work, Highways and Byways in Devon and Corn-
wall^ from whose work the above is quoted, seems
to think there is some truth in the fabled existence
of this wonderful land. He says
" For my part, I claim that tradition is rarely
altogether wrong. What she tells us contains a
kernel of truth, however twisted or concealed by
careless repetition, and it would in my judgment
be far stranger if this definite and precise story
had grown up with no other foundation than if it
were in truth an actual recollection of that great
tragedy which can have had no parallel in the his-
tory of this country, and few in that of any other."
It was with a feeling of regret that we were
compelled to forego the pleasure of a trip to these
most interesting islands.
70 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
After pointing out to us what our guide described
as " almost the only cape on all the coasts of Great
Britain, viz. Cape Cornwall (for all other such
places are called ' points ' or headlands)," and " The
Sisters," a dangerous clump of rocks, perhaps a
mile out from the Cape, with an underwater reef
whose jagged teeth sometimes peep above the
surface of the water between the two, dooming to
certain death and destruction any ship venturing,
through ignorance or stress of weather, to attempt
what looks like a short cut between these two
heads, he drew us down the north side of the cliff
over most slippery and dangerous rocks to get
a glimpse of the Zawn-Pyg Cave. " Now," cried
our guide, " ladies and gen'leman, if you will lean
over on that square block of granite with your
head well forward, and suspended over the awful
gulf below, and twisting your neck and head round
to the right, you will see light through the large
cavern on your right. That cavern, ladies and
gen'leman, connects St George's Channel on the
north with the English Channel on the south."
So saying he sprang up on the rock, and laid down
at full length with his head and shoulders away
over the brink. "That's the way to do it, sir.
You must not leave the Land's End without
accomplishing that feat. Put your foot on my
knee, grab hold of the edges, and gradually draw
yourself on to the rock. I'll lift you up behind.
All right, sir, on you go ; only two feet further, and
there you are. I'll hold on to your legs, never
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL 71
fear." And so I mounted the rock, and dragged
myself and was shoved along till I got my nose
just over the brink. " On you go, sir ; a foot more
and there you are. Can you see daylight?" "No
thank you," cried I ; " not an inch further will I go.
I can see far enough into the cavern to believe
there is light shining through. Now haul me back,
if you please ! " Our guide was quite disappointed
to find me so funky as to refuse to hang head
and shoulders over the brink and then twist my
neck round as he had done. "Wait till you are
seventy-five, my boy," said I, "and then try
it!"
Then he led us back up over the awful crags
till we reached a level spot, in the centre of which
was a square stone with a cross on it.
" Now, ladies and gen'leman," says our guide,
standing on the stone, " I stand now on the very
spot where once stood a celebrated classic poet,
his name, it was Charles Wesley ; and here it was
that he composed a poem, which, with your per-
mission, I shall now recite to you." And then he
began in tragic form, and in a loud voice
" O, on a narrow neck of land,
'Twixt two unbounded seas I stand," etc., etc.
After showing us many other objects of interest,
unnecessary to record, as I am not writing a
guide-book, we parted with him, and returned to
Penzance by another route.
Thursday, July 27, was my first fishing day a
72 OUR HOLIDAY 7.V CORNWALL
red-letter day for me. On this day it was that
"The Amateur Angler" and " Noss Mayo" first
foregathered. We had by previous correspondence
arranged for this day to visit, by the generous
permission of the owner, a lovely lake in the centre
of Cornwall, not a hundred miles from Penzance
on the one hand, or Saltash on the other.
I am not going to betray confidence or allow
my readers to approach nearer to our lake than
I have thus indicated. Their mouths must water
outside. Wild horses will not drag further informa-
tion on this head from me. Here we are, then,
"Noss Mayo" and I, on a lovely summer's after-
noon, on one of the most lovely lakes that ever was
seen, three sides of it surrounded by noble elms,
occidental and oriental limes, and an infinite variety
of trees and shrubs and flowering plants, casting
their shadows on the water gently rippled by the
breeze. A fourth side lies open to the park-like
lawn on which the mansion looks down, and here
one could cast from the bank without fear of tree
or shrub. This lovely lake is full of trout, "too
full," says our noble host, and yet I ought not to
tell it in Gath nor make it known in Israel, but
truth must prevail. We fished before lunch, we
fished after lunch ; we fished before tea, we fished
after tea till the gloaming ; and what did we catch ?
There were three of us we fished from the shore,
and we fished in a boat two experts and the
A. A. Had we weighed-in when we left off the
lot would not have turned the scale against a
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL 78
dead weight of 2 Ibs., but, of course, the trout
ran small, and yet such was the fascination, the
beauty, the altogether loveliness of the spot, that
one longs already for another such day. What
matters it whether you catch a fish or not when
you can spend the livelong summer's day in try-
ing to catch them in the midst of such pleasant
surroundings ?
Our genial host showed me the identical spot
where, sixty years ago, he caught his first trout ;
he showed me an old gnarled and dying fir-tree
which his grandfather had planted ; and many
other such reminders of the passing of the ages he
pointed out. He drew my attention on the foot-
path by the lake to a singular straight gutter, six
or eight feet long, right across the path, about an
inch deep and an inch wide, with a small hole into
the ground at each end. This gutter or railway-
cutting had been dug out by a colony of ants, who
were busily engaged in carrying on large business
transactions along this line all day long, and had
been at work in the same way for years. He
showed me a charter granted by Henry VIII. to
one of his forefathers ; he traced back his direct
ancestry who dwelt on this spot for seven hundred
years, and possibly untraceable as many more. I
said the spot, but not the house, for that has been
burnt down several times ; the present mansion
is modern. Accompanying us to the station as
we walked by the back of the house, he pointed to
a large riding-school, not much used now, except,
74 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
said he, with a humorous twinkle, as a warehouse
for our furniture when we are going to have another
fire!
And so ended a pleasant day worth coming into
the heart of Cornwall to spend.
CHAPTER X
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL Continued
Friday, July 28
WE were told not to miss St Ives, so thither
we betook ourselves. Situated on the
north side of the peninsula, and open
to the Atlantic, it possesses a delightfully brac-
ing atmosphere, quite noticeable after the mild
humidity of Penzance. The bay looking across
to Godrevy Lighthouse from the terrace above
the railway is very lovely, its blue waters rivalling
the blue of the Bay of Naples. Looking seaward
the prospect is equally charming, for it was just
the brilliant day that shows up natural beauty
in the highest perfection. The narrow, crooked
streets are interminable, but most quaint and
attractive.
On Saturday, July 29, we went to the Lizard. It
was a long journey, partly by rail to Helston, and
then by Jersey car. The few hours at our disposal
did not afford us sufficient time to see everything ;
we saw what we could. We were met on alighting
76 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
by a small man, about ten years old, who asked
us if we wanted a guide. His face was so bright,
and he looked so intelligent, that we at once
engaged him. His father assured us that he
knows every rock, fissure, nook, and cranny
for miles around the Lizard Point. "The most
interesting part," began our guide, "and that
which I should advise you to see first, is the
Kynance Cove, about a mile and a half away."
He spoke with perfect ease, correctness, and
assurance. The way he would round off his
sentences with " and also " was quite in the proper
style, for he was head of his class at school in
grammar, writing, drawing, geometry, etc.
" Is Kynance Cove worth going so far to see on
such a hot day as this ? " I said. " Worth going to
see ! Why, my grandfather says it's the most
wonderful place in Cornwall, and he ' also ' says
' that a man is a fool who says it is not.' Once a
man did come here, and he said Kynance Cove
wasn't to be compared with Land's End. Grand-
father says, ' that man went off his chump ! ' "
" Heigho ! " cried our young guide. " There's
a Red Admiral ! " and off he dashed, cap in hand,
in pursuit of this butterfly, but missed to catch
it. " There are four butterflies in this neighbour-
hood that are rare and valuable," said he ; " all the
rest are common. These are ' The Painted Lady,'
' The Red Admiral,' ' The Peacock,' and ' also ' the
Storma fletries. I am unable to spell this name
correctly, I think it is Latin." I know nothing
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL 77
about butterflies, perhaps he meant one of the
fritillaries. Then he guided us across the fields
down to the Cove, a paradise for artists, where
several were at work. He pointed out with the
gravity of an old man all the different points of
interest, the names of the rocks, the faces or
figures represented by certain profiles, the large
caves, through which he insisted on dragging us ;
then he brought us to a place and began kicking
the limpets off the rocks. I struck off one with
my stick. " That's not the way to do it," says our
guide, "you've only got the shell, the limpet is
there still, you must smash 'em." "Why do you
do that ? " I asked. " Ah, I'm going to show you
something. Look into this '"ivelP; now see how
the fish will come out." The well is a circular
crevice in the rocks, perhaps three yards in cir-
cumference, filled with perfectly clear fresh water.
He dropped a limpet into the water, and out rushed
a number of small fishes from four inches to six
inches in length. These he called mullies, so let
that be their name. I never saw them or knew
their names before, so I have no right to question
the correctness of the nomenclature of this young
ten-year-old, practical, scientific philosopher ; they
were not unlike the miller's thumb. " You watch
how they'll fight till the big one comes out, then
he'll take it from them as cool as anything, and
it's against the law to touch them."
The rocks one has to scramble over to get down
to the beautiful sand are all serpentine.
78 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
" Serpentine ornaments ought to be very cheap,
seeing the quantity there is of it," I remarked.
" But this surface rock," said our young guide,
" is no use for working. We have to get it out of
deep quarries, and it costs a lot of money to get
up the right sort for the ornaments sold in the
shops. There's so much competition that, father
says, they have to sell much cheaper now than
they used to."
I am inclined to admit that our guide's grand-
father's opinion of Kynance Cove is correct. It
is a most charming spot wild as it is beautiful
the haunt of all kinds of sea-birds ; it is a place
every one who goes to Cornwall should visit, and
they will be lucky if they get our little hero to
guide them.
The accompanying "View from the Parlour"
is from a beautiful photograph by Messrs. Gibson,
of Penzance.
This walk, in the heat of a July sun, down over
rocks and through crevices, and in and out of
caves, and then back to the Lizard, had quite
exhausted our taste for further sight-seeing, and
so we had to bid good-bye to this interesting boy,
"and also" to his father and mother, his grand-
father and grandmother, and his uncle Joe, all of
whom are very proud of him.
We had before us a twenty-two mile jaunt on a
four-horse Jersey car. A lovely drive it was, and
a pleasant, always on a good road much up hill,
and much down hill, now through rich agricultural
ODR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL 79
lands yellow with wheat and corn ripe and ready
for scythe or sickle, now over bleak moorland
dotted here and there with the tall chimneys of
extinct volcanoes, now silent and smokeless because,
owing to foreign competition, the market for tin
has temporarily departed, let us hope to return
again, of which, indeed, there does exist some
little hope, as the price of tin in the market
has again gone up to paying-point. No sooner,
however, does this faint hope of revival occur
than the miners themselves seem determined
to give themselves the final coup de grdce by
striking for higher wages than, apparently, the
present state of things would seem to warrant.
Notwithstanding this apparent badness of the
times, poverty, if it exists in Cornwall at all, is
certainly not to be seen on the surface. What
strikes one as much as anything is the fondness
of Cornish people for holiday-making, picnicking,
and excursionizing. One cannot go out across the
country in any direction without finding jolly,
joyful parties, in trains and on Jersey cars, in
fields, and on the sea-shore, all on pleasure bent ;
and they do enjoy themselves thoroughly, unre-
strained by social formalities.
On our drive, about half-way home, our coach-
load met another coach-load at a wayside inn
which bears the peaceful sign of an enormous lion
lying down outside a nice little lamb.
In a field hard by was a picnic party, with a
band playing. One of the young fellows on the
80 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
opposite coach cried, " Come along for ten minutes'
fun, while the horses are being watered." Off
he started as fast as he could run, down to the
meadow, followed by a dozen other young men
and maidens. They broke into a circle of like
young folks playing at "kiss in the ring," joined
hands with them sans cdrhnonie ; round and
round they went, had their fun and their kisses,
and back again to their coach in time to
be off.
That is how they do things in Cornwall. Ah !
were I but sixty years younger I would have
rallied our load to join the fun, but our coach-load,
consisting of what Cornish folk call "foreigners,"
was too reserved, proper, severe, and clerical-
looking a lot to join in such frivolities ; and so we
got home from the Lizard.
Sunday, July 30. A day of rest.
Monday, July 31. This last day of July we
were astir early. We took train to Truro ; had
time to catch a glimpse of the beautiful new
cathedral, as yet unfinished. A new cathedral in
this old country is a novelty, and this one bids
fair to be at least as beautiful, if not as large as
the best of the old English cathedrals ; indeed,
there seems to be no reason why it should not be
the most beautiful of all, being the last. Our
architects have the advantage of all the great
examples that exist throughout our land. As the
old masters of painting exist to-day for the guid-
ance and instruction of the painters of to-day, so
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL 81
do our old cathedrals stand up as models for our
architects.
Our route to Falmouth was to be by water from
Truro the boats can only come up to Truro at
high tide so we had to drive down by the
river-side to Malpas. There we boarded the little
steamer, The Queen of the Fal, and we passed
down the Fal on a glorious day (as all our days
have hitherto been), through the most enchanting
woodland scenery that one could desire : a broad,
bright blue-green river, in which were reflected
the banks and foliage-clad hills. Tregothnan, the
noble seat of Lord Falmouth, presents a picture
of fairy-like grandeur, as we catch a glimpse of
it on an eminence above as we pass down the
river. It is a custom to compare all fine river
scenery with the Thames at Clieveden, but the Fal,
especially that bend of it called the King Harry
Passage, can hardly be surpassed for wood-clad
scenery by any river in the world.
On this enchanted fairy-boat (not particularly
clean or fairy-like) we glide into the Bay of Fal-
mouth. " There," as Mr Norway says, " bursts sud-
denly upon the sight a wide, green land-locked sea."
Yonder, as we pass into the harbour, the object
of most interest just now, lies the unfortunate
steamer Paris, having her inside pumped out
previous to going into dock. Falmouth looks
down, on its northern side, on this land-locked
sea, on the opposite side of which lies the village
of Flushing.
82 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
Presently, as we drive round the Castle of
Pendennis, and looking along the coast westward,
we catch a glimpse in the distance of the Manacles,
the fatal rocks on which the Pan's came to grief.
A very charming drive we had along the cliffs
as far as a fresh-water lake called Swan Pool,
which is only separated from the sea by a sand
bar and the roadway.
We saw as much of Falmouth as could be seen
in an hour's drive, and we concluded that it is a
town "beautiful for situation," and certainly pos-
sesses many attractions.
August i. To-day we went on a search expedition
to find a marvellous rock dedicated to the Devil.
We had difficulty in finding it, because few of
the people we met had ever heard of such a wicked
thing ; and yet, in its way, it is a curiosity well
worth a long walk. We found it half buried in
bushes, though a very prominent object, on the
brow of a hill overlooking trn; village of Newlyn.
It consists of an enormous stack of broken granite
rocks, and, like "flies in amber," one "wonders
how the devil it got there," except on the suppo-
sition that his sable majesty had carried it upon his
back in a net from the depths below, and in order
to rest himself had there thrown it down, and the
fall had caused it to break into a confused mass of
immense boulders. This impression is confirmed
by the undoubted fact that on all the outer surfaces
of the rocks are very clearly traceable the strongly-
marked crossed lines, having all the appearance
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL 83
of a strong fisherman's net. This fossilized net-
work is really remarkable, and, of course, fully
justifies the legend that the devil had a hand in
it hence it has been properly named
" The Devil's Fishing Net."
Let me add a word about Cornish stiles. These
are the very easiest things for bipeds to cross, but
they are veritable traps to catch cattle or sheep.
They are at most not a foot in height. I hardly
know how to describe one. First, a pit is dug in
the fence two or three feet deep ; over this pit are
placed in line with the hedge four or six great slabs
of granite, each of them about six feet long, eight
inches deep, and six inches wide. These slabs are
laid at intervals of about a foot, so that cattle or
sheep attempting to cross may as likely as not get
one or other of their legs down between the slabs,
and so come to grief. Bipeds, of course, using
their eyes, can be more circumspect. I fancy they
are peculiar to Cornwall. One could wish they
were in common use everywhere, and specially
by river-sides, where anglers have always terrible
fences to contend with.
Wednesday, August 2. This day we took a short
drive to the villages of Mousehole and Paul,
passing through the terrible village, beloved of
artists, called Newlyn. A drive through it is quite
a novel experience. Up streets as steep as the
roofs of the quaintest weather-beaten old houses ;
down streets quite as steep, and wide enough only
for one vehicle to pass. If you happen to meet
84 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
another coming up your way or down your way it
is not easy to imagine what would happen. We
were lucky in having one or two narrow escapes.
After many a turn and many a twist we got
through Newlyn at last, and soon came upon the
village of Mousehole Newlyn and Mousehole are
the head-quarters of the celebrated pilchard and
mackerel fisheries, where some two thousand fisher-
men are occupied in the business. It was in
Newlyn that I first heard a strange language,
which sounded to me like Welsh, but I was assured
that the people were really talking good broad
English. I can only say that not a word of it
was understandable by me. There used to be a
language called Cornish, but the last person who
spoke it was an old woman named Dolly Pentreath,
who died at the age of one hundred and two in
the year 1775. There is a granite obelisk to her
memory in the churchyard of Paul, and on it is
mentioned the fact that she was the last who could
speak that now dead language. A specimen of it is
given on the tombstone, which I quote as follows
"Gwra perthi, de taz ha de mam ; mal de Dythiow belhewz hyr
war an tyr nel an arleth de dew ryes dees."
(This is the fifth Commandment, " Honour thy father," etc.)
Zaivn-Pyg Cave, Land's End. This beautiful
picture shows the cavern referred to in the previous
article ; the prominent square block of granite
on the right of the opening is one on which one
has to hang over in order to see daylight through
the cavern from sea to sea.
rtwto. by F rest tin, Penzance.
X.AUX-PYG CAVE, LAND'S END./. 84.
CHAPTER XI
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL continued
A LITTLE way out of the quaint village of
Paul (they drop the Saint when dealing
with a real one) we come unexpectedly
on an unpretentious place called Port Enys
Museum.
It is a private museum, but the generous owner,
W. E. Baily, Esq., kindly throws it open to all
visitors who come with decent credentials.
We called there, and were as much surprised as
we were pleased with what we saw. The museum
is quite beautifully arranged, and contains a
wonderful collection of birds, quadrupeds, reptiles,
butterflies, insects, and fishes.
What interested me most was the splendid
collection of stuffed and plaster-cast fishes. The
latter, being painted from life, are, in my humble
opinion, greatly preferable to stuffed specimens,
seeing that these invariably lose, in fact never
possess, the brilliancy of colour as in life. The
specimens of plaster-casts here presented, being
86 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
exquisitely copied from life by a clever artist, show
vividly every colour, every spot, every vein and
line, as they shone on the living fish. Of course,
all depends on the skill displayed in painting the
casts. Badly-painted casts are worse than useless ;
but those I have now seen are true facsimiles ; and,
given this artistic accuracy, plaster - casts are
unquestionably more valuable than stuffed skins,
the colours of which cannot be retained. On the
other hand, it may be argued that skins can be
painted, and that the owner of a stuffed skin knows
that he possesses that which is unique, and cannot
be multiplied as casts can. There is, adjoining
the museum, a lecture-hall for students, with all
modern appliances for studying not only nature
but all the arts and sciences.
All this, be it remembered, is to be found on a
rather inaccessible hill, surrounded only by the
ancient habitations of old-fashioned Cornish fisher-
folk.
Thursday, August 3. I learn from the news-
papers that in London the weather is a scorcher,
that Cowes is a frying-pan, and the people are
grilled ; we may comfort ourselves that here, in
Penzance, the thermometer keeps steadily at 74 or
75 in the shade ; although it is hot, we can bear it.
We rode across the peninsula on a four-horse
Jersey car, over the moors till we came to that
remarkable rock called Gurnard's Head, and we
were certainly not oppressed by the heat ; we were
fanned by a gentle breeze most of the way, and
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL 8Y
the heat of the sun was frequently tempered by
clouds through which he came down upon us as
through smoked glass, darkly. Some of the good
folk thought it necessary to climb to the top of
Gurnard's Head in order to keep themselves
warm. We sat on the hill facing it, and felt warm
enough without scrambling up those lofty rocks.
When we had absorbed the view, without actually
touching the rocks, we were wafted away on the
four-horse car towards St Ives, and many a pretty
moorland picture did we see as our team climbed
up and down the hills. St Ives Bay, always
beautiful, had put a hazy veil over its beauty, so
that now we could see it only in part, the distance
towards the lighthouse being almost invisible.
We returned to Penzance by another route ; the
scenery now changed from wild moorland to rich
and fertile fields of corn, cabbages, and green
meadows a very interesting drive.
August 4. To-day we drove across the island
from the south to the north of that part of
England which lies between the English and the
St George's Channel from Penzance to St Just,
or, rather, to the celebrated Levant tin and copper
mine, which extends under the sea outwards for
about two miles. Altogether, the various levels
now at work extend in different directions for
about forty miles. It is one of the very few mines
now at work, and, after some years of severe
losses, it appears to be recovering, and produces,
at the time, a satisfactory dividend. About six
88 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
hundred men are employed. We had neither time
nor had we sought permission to descend to the
depths, two thousand feet under the sea. What we
did see was sufficiently interesting. We were shown
many of the works exhibiting the most ingenious
methods by which the various metals are separated.
It was particularly interesting to notice the use
made of rusty, partly decomposed old iron, which
has the property of attracting the last mites of
copper from the final washings.
Passing through one room, we were all but
asphyxiated by the fumes of sulphur and the
evaporation by which arsenic is extracted from
the ores, which, instead of flying off, as is its
tendency, into smoke up a chimney, is so driven
about through immense zigzag tubes before the
final upright shaft is reached that a residue is
left, enough to poison millions of people, and, as a
bye-product, add materially to the profits of the
mine.
The bay in which this mine lies has an evil
celebrity for the many wrecks that occur there.
A lighthouse is now being erected on a point a
short distance westward. The question whether
the minerals have anything to do with the deflec-
tion of the needle is as much mooted on this side
of the land as on the southern side, where the
Manacles lie, and which are supposed to have had
a mysterious influence on the fate of the Paris.
August 5. Ah ! me. How these holidays do slip
away ! This is our last working day, and I have
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL 89
not yet made use of the season-ticket which Captain
Rogers, of Penrose, so kindly sent me to fish in
the Loe Pool. I will not leave Cornwall without
at least getting a glimpse of that celebrated lake.
That resolution being passed nem. con., I took
train for Helston, in spite of the lowering weather ;
a thunderstorm such as had not been known in
Penzance for years occurred here last night, with
hail and rain, which smashed over two hundred
panes in the windows of St Mary's Church,
and kept all the females in this establishment in
a state of abject terror the livelong night.
I am not nervous in such circumstances, but it
was quite impossible to sleep, the continuous vivid
flashes of forked and the white glow of sheet
lightning which lighted up my bedroom, and the
continued roll of distant thunder, with an occasional
crash overhead, effectually banished sleep it was
really a terrible night.
The air still seemed charged with electricity,
hot, sultry, with a slight breeze. In face of this I
went to Helston, and, after a most tiring and
trying walk from the station of two miles and
more in the broiling sun, I found myself at the
head of the Loe Pool. It truly is a grand sheet
of fresh water, many miles in circumference,
closely bordering on the sea, with which its lower
waters are, at certain tides, sometimes mingled ;
but I did not see this lower part of the pool. In
truth, I found the heat so trying, and the clouds
so threatening of a storm to come, that I did not
60 OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL
peregrinate more than half-a-mile of the head
waters of the pool. I saw no rises, except an
occasional splash away out in the centre of the
lake. I used only one fly the Red Palmer and
tried to apply the dry floating fly system in which
I had been educated, and to which I believe Loe
trout are quite unused. In a few minutes the
unusual sight of a floating fly attracted the attention
of a fine trout, which, after a little display of
energy on his part, came nicely into my net and
thence into my basket, adding over a pound to its
weight.
" Now," said I, " if I can get one nice companion
for you, my friend, I will go home, for here,
surrounded by nothing but wild and lovely, lonely
scenery, not a house to be seen, hungry and
thirsty, and unprovided with food or drink, and a
threatening storm overhead, I perish if I much
longer stay."
I met a solitary angler an old hand who had
fished all day and caught nothing who, with
envious though generous eyes, saw me deftly
land my first trout ; he congratulated me on my
success, which I attributed to the floating fly
system. This one success, however, was hardly
sufficient to justify a claim for its superiority
over the wet fly, and it was only the night before
that by the latter system he told me he had in
an hour or two caught four trout which collectively
weighed 9 Ibs. This day and up to this time
no success had attended his efforts. I told him
OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL 91
of my imprudence and want of forethought in
coming from Penzance to this lake-head without
any provision for the inner man ; but I had
thought surely there must be an inn somewhere
down on the pool ; what more natural than to
expect to find hereabouts a Saint Loe Hotel on St
Loe's Lake ?
" Let me," said I, " catch but one solitary com-
panion to this fellow in my bag, and I will away."
He told me of a farmhouse over the hill where
I may get a glass of milk, but that was hardly
satisfying enough to justify a long climb, so I
bid him adieu and fished homewards to the head
of the lake. I had not proceeded far before my
beautifully floating small Red Palmer drew the
attention of another fine trout to its destruction.
And so with a brace of trout, weighing together
just over 2 Ibs., of which I was proud, I ambled
back to Helston, and there found refreshment and
comfort in an inn.
I have the presumption to think that had I
remained two or three hours longer on this lovely
pool I should have brought away, and had to
stagger homewards under, a good heavy load of
Loe Pool trout.
My thanks are not the less due to Captain
Rogers because I made so little use of the fishing-
ticket he sent me ; I learnt too late that I had
lost a grand opportunity of educating the Loe trout
in the deceitfulness of a floating fly.
" Noss Mayo" was to have met me here, and,
92 OUR HOLIDA Y IN CORNWALL
knowing the pool and its surroundings, he could
and would have put me "up to the ropes," and
together we should have played the very deuce
with the trout but he came not, being lured
northward
" Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed."
During our short stay at the Land's End we
have seen as much as we could of the rock -bound
coasts of England's Toe and Heel. The north
side from New Quay to Tintagel is still a closed
book to us, and now we are told on all hands that
the grandest and noblest scenery is there to be
found. Personally I would gladly have fished
more and explored less, but I am not alone. I
have shared in the amusements of my two lady
companions, and we all regretfully bid farewell to
West Cornwall.
By us the north-east coast of Cornwall must
still retain its grandeur and its mystery unseen.
CHAPTER XII
IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY
June 1900
A MILE away from our river a wise old
gander, surrounded by half-a-dozen mem-
bers of his family, was taking his after-
noon snooze by the side of a pond in a farmyard.
" Quang-quang" says he, sleepily ; " quang-quang-
quang" say the geese, drowsily, waking up. This
means, translated into the language of the bipeds
that don't wear feathers, " Time's up ; let us be
moving." Master Gander stood up, lazily swung
his great wings, and waddled off towards the bank.
There he saw a strange insect which at once
brought to his mind the joys of days gone by. He
seized the insect. "Hey-ho!" says he, " quang-
quang-quango, hurrah ! The MAY FLY IS UP.
Off we go!"
Let it not be supposed .that Master Gander and
his flock were going to waddle a mile on their
tender webbed feet along the hard turnpike road
94 IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY
to the river ; not they. Geese in these parts are
as big as swans in other parts. Master Gander
spreads abroad his great wings six feet from tip
to tip and his fat wives do the same, and off they
go, like a rushing mighty wind, filling the air with
clanging and clamour, over the houses, over the
trees, over the church, away up over the steeple,
till down they come with one great swoop on to
the middle of the river, causing a commotion com-
pared with which a penny steamer at full speed
suddenly blown up in the middle of the Thames
would have been as nothing.
I started in pursuit of the May Fly on June I,
but I was too sanguine. For two or three days my
waiting and watching, clad in wintry apparel, was
all in vain ; a biting north-easterly gale was blow-
ing ; occasional scudding sleet came driving up
the river ; what May Fly in his senses would think
of leaving his warm bed down in the mud to come
up and flutter away his brief life in such wintry
weather as this ? It was not to be expected ; but I
was there, I had travelled one hundred and fifty
miles with no other object than to discover the May
Fly, and so I waited, and watched, and wandered
by that bleak river-side, till at last my Job-like
patience seemed as if it was going to be rewarded.
I saw a solitary May Fly fluttering on the surface
of the water, and presently a trout, wondering what
the insect was, came up ; there was a flop, the water
moved round and round in widening circles, and
the misguided insect was no longer to be seen.
IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY 95
Now was the time for me to place my G.O.M. on
the outer rim of that magic circle and let him
float gently down over the centre of it, when lo,
the deluge ! It was at that identical, that critical
moment, I am certain my trout, stimulated by
the delicious morsel he had just swallowed, was
coming at me, when swish ! down comes that
mighty avalanche of geese right above my G.O.M.,
shrieking and screaming, splashing, and dashing,
and crashing, just as "the waters come down at
Lodore ! "
My first impulse was to curse those geese ; here
was my first, my only chance for days ; my first
May Fly swallowed by my first trout ; my first
trout lost ; my G.O.M. in jeopardy by those
accursed geese. How rejoiced I should have been
if that villainous old gander had spied my G.O.M.
and that he had it firmly fixed in his gullet.
But no, on reflection I bethought me, why should
I curse them ? They had done no harm to me, or
very little, after all. I began to feel amused rather
than angered. Geese are very curious animals ;
they have a clear and distinct vocabulary of their
own, and they talk to each other incessantly ; they
are gregarious ; they are sociable ; they are pug-
nacious ; and they taught the gods to hiss.
" When the rain raineth and the goose winketh,
Little wots the gosling what the goose thinketh."
The Compleat Bachelor, by Oliver Onions.
Not for themselves do they feed themselves fat
on May Fly and other insects, to say nothing of the
96 IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY
green grass and farmyard stuff they consume ; and
pray tell me, when they are fat, and have made
themselves ready for the cook and the spit, what
more delicious than a fine Michaelmas goose ?
Was not Queen Elizabeth on her way to Tilbury
entertained with roast goose ? It was after partak-
ing of a hearty dinner of goose that she gave the
toast, "Destruction to the Spanish Armada."
Thereupon immediately came the news of the
total destruction of that fleet. " Henceforth," said
the Queen, " shall a goose commemorate that great
victory."
The goose is a classic bird. The royal game of
goose belongs, so far as I know, to remote antiquity.
Every one knows that the Capitol of Rome was
saved by the cackling of the wise and sacred geese.
Geese and goslings, ducks and ducklings, swarm
on this river. There is no getting away from them.
A pleasant thing it is to see a flock of geese come
sailing down-stream on to a favourite quiet stretch
just as you are casting over a rising trout. " Shoo-
lag," you shout. They hate that word. It means
to them something quite opprobrious, and they
launch out at you such a volley of abuse as would
turn your hair grey if you understood their lan-
guage ; but down they come. Nothing will stop
them but a lump of mud. This makes them turn
round and sail up the water which they had
already disturbed for half-a-mile. To fish after
them would be folly, for, to say nothing of the com-
motion they make in the water, they clear it of
IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY 97
every insect, and leave nothing for a fish to
rise at.
By a short cut we get above them, and by shoo-
lagging and pelting we succeed, after much cack-
ling and abuse, in turning their heads down-stream.
Then for a few minutes we get a bit of quiet fishing,
and a brace of nice trout come into our creel.
No sooner have we got rid of the geese than we
are haunted by hundreds of ducks and ducklings.
You make a nice cast over a rising trout, and out
from under the bushes darts a week-old duckling
one of a score or two and the others scurry after
him, and make a dash at your " barbed betrayer."
You must quickly remove your insect or hook the
little innocent, and so it goes on. This is one only
of the minor incidents that help to mar your sport
on this pleasant river.
Now I may pause to tell you that by good luck
I have found a very remarkable boy a born angler,
and no mistake. Born he was on the margin of
this river ; he is twelve years old. I will call him
Izaac, but that is not his real name. " Ever since
I can remember," says he, " I have loved this river.
I began to fish in it, I think, as soon as I could
walk," and now at the mature age he has reached
he is an expert angler. His favourite method is to
fish with the minnow, but he knows how to cast a
fly with graceful precision. After toiling fruitlessly
with me all day this young " Iz. W." will go out of
an evening and, somehow or other, bring home a
brace of trout for certain. My pleasure in catching
G
98 IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY
a trout is ten times enhanced by his shouts of en-
joyment as he deftly places the net under him.
" Now, sir," cries he, " we are going to have some
sport ! " He knows all the flies in my book much
better than I ; he can tie my flies much more quickly
than I can. He climbs trees up to most dangerous
places like a squirrel or a monkey, and brings down
my hung-up fly in no time. If he cannot reach the
branch overhanging a deep hole he whips out a
knife and off comes the branch in a jiffy. He
knows all the birds on the river, their names and
their nests. He showed me a kingfisher's nest in
a hole in the bank ; he found a water-ouzel's nest
with four eggs in it ; that was when I was down
here some weeks ago, now the old birds are busy
feeding the young ones. One day he drew my
attention to a moor-hen's nest built on a pile of
segs* in a little island amid-stream ; there were five
eggs in it, and another nest close by with two eggs.
The next day he cried, "They boys have bin
here, sir ; all them eggs is gone ! " He is very well
educated, and is fond of rolling out fine words
sometimes, but he prefers the vernacular. There
are several pairs of sandpipers on our stretch of
the river, and he knows of one nest with four eggs
in it ; he says it is funny to see the antics of the old
ones, crying "wheet, wheet," and trying to draw
him off from the nest.
I lost him one day when I sadly wanted him.
At a point where the river flows under the railway
* Seg is a local term for sedge. A.. A.
IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY PLY 99
arches a trout was rising on the far side of the
stream close up against a stone wall, and just be-
hind a tuft of segs a foot high a most difficult
place for a long cast, for I had an alder above me,
an apple-tree behind me, and the railway and
signal-wire close against and above me ; but I
wanted that trout. I made several ineffectual casts ;
at last I got my G.O.M. neatly over that tuft of
segs, I hooked him, and now comes the tug-of-
war. How surprised he was ; how he leaped out of
the water, dashed under the railway arch, up-stream
into a bank of weeds, down again, and at last got
fixed in some debris of sticks round the buttress of
the arch, and there for a long time he kept my rod
bent double, for I dared not give him any play, the
stream under the arch being strong. At last he
comes out, and to my surprise he came gently into
the net without any further display of the vigour
with which he started. Happily, it chanced that
though Master Izaac was absent the Professor was
there, looking on and giving me, as he always does,
the most friendly advice.
"Mind your rod," cries he, "he'll break it."
" Give him a little play ! hold on ! don't let him get
under the arch ; keep him out of the weeds ; here
he comes ! " He landed him nicely for me, and
then we found out why he came in so tamely at last.
He had managed to wind the gut two or three
times round his body, and was, in fact, bound
"hand and foot."
I was rather proud of that trout, for I had caught
100 IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY
him, considering the situation, rather skilfully. By
this success I was emboldened to try a still more
difficult task, standing exactly on the same spot. A
trout was rising higher up and more towards the
middle of the stream, but close under a small island
of weeds. The Professor said it was sheer folly to
make the attempt, and he was quite right. My
first cast fixed my fly high up in a branch of the
overhanging alder. Sometimes a sharp tug will
dislodge it from the tender young twigs, but not so
on this occasion. I am a bit too old, especially
when encumbered with heavy wading boots, to
scramble up trees. Not so the Professor ; he was
determined that collar should not be lost. He is
no longer young, but he is tough. How he laboured
and puffed and squeezed himself up that tree was
a sight to see. He soon released my collar. That
confounded trout kept on rising. I tried all I could
to get round the drooping branches of that alder to
avoid the signal-wire above me and the trees and
bushes behind and in front of me. I thought I had
got my line out in spite of these obstacles, when a
sudden gust from the east drove my fly up into
that alder and lodged it in its old quarters. My
good Professor had scarcely landed from the tree in
a state of physical collapse. He did not use bad
language, because he never does. Up he went
again, and down he brought my fly once more, but
I made no further attempt to get over that still
rising trout. The Professor, who is a score of years
my junior, did not forget to lecture me on my
IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY 101
juvenile folly in expecting to catch a fish in such
an impossible place as that, and I was humbled
and contrite.
Notwithstanding the prevailing inclemency of
the weather, and the general disinclination of the
May Fly to appear or the trout to rise, we did not
fare so very badly. I think I may say that few
rising trout escaped us, and on the whole we
were satisfied with the result of our daily labours.
On Tuesday, the fifth day of June, the bells of
our loyal village rang out, and the blacksmith's
anvil, converted somehow into a formidable piece
of artillery, sent up roaring and booming blasts
to the evening sky Pretoria had fallen! That
day was our red-letter day, it marked our greatest
success among the trout. The following Thursday,
on the other hand, was a day of disaster.
We drove down the river for three miles, to
lunch with a friend who had given us a day's
fishing on his portion of the river. The weather
was threatening in the morning, and after lunch
the rain came down heavily. The river is two or
three meadows from the house, and we were
pressed to give it up ; but our host's good cheer
had inspired us with new ardour. Scorning a
guide, over hedge and ditch I went, making, as I
thought, to the nearest point for the river. I
soon reached it, and began to fish. My first cast
over a rising trout below a foot-bridge brought a
nice one to grass. It brought up also a figure
from behind the bridge, and I was sternly asked
102 IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY
by what right or by whose authority I was fishing
there. I said I was there by the sanction of the
owner of the water, and I mentioned his name.
"This is not your friend's water, it is mine. This
is the third time within three days that my land
and my water have been trespassed on, and I
will stand it no longer. I must request you to
give me your name, and I shall summons you at
once." I gave him my name. I humbly apologized.
I explained how my mistake had arisen. I told
him that I rented a mile of the river higher up,
that I had a clear run of at least three miles of it,
and he must surely see that I had innocently
intruded on less than two hundred yards of his,
and I offered him and his friend a day's fishing
on my water in exchange for the five minutes I
had unconsciously stolen on his. He was mollified
at last, and we parted good friends. I was glad,
for I am sure that none of you, my friends, would
have been pleased to hear that the A. A. had been
taken to quod for poaching.
Then I rejoined the Professor, who had kept on
legitimate ground, but no more fishing had we.
It came on to rain it poured it was a deluge,
and we had no shelter. We made straight for
home through meadows of mowing grass two miles
in length, and interesting objects we were when
we turned up at the Old Inn.
When I was fishing two years ago on the Wilt-
shire Avon with my good old friend, J. G. Morten,
now, alas ! departed, I found him wearing a
IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY 103
peculiar helmet of his own invention. It goes by
the name of BURBERRY'S GABARDINE COMBINA-
TION FISHING HELMET. It has a peak back and
front and all round, and a double rim in the fold
of which one can wind an extra collar and insert
a reserve of flies without exposure. I had pos-
sessed myself of one of these admirable waterproof
contrivances, but, alas ! now that I most wanted
it I had left it at home. My old lelt was no match
for the storm my head and neck were well
soaked. I had on a waterproof cape, which was
no protection for my legs and feet. The Professor
was as badly off, and the active little Izaac was all
but drowned. How I longed for that curious
helmet and coveted that singular mantle which
Mr Burberry calls the patent SLIP-ON. I have
straightway ordered one ; and never again on
doubtful days will I go a-fishing without it, for it
seems to me to be light and long, and soft and
pliant as silk, and presents no obstacle to one's
fishing. After this soaking we dined happily, we
slept soundly, and next morning we were as fresh
as young larks. But my May Fly fishing for
the year 1900 was over. I had to leave my good
old friend the Professor alone in his glory, and I
rejoice to hear that after I left he had some real
sport.
I have headed this article " In Pursuit of the
May Fly." It will be seen from what I have
written that the pursuit has not been grand in its
results. The first days of June did not prove to
104 IN PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY
be such as my eager fancy painted them. I had
looked for bright, genial days, occasional summer
clouds, and gentle breezes to tone down the
brilliance of the water. I expected to find May
flies and other insects wantonly and joyously in
swarms dancing upwards and downwards in the
warm air, clustering on branches or long grass
stems or floating and fluttering on the water. I
had dreamed of big trout flopping up and making
great circles where the river runs deep and slow.
I had hoped to listen to the music of the birds, and
watch the brilliant kingfisher dart along the stream.
I had pictured myself casting my "counterfeit
presentment" daintily over these rising fish, and
bringing them to grass in pleasant profusion.
Such things I have known in the pleasant days of
old. These dreams, and hopes and expectations
were not realized. The beginning of June 1900
resembled the beginning of March. It is true
that the birds sang when the howling winds gave
them a chance ; it is true that the May Fly did
appear intermittently ; it is true that the trout rose
occasionally ; it is true that we caught a goodly
number of them ; but they were caught laboriously.
The joy and the glow and the charm of the
brightest and leafiest and sweetest month of the
year was not there. It did not inspire us. Like
Mark Tapley, we had to make our own cheerfulness.
Sic transit gloria piscatorium !
THE GANDER AND THE MAY FLY 105
THE GANDER AND THE MAY FLY.
An old friend called on me the other day, and
was good enough to tell me that he had read my
article, "In Pursuit of the May Fly," with much
interest, "but," said he, "you have put your foot
in it, you have made a terrible mistake. I am
a bit of a naturalist, and I beg to inform you that
it is contrary to the nature of a gander or a goose
to eat a May Fly. They are not insectivorous,
they are farinaceous, herbivorous, graminivorous
birds." I was completely bowled over, I was
humbled. Of course, I presume it will have been
understood that as I was a mile away when that
gander discovered and, as I imagined, devoured
that solitary May Fly, I was not there to see
the deed done, but who could have supposed
that a gander could have been so qualmish, when
he saw that luscious insect for the first time in
a twelvemonth, as not to try what it tasted like ;
and, having tasted, would he not have felt a new
sensation like that which that great lubberly boy
Bo-bo felt when he first tasted roast pig? It may
be, for aught I know, that that gander was the
first of his species who had ever tasted May Fly ;
and this it was that caused him and his family to
take that tremendous flight and come down upon
the river as an avalanche comes down on Mont
Blanc, and so spoil my fishing for half-a-mile.
But surely at other times and other May Fly
seasons, when I have seen long grass stems over-
106 THE GANDER AND THE MAY FLY
hung with May Fly, have my eyes deceived me
when I have seen a flock of geese poking about
the banks and stripping those grass stems ; and
was I not justified in thinking that it was the
insect and not the grass they were after ? But I
am floored ; I acknowledge it. My philosopher
is a naturalist, an ornithologist, a poet, and a
philosopher, and who am I to contradict him ?
I have no such pretensions. He could, I doubt
not, fully demonstrate to me or any one else, that
a goose's gizzard would reject a May Fly or any
other insect. I submit to his superior wisdom,
and I fall back upon ducks. I hope he won't try
to disturb my faith in ducks, and tell me that
neither ducks nor swallows swallow May Flies.
If he does I shall revolt.
I may say that I have looked through all the
authorities on British birds in my possession, such
as Gilbert White, Bewick, and Bishop Stanley, but
none of them have anything special to say about
the food of the domestic goose. I presume because
everybody is supposed to know that a goose is
above all else a grass-eating bird. Mr Howard
Saunders, I think, saves my reputation by remarking
that the food of the Snow Goose in summer consists
of green rushes, insects, and in autumn of berries.
If a Snow Goose devours insects, then surely the
white domestic gander may be tempted to do the
same when such a precious morsel as a May Fly
seduces him from his habitual ways I say nothing
of the Solan Goose, whose food is mostly little fishes.
CHAPTER XIII
FLY FISHING NEAR SCARBOROUGH
THE FORGE VALLEY
July 1900
SINCE I last had the pleasure of addressing
you from (not to be too precise) a county
bordering on Wales, I have been spend-
ing the remainder of what the young folks in the
City are good enough to say is "a well-earned
holiday," in the North Riding of Yorkshire, at
Scarborough, a place not wholly unknown, and
needing no reason that I know of that I should
attempt to popularize it. I am not much attracted
by the sea, that is to say, I cannot for the life of
me sit all day on the sands, or lounge about on
the parades. The Spa, with all its attractions for
the young and the gay, has little or no attraction
for an old fellow such as I am. I am constrained
to admit, however, that the gardens are exceeding
pretty, and gay with the choice flower-beds and
winding paths in and about the wooded cliffs.
Do not for a moment suppose that I despise these
108 FLY FISHING NEAR SCARBOROUGH
lovely scenes. I am sure if I were of the same age
as any of the young folk I see about me, I should,
like them, adore them, as, indeed, I did once many
and many a year ago, when " youth and I " were
here together. I came here mainly because I was
assured there was some good trout fishing to be
got within an easy distance in the Yorkshire
Derwent, and nearer still, in Scalby Beck but I
must confess that I am a fair-weather fisherman,
and the sort of weather which I found on the
borders of Wales has pursued me to the eastern
coast of Yorkshire. I have been here for a fortnight,
and this, my last day, I can truly say is the only
nice genial July day that I have had since here I
have been. I am not going to complain of the
weather one has to accept it, however rough or
disagreeable it may be. My chief objection to it
has been that it was not of the sort that I like
when I go a-fishing.
One doubtful morning early I started off for
the village of Ay ton, five miles away, just where
the Derwent emerges from the beautiful Forge
Valley. I had provided myself with a five-shilling
ticket for the day. I engaged a nice lad to ac-
company me, and we started in very unpromising
weather the river dead and motionless, grass
long and wet, the air leaden and oppressive,
betokening a thunderstorm, which came on heavily
before we had long been at work. The laws of
this club are stringent and severe. No trout shall
be taken under eight inches in length, nor shall
THE FORGE VALLEY 109
more than ten brace of trout be taken in a day.
There must be a superabundance of trout in this
valley, for I learn that some five thousand yearlings
were put in a year ago, and to these two thousand
have been added this year ; the probability is that
the river is overstocked, which also may account
for the smallness of the fish at the present time.
Doubtless here and there a big trout may be
hidden away close under the banks, but there was
no rise of fly to tempt them up. I was not long in
hooking three brace, of which I lost one brace,
and the others I put back, being, as I guessed, for
I had no measure with me, under eight inches.
When I met the keeper afterwards I found to my
grief that my rule of thumb measurement was
quite wrong according to true measurement I
had put back four nine-inch trout. I got only a
brace and a half afterwards, all of the same size,
and then came on such tempestuous weather that
I gave it up.
I gave up my ticket to the keeper, and on
examining it, " Ah ! " said he, " I remember a
young gentleman of the same name as this who
was here about eighteen years ago for three days.
I remember him as well as if it was yesterday, for
he was the best fisherman I ever saw on this river.
Why, he carried off his ten brace of trout every
day and they were big 'uns here in those days
to say nothing of the lots he had to put back, as
being beyond his limit." I could only remark
that he must have a very good memory, otherwise
110 FLY FISHING NEAR SCARBOROUGH
there was nothing very remarkable in the fact
of two men of the same name having fished that
river at an interval of eighteen years. The most
curious part of the coincidence was that in turning up
an old number of the Fishing Gazette (August 19,
1882) I came upon an article entitled, " Fly Fishing
near Scarborough," written by a gentleman of the
same name, which quite confirms the keeper's
report to me ; and so this wonderful angler turns
out to be not only of the same name as, but
somewhat more than a personal acquaintance of
my own, Piscator Major by name.
I only travelled up the river as far as the wood
extends, and then the weather sent me back. I
was told afterwards that I should have done far
better if I had begun to fish where I left oflf, and
fished in the open meadows past the Everley Hotel,
and up to Hackness.
This very day, my last at Scarborough, has
been really a lovely summer day. I have just
taken a trip, in order to realize the scene and get
a better idea of the country, on a four -horse
char-a-banc, round through Ayton and up by the
side of the river through the Forge Valley, past
Lord Derwent's place, through the village of
Hackness, back through Scalby, and here ; and
what a lovely thirteen-mile drive it was on the
only really fine day we have had. We stopped
for half-an-hour at the Everley Hotel (the only
inn within three miles). There arrived about the
same time ten other char-a-bancs, as they call
THE FORGE VALLEY III
them ugly French name why not call them
brakes ? or, as they call them in Cornwall, Jersey
cars. Each of these ten vehicles carried about
twenty-five passengers, so that there must have
been two hundred and fifty in all, glad young people
let loose in these pretty grounds and thoroughly
enjoying the only fine day they have seen for weeks.
Among them were two or three happy anglers,
who immediately wended their way down to the
river. How I envied them as I saw the tops of
their rods glinting in the sun ! Why had I not
brought my rod with me ? The char-a-banc may
have gone on to Jericho, I would not have gone
with it. Hereabouts I am told is the best fishing
on the Derwent.
But to return to my first day's fishing after
this long digression. I have no other incident
to relate than that, unluckily, in making a cast,
unaware that my boy was too close behind me,
I caught him by the ear my fly was firmly fixed
in the rim of it he screamed out, and unfortun-
ately tore away at the hook, thereby causing
much bloodshed and only driving it in more
securely. As some of my readers may remember,
I have had personal experience of an eyed hook
firmly fixed not in the ear, but in a still more
prominent feature. I hesitated to perform such
a delicate surgical operation as was evidently
necessary in this case, so I hurried him away
home. He started off on his bicycle two miles
away, and came back before I left the village with
112
FLY PISHIKG NEAR SCARBOROUGH
the fly still sticking in his ear. The doctor was
not at home.
I have just had a note from his mother, telling
me that he saw the doctor at twelve o'clock the
same night, that the operation was successfully
performed, and the wound is healing.
CHAPTER XIV
FLY FISHING NEAR SCARBOROUGH SCALBY BECK
I HAD been told that Scalby Beck was a
good trout stream ; the trout are bigger
there, running to a pound or two. One
was caught there not long ago weighing four
pounds, but they are few and far between, and
difficult to catch, and as there is a select club of a
dozen members owning the water, and they give
strangers the great privilege of fishing there at the
rate of $s. a day, I was tempted to give it a trial.
I drove up there one gloomy morning, intending to
fish up the beck from the sea, as I had been ad-
vised. I landed on the bridge which crosses the
stream close to the sea, and I looked about for a
lad to carry my " Patent Slip-on," my bag, and my
net, etc. ; but neither boy nor man was to be seen.
After a time I saw a tramp coming along the road.
He had the appearance of being an honest lad
" down on his luck." I asked him if he wanted a
job, and if he would go a-fishing with me. He said
he would, as he hadn't a copper in his pocket, and
114 FLY FISHING NEAR SCARBOROUGH
had tasted no food that day. He was not exactly
the style of boy to do one much credit as a gillie.
He wore a passable jacket, and I am inclined to
think he had a shirt on, for there was something
white sticking out of a big hole in his trousers not
far away from the tail of his jacket, and his shoes
were in a sad state of dilapidation ; but I judged
him, not by his rags, but by his pleasant blue eyes
and honest-looking countenance. Poor chap ! he
had a famished, hungry look. I handed him the
few little biscuits I happened to have in my pocket,
and I engaged him there and then as my body-
servant for the day. He put on my fishing-bag,
which covered up a good deal that was not sightly ;
he followed me, and turning to the left after cross-
ing the bridge, we pursued our way along the north
side of the stream. We met an old man, who said
that the long pool in front of us was full of tremend-
ously big chub but I did not want chub. He said
I had better cross the water at a sort of weir a little
higher up. I followed his advice confound him.
I found myself in an entanglement of scrub bushes,
burdocks, nettles, thorns, great tall things with
enormous leaves as high as my head I think they
are called wild rhubarb. Through this impenetrable
forest I had to scramble and steer my rod, which
was every moment catching in something or other
overhead, for a quarter of a mile, but scarcely a
glimpse could I get of the beck, and my man fol-
lowed me with bag and baggage, till we came to a
tall fence, which I got over somehow His legs
SCALBY BECK 115,
were, as he said, " more soople " than mine, and he
got over easily. We then found ourselves in an
open field, but far up above the water, which on
both sides was everywhere closely lined with bushes,
and inaccessible. By perseverance we found an
opening at last down to the water, which just here
was running in a little dribbling stream, for the
beck, as far as I could see of it, consisted wholly
of absolutely dead, slimy pools or little trickling
streams such as the one we had now reached. As
there seemed no prospect of getting near the water
on our side, we walked across once more to the
north side without wetting the soles of our boots.
Alas ! that side was even worse. We pushed along
somehow, up and down banks, till we came to what
seemed to be somebody's garden. The upper part
of it was laid out with flower-beds, but the part
down by the water was an uncultivated wild,
" where weeds and flowers promiscuous grow." We
could see no other way out, so we broke into this
garden and got across to a rocky place, above
which we at last came to an open pool dead and
slimy-looking. We were now close to the village,
and the water looked and smelled as if it was
strongly impregnated with the sewage of that
village.
By and by we reached the turnpike road, and
crossing it, to pursue our course up this lovely beck,
we encountered a notice board : "No road Tres-
passers will be prosecuted" I interpreted this to
apply to outsiders, not to such as myself, armed as
116 FLY FISHING NEAR SCARBOROUGH
I was with a five-shilling ticket. Up to this point
I may say I had scarcely seen the river. I had a
rare scramble of ups and downs, and many chances
of tumbling down into unseen crevasses covered
over with ferns or nettles, but never an opportunity
of seeing a fish, or rise, or casting my line upon
the water ; so I boldly passed this notice-board and
followed the south side of the river the water here
looked a little more lively and in a very inacces-
sible place I actually saw a rise ! I tried between
the bushes below me, for I was on a high bank, to
get over that fish, when suddenly across the water
came a stentorian voice : " Are you aware, sir, that
you are trespassing?" I looked up and I saw two
gentlemen standing on the opposite bank. I ex-
plained apologetically that I certainly was not
aware of it ; that I held a ticket from the Scalby
Beck Club, which I supposed entitled me to fish up
to the Derwent. " You are mistaken, sir ; the river
between these two bridges is my private property.
However," he most kindly added, "as you are
there you may fish on if you like up to the bridge.
I may tell you that you will find the gate locked,
but I dare say you will manage to get over it some-
how." He added, smilingly, "You may get some
better fishing above the bridge than I am afraid
you have had down below." I did manage some-
how to climb over that terrible spiked gate, but it
was at the risk of seriously injuring myself, and my
" soople " companion got over easily. We found
ourselves in the turnpike road. I vowed I would
SCALSY BECK 117
fish no more. I have gone into these details be-
cause I really think it is improper that a club
composed, I have no doubt, of gentlemen should
demand $s. for a day's walk such as I have at-
tempted faithfully to describe. I can only regard
it as an unwarrantable imposition. One wonders
for what purpose such a club exists. It does abso-
lutely nothing to keep the river in decent order,
and I venture to think that if any member of it
ever attempts to follow in my footsteps through
that pathless jungle it could only be in expiation
of, and as a terrible penance for, sins of omission
as well as commission as regards this wretched
ditch. I presume it is considered to be a perfectly
useless extravagance to put a keeper to watch on
that hideous beck ; he would surely soon commit
suicide. At all events, I never saw a human being
from one end to the other. I could certainly have
performed the deeds I did with perfect impunity,
and without paying 5.?. for a ticket. It may be that
at certain times and seasons this beck, which, it
appears, is nothing but an outlet for the overflow of
the Derwent in times of flood, may afford sport for
anglers, and probably there are big trout in it, as
the ticket agent told me, but my experience may
serve as a caution to other anglers to be careful
how and when they lay out their money if they ex-
pect to do better than I did. The game is certainly
not worth the candle. We walked along the turn-
pike road till, weary, exhausted, and exasperated,
we found welcome at an inn. There I gave my
118 FLY FISHING NEAR SCARBOROUGH
tramp such a " tuck-out " as he did not appear to
have had for a long time. He said he was a turner
by trade, that he had been thrown out of work at
Manchester, was tramping that day from Scar-
borough to Whitby (twenty-two miles) on his way
home to Newcastle, where he had friends. He had
carried my " swag " carefully through the woods,
and only lost two useful web straps, which may
have been torn from his ragged pockets by the
brambles. I furnished him not only with a bellyful
of food, but some means to pursue his long journey,
and I assure you the gratitude the poor fellow
showed by his words and his looks was an abund-
ant reward for me for the trials we had undergone
together.
Never again will I attempt to fish in Scalby
Beck.
A writer in the Scarborough Post, under the
pseudonym Blue Dun, animadverts in a kindly way
on my adventures. He pities me for having re-
course to a tramp to carry my impedimenta, and
expresses a wish that he had been with me, as he
could have put me " in the way of bagging a few
pounders." Of course I should have been delighted
to have had his company had I known of him, who
seems to know the beck so well, but I went in pure
ignorance, never dreaming but that I should meet
with some living being who could show me the
way. I thought that at least I should find the
keeper whom Blue Dun mentions, but whom I
soon came to regard as a myth. I described my
SCALBY BECK
119
own experiences, and I must adhere to them. And
I advise the twelve members comprising the Scalby
Beck Club (of whom Bhie Dun says he is one) to
keep this precious beck wholly in their own hands,
and on no account to allow any outsider to fish
in it.*
* I find that Piscator Major does not agree with me as to the
angling capacities of the beck. He saw it in better times, caught
some big trout there, and he it was who first advocated the pre-
servation of it ; but he does agree with me that if the sewage of a
village is turned into the only decent pool, then preservation is a
farce.
CHAPTER XV
FISHERMAN'S LUCK
SMALL claim have I to call myself a fisher-
man, for although in the thraldom of a
long and busy life I have had constantly
before the eyes of my mind the possible charm of
fishing in some picturesque and secluded spot,
away, far away, from the hubbub and the noise
and the garish turmoil of the city, how rarely have
I been able to convert these dreams into pleasant
realities ! My too prolonged incarceration reminds
me of the familiar lines from Keats' sonnet
" To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven, to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament."
During the last sixteen years of my life I have
written quite a pile of little booklets, all of which
record, more or less, my various angling ex-
periences, and I think I may safely say they do
not badly represent what I may call FISHERMAN'S
LUCK.
FISHERMAN'S LUCK 121
They tell the story of very many absolute
failures, and of singularly few even moderate
successes. It may be for this very reason that
they have from first to last been so kindly and
so indulgently received by the Press and by a
numerous public ; my good friends may quite
reasonably have argued they must necessarily
have at least the merit of truthfulness, for who
would go out of his way to tell untruthfully the
story of his failures ?
Successes or failures, there is not a day among
all those angling days that I cannot look back on
with unfeigned pleasure, mixed, it is true, with a
melancholy feeling of regret that they belong to
a time that is past.
If, taken as a whole, the days of our pilgrimage
are "few and evil," as said the patriarch Jacob
unto Pharaoh, I will say at least that few and
pleasant have been my angling days.
One of the many pleasant things about angling
is the glorious uncertainty of it. Who, when he
goeth forth of a morning full of the true angler's
enthusiasm, can foresee or foretell what the day
may bring forth ? True, he hopeth with abounding
hope that his basket will be filled, but if he returns
at the close of the day with his basket as light
as it was in the morning, never does he think of
exclaiming O, amid! perdidi diem! Quite the
contrary ; he rejoiceth that he has gained ex-
perience, and his hope for the morrow is kindled
afresh by his failure of to-day. Blustering wind
122 FISHERMAN'S LUCK
may have taken place of the mild zephyr which
the morn betokened ; scorching sunshine or
tempestuous downpour may have spoilt his sport ;
he complaineth not whilst he hath a " to-morrow "
to retrieve the fortunes of to-day. It is only when
that to-morrow has to bear him away from his
pleasant haunts and hurry him back to the hateful
city that his equanimity is somewhat disturbed.
It is sixteen years and more since, for the first
and only time, I explored the beauties of Dove-
dale. There it was that I caught my first trout
from the placid waters of the enchanted Dove, my
first trout for perhaps forty years, for during that
rather long period of time, when considered as a
slice out of the usual span of human life, I had
scarcely ever held a rod. Ah, that was a pleasant
time ! We reached, as I well remember, that
delightful old hotel, The Izaak Walton, in a
tremendous downfall of rain, and we left it in a
thunderstorm ; but the three weeks we spent there
were glorious, and never to be forgotten by me.
The story of it I ventured to tell in my first
booklet An Amateur Angler's Days in Dovedale.
Since that good time I have fished occasionally
in many rivers ; although counted in days the
sum total for sixteen years would not amount to
many. I have had some successes and many
failures, but every one of those days have been
red-letter days. To have had and delighted in
them I will always regard as my FISHERMAN'S
LUCK.
FISHERMAN'S LUCK 128
The cause of my drifting into this long pre-
liminary rigmarole, is that I have just now been
reading a book called
FISHERMAN'S LUCK AND SOME OTHER UN-
CERTAIN THINGS. By HENRY VAN DYKE.
The paper, printing, and pictures in this pretty
book are pleasant to look upon, and the contents
such as you may expect to find, being written by
the same accomplished and facile hand that wrote
Little Rivers, that charming book to which some
year or two ago I drew attention. I desire to do
the same with Fisherman's Luck; not critically,
for I am no critic, but just to gossip about it in my
usual rambling fashion.
The writer is, I think, a popular preacher,
having one of the largest congregations in New
York ; but he would fain lead us to believe that
although to catch men is his daily occupation, in
catching fishes lies his true vocation, because he
was "born so." He himself acknowledges that
his chosen pursuit is angling, which he "follows
with diligence when not interrupted by less im-
portant concerns," a statement, of course, not to
be taken too seriously.
Mr Van Dyke is not only a great preacher and
an enthusiastic angler, he is also a charming writer,
and he adorns whatever subject he touches by the
cultivated tone of his style and the brightness and
daintiness of his humour.
I shall, perforce, confine myself to some of
124 FISHERMAN'S LUCK
the fishing chapters, from which I propose to
appropriate a few choice bits in which I think
anglers would be interested.
When I was fishing on Lake Vyrnwy a few
years ago, I had a little adventure with Madame
Sandpiper and her little brood, which I gave an
account of in By Meadow and Stream. I was,
on that account, particularly interested in reading
Mr Van Dyke's adventure with a Canadian sand-
piper. I must quote his description of it in full
" I was walking up the Ristigouche, from Camp
Harmony to Mowett's Rock, where my canoe was
waiting for me, to fish for salmon. As I stepped
out from a thicket on to the shingly bank of the
river a spotted sandpiper teetered along before me,
followed by three young ones. Frightened at first,
she flew out a few feet over the water ; but the
piperlings could not fly, having no feathers, and
they crept under a crooked log. I rolled the log
over very gently, and took one of the cowering
creatures into my hand a tiny palpitating scrap
of life, covered with soft grey down, and peeping
shrilly like a Liliputian chicken. And now the
mother was transformed. Her face was changed
into fury. She was a bully, a fighter, an amazon
in feathers. She flew at me with loud cries,
dashing herself almost into my face ; I was a
tyrant, a robber, a kidnapper, and she called
heaven to witness that she would never give up her
offspring without a struggle. Then she changed
her tactics, and appealed to my baser passions.
FISHERMAN'S LUCK 125
She fell to the ground, and fluttered around me
as if her wings were broken. ' Look ! ' she seemed
to say, ' I am bigger than that poor little baby.
If you must eat something, eat me ! My wing is
lame, I can't fly. You can easily catch me. Let
that little bird go ! ' And so I did ; and the whole
family disappeared in the bushes as if by magic."
Mr Rudyard Kipling, in a letter to the editor
of the Fishing Gazette a few months ago, in a
reply to a previous suggestion that he had taken
Pacific Coast salmon with the fly, said : "In the
language of the immortal Jorrocks, spoon ! spoon !
spoon ! ' Fly ' is a slip of the rod. Those brutes
won't rise to it." Still the question, " Do Salmon
take the Fly in Salt Water?" is an open question.
Mr Van Dyke was once fishing on a fair little
river, the P'tit Saguenay, with two friends, who had
done all that could be done to secure sport, but
the weather was " dour " and the water " drumly,"
and every day the lumbermen sent a "drive" of
ten thousand spruce logs rushing down the flooded
stream. Not having seen a salmon for four days,
they went down into the tide water of the greater
Saguenay.
"There, in the salt water, where men say the
salmon never take the fly, H. E. G , fishing with
a small trout rod, a poor, short line, and an ancient
Red Ibis of the common kind, rose and hooked a
lordly salmon of at least 35 Ibs. Was not this
pure luck f . . . Four times that great fish leaped
into the air ; twice he suffered the pliant reed to
126 FISHERMAN'S LUCK
guide him toward the shore, and twice ran out
again to deeper water. Then his spirit awoke
within him, he bent the rod like a willow wand,
dashed toward the middle of the river, broke the
line as if it had been pack-thread, and sailed
triumphantly away to join the white porpoises that
were tumbling in the tide. ' Whe-e-eivj they said,
'"wke-e-ew, psha-a-aw} but what did H. E. G
say ? . . . ' Those porpoises,' said he, ' describe
the situation rather mildly, but it was good fun
while it lasted.'"
The Thrilling Moment is the title of a very
interesting chapter. In the autumn of 1894 Mr
Van Dyke, his friend Paul, and Ferdinand their
guide, went a-fishing for ouananiche in what he
calls the Unpronounceable river. It was the last
day with the land-locked salmon ; they found the
water coming down in flood. The stream was
bank-full, gurgling and eddying out among the
bushes, and rushing over the shoal where the fish
used to lie, in a brown torrent ten feet deep, and
their last day seemed destined to be a failure.
Paul wandered down-stream to look after an eddy
where he might pick up a small trout or two.
Ferdinand resigned himself without a sigh to the
consolation of eating blueberries, and our author,
more disconsolate than his comrades, sat down
among the rocks, and (to my gratified surprise)
took from his pocket An Amateur Angler's Days
in Dovedale, and settled down "to read himself
into a Christian frame of mind."
FISHERMAN'S LUCK 127
I need not say that I regard this simple state-
ment as the highest compliment that could be
paid the "A. A."
But the consolation to be derived from reading
that little book was not needed ; it came in another
and quite unexpected way, the whole aspect of
affairs was suddenly changed. " Despondency
vanished and the river glistens with the beams of
rising hope."
" My immediate duty was to get within casting
distance of that salmon as soon as possible. The
way along the shore of the pool was difficult.
The bank was very steep, and the rocks by the
river's edge were broken and glibbery. Presently
I came to a sheer wall of stone, perhaps thirty
feet high, rising directly from the deep water.
. . . The ledge in the rock now came to an end,
but below me in the pool there was a sunken reef,
and on this reef a long log had caught, with one
end sticking out of the water within jumping
distance. It was the only chance. To go back
would have been dangerous. An angler with a
large family dependent on him has no right to
incur unnecessary perils. Besides, the fish was
waiting for me in the pool ! So I jumped ; landed
on the edge of the log ; felt it settle slowly down ;
ran along it like a small boy on a see-saw, and
leaped off into shallow water just as the log rolled
from the ledge and lunged out into the stream. . . .
The ' all ashore ' bell was not rung early enough.
I just got off with not half-a-second to spare."
128 FISHERMAN'S LUCK
After struggling to act deliberately, being him-
self of a precipitate nature, he set about selecting
his flies, and having at length selected two that
he thought fairly good, he laid them down on the
grass to look through his book for something
better, but finding nothing, he turned to pick up
those he had laid down, only to find they had
mysteriously vanished. Then he had a struggle
with naughty words, and at last concluded that
"precipitation is a fault, but deliberation in a
person of precipitate disposition is a vice."
Having exhausted his fly-book in casting flies
over that ouananiche which the fish would not
look at, he was about to give up in despair.
"At this psychological moment I heard behind
me a voice of hope the song of a grasshopper.
I believed that he was the destined lure for that
ouananiche, but it was hard to persuade him to
fulfil his destiny. I slapped at him with my hat,
but he was not there ; I grasped at him on the
bushes, and brought away 'nothing but leaves.'
At last he made his way to the very edge of the
water, and poised himself on a stone, with his legs
tucked in for a long leap and a bold flight to the
other side of the river. I made a desperate grab
at it, and caught the grasshopper. . . . When that
kri-karee went floating down the stream, the
ouananiche was surprised. It was the I4th of
September, and he had supposed the grasshopper
season was over. The unexpected temptation was
too strong for him. He rose with a rush, and in
FISHERMAN S LUCK. TI1KII.I.[N<; MOMKNT.---/. 12
FISHERMAN'S LUCK 129
an instant I was fast to the best land-locked
salmon of the year. . . . My rod weighed only
4^ ozs. ; the fish weighed between 6 Ibs. and 7 Ibs. ;
the water was furious and headstrong ; I had only
thirty yards of line, and no landing-net.
" ' Hold. ! Ferdinand] I cried. l Apporte la nette^
vite ! A beauty ! Hurry up ! ' . . .
" A dozen times he leapt from the water, but at
last he was played out, and came in quietly
towards the point of the rock. At the same
moment Ferdinand appeared with the net. . . .
Ferdinand is the best netsman in the Lake St
John country. . . . Just at the right instant he
made one quick, steady swing of the arms, and
the head of the net broke clean off the handle
and went floating away with the fish in it !
"All seemed to be lost; but Ferdinand was
equal to the occasio. . He seized a long crooked
stick that lay in a pile of driftwood on the shore,
sprang into the water up to his waist, caught the
net as it drifted past, and dragged it to land, with
the ultimate ouananiche, the prize of the season,
still glittering through its meshes. This is the
story of my most thrilling moments as an angler."
The picture represents the thrilling moment
when the ouananiche was led into temptation by
the grasshopper.
CHAPTER XVI
ANIMALS OF TO-DAY
WHEN I was young I saw visions, and when I
grew old I dreamed dreams of some time
or other, always in the dim vista of a
distant future, breaking the chain which binds me
to the "madding crowd's ignoble strife," and of
taking my departure to some rural spot where I
might uninterruptedly devote my leisure to the
study of Nature, and particularly to that form
of it which Izaak Walton calls "the contemplative
man's recreation." It is many years since I
crossed the Rubicon, beyond whose limits the
Psalmist declares our " strength to be but labour and
sorrow," and I yet, foolish dreamer ! still dream on of
" Meadows trim and daisies pied,
Shallow brooks and rivers wide,"
where the chief employment of my idle time,
" not idly spent," would be the practice of the art
of angling ; " a rest to the mind, a cheerer of
the spirits, a calmer of unquiet thoughts, a diverter
ANIMALS OF TO-DAY 181
of sadness, a procurer of contentedness," as said
Sir Henry Wotton.
But now, alas ! I am beginning to realize that
these are but the "phantoms of hope," never to
be realized ; and yet, in one sense, I may regard
myself as a mere youth when I compare my age
with that of " the good old man," Dr Nowell, once
Dean of St Paul's, who attained the age of ninety-
five. " His age neither impaired his hearing, nor
dimmed his eyes, nor weakened his memory, nor
made any of the faculties of his mind weak and
useless." Now, this good old man, says Walton,
" spent a tenth part of his time in angling, and it
is said that angling and temperance were great
causes of these blessings."
Izaak Walton says of that "undervaluer of
money," Sir Henry Wotton, that when he was
beyond seventy years he made this description of
a part of the pleasure which possessed him, as
he sat quietly on a summer's evening on a bank
a-fishing, from which I quote the two first verses,
although I know that they are familiar to all
anglers
" This day Dame Nature seemed to love :
The lusty sap began to move ;
Fresh juice did stir th" embracing vines,
And birds had drawn their valentines.
" The jealous trout that low did lie,
Rose at the well-dissembled fly ;
There stood my friend with patient skill,
Attending of his trembling quill."
132 ANIMALS OF TO-DAY
And surely it was angling and temperance com-
bined that prolonged the days of Izaak Walton
himself to the age of ninety, notwithstanding the
troublous times in which he lived. <
Charles Lamb, who himself greatly preferred
" the pavements of the motley Strand to mountains
and romantic dales, and all that fantastic stuff,"
bore most interesting testimony to the charm of
Walton. I unexpectedly came across the following
lines in Keble's Christian Year, a little volume, by
the way, perhaps not very familiar to anglers in
general, but well suited for the side-pocket when
they go a-fishing
" Oh, who shall tell how calm and sweet,
Meek Walton ! seems thy green retreat,
When wearied with the tale thy times disclose,
The eye first finds thee out in thy secure repose."
With these great exemplars before me I will not
all hope abandon of yet finding " a green retreat "
before the final retreat under the green sod.
" We are such stuff as dreams are made of,
And our little life is rounded by a sleep."
I think it was from a feeling akin to envy which
arose within me on reading a book entitled,
ANIMALS OF TO-DAY : THEIR LIFE AND CON-
VERSATION, By C. J. CORNISH, so full of country
life, that led me into so long a digression about my
own pent-up existence in a great city, and to
" babble o' green fields " beyond my reach. I have
read it with much pleasure, and have found in it
ANIMALS OF TO-DAY 188
much information about a great variety of animals
written in a familiar and attractive style.
In some chapters we are told how certain wild
animals have managed to maintain themselves
during the bad times of the nineteenth century ;
" their shifts and expedients, and personal idiosyn-
crasies, and instances of their survival under
difficulties. . . . Other chapters deal with the
wonderful progress of the domestic kinds."
My own knowledge of animals being more or
less confined to the domestic cat, for which
animal I have at best but a moderate liking, and
at worst a very distinct aversion, I will quote a
few lines of what Mr Cornish has to say about
them
" The number of cats in London," he says (his
authority being the Daily Mat/), " is four hundred
thousand." Surely that must be a very low
estimate ; there must be more cats than dogs in
this vast metropolis, and yet I have seen it stated
that about a tenth of that number of dogs (say
forty thousand) is annually murdered by the
police, for no other crime than having shuffled
off their miserable muzzles ! Now, if it be allowed
that one-tenth of the dogs of London were
thus ruthlessly destroyed, it would bring the total
number of London dogs to the same number
as the cats ; but, after all, I leave the matter in
the competent hands of Mr Cornish and the
Daily Mail correspondent, whose figures are
doubtless derived from actual counting of the
184 ANIMALS OF TO-DAY
cats, while I have certainly not counted the dogs.
Of the above number of cats* half are said to be
of the happy domestic kind, and half of the wild,
" unattached," starved, homeless sort. Now, if the
police would destroy all unattached cats, and leave
the dogs alone, they would earn the gratitude
instead of the anathemas of the community at
large. It seems, however, that even these poor
creatures are not wholly to be despised, for it is
largely owing to these starved wretches that
London is preserved from a plague of rats ; it
is through their vigilance that "in most parts of
London rats have been driven underground into
the sewers by the warfare of cats."
"The London cat," says Mr Cornish, " is sleepy
and quiet all day," but it is unnecessary to be told
that " he is an early riser," for we all know it to our
sorrow. " In summer mornings, from four A.M. to
five A.M., London ceases to belong to the world of
men, and is given up to the sole enjoyment of
London birds and London cats." Then it is, alas !
or long before then, that the sleepless biped is
aroused from his first short sleep by the exasperat-
ing howls and unearthly screams of cats on the
lawn under his bedroom window.
As I have said, I am but moderately fond of
even a respectable, quiet, home-bred cat. The one
that looks after my mice is perfectly black, his
coat is thick and glossy not a speck of white on
him. He is now about four years old, and has
seen and suffered much affliction in his time. One
ANIMALS OF TO-DAY 186
evening, two years since, "he would a- wooing go,
whether his missis would let him or no ! " and he
was terribly punished for his disobedience.
He did not come back for a fortnight, and he
was mourned as lost. At length, however, his
missis (our cook) heard a faint wailing down the
garden. She doted on him, and so ran out to
see what was the matter and what an object
met her view ! There was Charlie, but he was wild,
he would not come near her. He was ashamed,
no doubt, of his personal appearance, for he was
literally nothing but skin and bones there was
not a particle of hair or fur on his whole body
his skin was bare as parchment. It was quite
evident that some inhuman two-legged beast had
caught him, and probably dipped him in petroleum
and then set him afire. He was truly a heart-
rending spectacle. His missis shed tears, mostly
because he wouldn't come near her. She put down
food for him in the garden, and when there was no
one near he would come up and greedily devour
it. This went on for a day or two. At last she
coaxed him into the kitchen, and there he was
tenderly nursed for many a day, till his hair began
to grow again, and he gradually became a cheerful,
happy cat. Now he is a picture of grave respect-
ability. There is no frolicsome nonsense about
him all that has been burnt out of him. He is
mostly confined to the kitchen, and he knows his
position exactly. Formerly he was given to
scratching my dining-room chairs to pieces, so he
186 ANIMALS OF TO-DAY
had to be sent away. He comes up, however, at
breakfast-time, rubs himself against my legs, looks
up at me, and cries " Mew ! " by which he means
to say, " Good-morning ! How are you ? Have
you used ? " I reply, " Good-morning, Charlie ! "
pat him and stroke him, and then he toddles off
down-stairs. He never shows the least desire to
eat anything ; his only object is to show himself,
ask after my health, and then to retire. Notwith-
standing this friendly familiarity indoors, if I meet
him in the garden he is off like a shot ; he won't
come near me. Clearly, he still retains some bitter
memory of the past, and suspects even me. Only
this morning I met him, and he shot away as usual ;
but that was owing to his guilty conscience, for I
found he had been scratching big holes in the beds
which the gardener had only yesterday neatly
covered over with tan to protect the young bulbs
such is the aggravating nature of even the best
of cats ! As for his torturers, I charitably hope
some day to see them tarred and feathered on
Hampstead Heath.
Mr Cornish tells us that the North-American
puma is positively friendly to man, and quotes
many instances of this friendliness. I may say,
that when I was travelling in the Rocky Moun-
tains some years ago, I encountered one of these
remarkable animals. He is without the mane
of the African lion, is much smaller, and of a
more genial aspect, and the opinion I formed
of him entirely coincides with and confirms Mr
ANIMALS OF TO-DAY 187
Cornish's reports. He stood in the centre of the
large hall of the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel,
in the Yellowstone Park. A card which he held
firmly in his mouth invited me to "meet him by
moonlight alone." I declined the invitation, but
according to all accounts I should have met with
a most friendly reception. As an instance of this,
Mr Cornish tells of a gentleman, "who was
going up one of the rivers in Venezuela in his
steam launch, and gave a passage to a Cornish
miner, who was going up to the goldfields. The
passenger, who was an elderly man, usually slung
his hammock on shore. One morning, being
asked how he had slept, he complained that the
frogs had wakened him by croaking near his
hammock. Some Indians who had been taking
down the hammock laughed, and being asked the
reason, still laughing, said, ' O, tiger sleep with
old man last night.' " " They had satisfied them-
selves that a puma had been lying just under the
hammock, and it was probably the satisfied purring
of the puma, which had enjoyed the pleasure of
sleeping 'in the next berth' below a man, that
had wakened the occupant of the hammock."
In the chapter on "Animals as Colonists,"
Mr Cornish says that nearly all the domestic
animals now in Australia and New Zealand are of
British origin ; there are now in round numbers
one hundred and eleven millions of sheep, nine
millions of cattle, and one million three hundred
thousand horses. The English rabbit and the
188 ANIMALS OF TO-DAY
English sparrow are the only unwelcome guests ;
but I am told that for the rabbit, now so terribly
prolific in Australia, there has been found another
market, soon to be developed.
THE CUCKOO.
In that very pleasant book by Mr G. A. B. Dewar,
Wild Life in Hampshire Highlands, the author
has a good deal to say about my favourite, the
cuckoo, that singular bird so often heard and so
rarely seen, excepting at a distance and on the
wing. Not long ago I made a closer acquaintance
with a cuckoo than I had ever had before. Early
in June 1899 I was lounging on the lawn of a country
house in Buckinghamshire watching the children
playing croquet, when a French lady came up to
me with a strange bird in her hands. " Voila !
monsieur," cried she, "c'est un coucou, n'est-ce-pas ?"
"Ah, oui, madame," said I, "c'est une chose extra-
ordinaire." The bird apparently in its headlong
flight had accidentally dashed through the bath-
room window, either in pursuit of, or being pursued
by a bevy of small birds, who have no friendly feeling
towards this robber of their nests and murderer of
their young ; and there she captured it. It was
a lovely young specimen, in its finest plumage.
I had never seen one so near at hand before. The
youngsters all wanted to keep it in a cage, but I
felt sure that it would soon die in captivity, and so
ANIMALS OF TO-DAY 189
reluctantly we let it off. Away it flew, and soon
we heard its joyful if slightly monotonous old
familiar song in the distant wood.
I gather from Mr Dewar that the great Doctor
Jenner, the discoverer of vaccination for the cure
of smallpox, was an observant ornithologist. He
made a note of the fact that he had seen " a young
cuckoo just hatched and quite blind thrust out
both a young bird and an egg which were the
rightful occupants of the usurped nest."
Jenner's story has not been accepted by all
naturalists. Waterton poured contemptuous ridicule
upon it. Whether a few-hours-old cuckoo could
get the bird upon its back, climb up and throw it
overboard or not may be still open to question ;
but the fact that cuckoos do deposit their eggs
in the nests of other birds has long been settled.
Gilbert White has much to say on the subject.
Mr Dewar himself gives an interesting account
of his discovery of a " hideous young bird, naked,
blind, and glistening as though it had been
polished," in a wren's nest, out of which the
wren's eggs had been ejected, three of which were
found on the ground. He concluded that this
feeble, helpless log could not possibly have ejected
the eggs, and that they must have been thrown
out by the wrens themselves, or by the old cuckoo.
What will, of course, be of special interest to
anglers, is the chapter on Angling in Hampshire,
chiefly on the Test and its tributaries, a chapter
of pleasant experiences, interesting theories, and
140 ANIMALS OF TO-DAY
piscatorial adventures, which will give rise to
pleasant reminiscences, and perhaps excite some
questionings in the minds of anglers who have
fished the Test and the Itchen, and who, of course,
have their pet theories on every question that can
be raised on the various modes of capturing the
well-educated trout in these delightful ri\ ers.
THE END
OLIVER AND BOYD, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
TTAOE AT KINO'S WEIR, RIVER LEA.
Books by "THE AMATEUR ANGLER."
FRANK'S RANCHE; or, My Holidays in the
Rockies, 1885. 5s.
This book went through Five Editions. The fifth edition is
quite out of print, but a few copies of the third edition may still
be had.
AN AMATEUR ANGLER'S DAYS IN DOVE-
DALE. Imp. 32mo, is. and is. 6d.
The Atherurum said of it "Written with much brightness and
considerable literary skill."
Standard " Exceptionally bright and genial style."
HOW STANLEY WROTE "IN DARKEST
AFRICA." Crown 8vo, with numerous Illustra-
tions, boards, is.
FRESH WOODS AND PASTURES NEW, l6mo, is.
Nature said " Both in subject and treatment it is a gem."
Saturday Review "A real acquisition to lovers of natural
history."
Athetueunt " ' Amateur Angler ' writes as agreeably as ever."
DAYS IN CLOVER. i6mo, is.
The Daily News said " Delightful records of holidays by river
and lake side."
World " He is a lover of the country, a naturalist who describes
all he sees with good taste and hearty appreciation."
Mr ANDREW LANG in The Illustrated Neivs " Delightful to
the contemplative man."
Athcntrum "Another pleasant contribution to literature."
Scotsman " They are brightly written."
THORPE RUFF, RIVER DOVE.
Books by "The Amateur Angler" (continued}.
BY MEADOW AND STREAM. Pleasant
Memories of Pleasant Places.
25 numbered copies, printed on Japanese vellum, 125., and 250
copies India proofs, 6s., all sold. Cheap edition, illustrated, cloth,
gilt edges, is. 6d. Boards, is.
The Athenceum said " Another of those tasteful and agreeable
volumes for which the public is his debtor."
Speaker " There are passages in it of quite idyllic charm."
Daily News " Describes country sights and sounds with in-
spiring freshness and genuine love of his subject."
Globe " He knows how to write charmingly about the pastime
which he loves."
Leeds Mercury " Has the freshness of new-mown hay."
World " His quiet humour reminds us of Elia, while his close
observation has the charm of Thoreau. "
Pall Mall Gazette " It is extremely well written."
Star " It is a charming little book."
ON A SUNSHINE HOLYDAY. In one volume,
fcp. 8vo, large paper, printed on hand-made (Van
Gelder) paper, pp. 160, with 16 full-page Illustra-
tions printed on India paper mounted, half-bound
Roxburghe, price 6s. net. A few copies still remain
unsold. (Only 250 copies printed for England and
America, numbered and signed by the writer.)
Also cheap edition, pott 8vo, cloth extra, price
is. 6d.
The Athenceum "His new volume will be found as attractive
as its predecessors."
The World " Shows the author of 'Days in Dovedale ' at his
best."
ENTRANCE TO DOVEDALK.
EDITION DE LUXE, in a Vols. Royal $to t each copy numbered
and signed ; to Subscribers, Ten Guineas net (nearly all
sold).
The DEMY QUARTO EDITION, bound in half-morocco, gilt top,
Five Guineas net.
WALTON AND COTTON'S
The Compleat Angler
The Lea and Dove Illustrated Edition.
(The loo/A Edition.')
Edited by R. B. MARSTON.
The principal feature of this Edition is a set of 54 Full-
page Photogravures, printed from Copper Plates, on
fine Plate Paper, of Views on the Lea, Dove, &c.,
and about loo other Illustrations.
The Times " The edition which celebrates the centenary of
' The Compleat Angler ' is altogether worthy of the immortal work.
Mr Marston, the Editor of the ' Fishing Gazette,' who is known as
a 'deacon of the craft,' has grudged neither time, nor money, nor
labour in perfecting these two magnificent volumes. The wide and
practical knowledge of the publisher has gratified and satisfied the
sympathies of the editor. The type and paper make a masterpiece
of mechanical work, and the exquisite photogravures with which the
volumes are embellished leave little or nothing to be desired."
St James's Gaxettc "The noblest gift-book that has been issued
for many years."
NEAR ASHBO'JRNE, RIVER DOVE.
SOME IMPORTANT ANGLING WORKS.
Nfw Volume of " The Book Lover's Library."
WALTON AND SOME EARLIER WRITERS
ON FISH AND PISHING. By R. B. MARS-
TON. Printed on antique paper, in cloth bevelled,
with rough edges, price 45. 6d.
HOW TO TIE SALMON -FLIES. With about
Seventy Wood Engravings, and Dressing of Forty
Flies. By CAPTAIN HALE, East Lancashire Regi-
ment. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, I2s. 6d.
FLOAT FISHING AND SPINNING IN THE
NOTTINGHAM STYLE. By J. W. MARTIN,
the " Trent Otter." Coloured boards, Illustrated.
Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.
A HANDY GUIDE TO DRY-FLY FISHING.
By COTSWOLD ISYS, M.A. Illustrated. Third and
revised Edition. Crown 8vo, boards, is,
RECOLLECTIONS OF FLY-FISHING FOR
SALMON, TROUT, AND GRAYLING. By
EDWARD HAMILTON, M.D., F.L.S., &c. Illus-
trated. New Edition. Small post 8vo, cloth extra,
6s.
HOW AND WHERE TO FISH IN IRELAND.
By Hi REGAN. With Map and numerous Text
Illustrations. Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.
LONDON : SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY, LTD.
St Dunstan's House, Fetter Lane, E.G.
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
Los Angeles
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.
Form L9-40m-7,'56(C790s4)444
THE LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
1C SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY
A 001 173 012 4
SH
U39
1901
