B J X ,. 1 1 E Y ^ 
 
 I LIBRARY 
 
 I UMVERSaY OF 
 V CALIFORNIA 
 
 Traented to 
 
 'i 
 
 with the K^nd %egardi and ^est Wishes 
 f of the 
 
 \ <tAMArEUR Angler. . 
 
 \ % 
 
 \ -^- ^ I 
 
V 
 
Of this Editwn on Van Gelder^s hand- 
 made paper two hundred and fifty 
 copies have been printed. ^ ^ ^^ 
 
BY MEADOW AND STREAM 
 
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR, 
 
 Uniform i6mo volumes, boards, is. ecich. 
 
 AN AMATEUR ANGLER'S DAYS IN 
 DOVE DALE. 
 
 FRESH WOODS AND PASTURES NEW. 
 
 DAYS IN CLOVER. 
 
 HOW STANLEY WROTE *' IN DARKEST 
 AFRICA." 
 
 FRANK'S RANCHE ; or, My Holiday in 
 THE Rockies. Fourth Edition, crown 8vo, 
 cloth, 5J. 
 
 London : Sampson low, Marston, & Company, 
 
 Limited, 
 St. Dunstan's House, Fetter Lane, Fleet Street. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/bymeadowstreamplOOmarsrich 
 
\ 
 
 7. 
 O 
 
By Meadow and Stream 
 
 PLEASANT MEMORIES OF 
 PLEASANT PLACES 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AMATEUR ANGLER 
 
 " Such were the days— of days long past I sing, 
 When pride gave place to mirth without a sting." 
 
 Bloomfield. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON AND COMPANY 
 
 Limited 
 
 St. Bunstan's i^ouse 
 
 Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, E.G. 
 
 1896 
 
Meadow, where the young grass gleams, or darkens, according 
 to the flowing of the breath of Spring ; copse, where the rod 
 must be carried low, because of the catkins and the crenelled 
 leaves fluttering their new gloss against the fleecy sky ; prim- 
 rose, that may be any colour it thinks fit — for who could take 
 two looks at it now ? And then the sly wink of a very know- 
 ing Stream, and the sound even sweeter than our true love's 
 "Ves" — the silvery flop of a big trout rising in the limpid alcove 
 from which we mean to haul him'out. For all the above joys, 
 see within ! 
 
 Other delights of nature, too, (so freely aff"orded to the heart of 
 man, that his small perception multiplies them,) into the bower 
 of the memory come gliding, or jump, upon encouragement, 
 the steps of hope ; whenever a friend (whose accuracy has for 
 many years been proven) tells us of the young renewal, which a 
 good man only can achieve by tracing, in the latter days, the 
 quiet outset of the path which has straightened — but not 
 straitened — in the push and hurry of the less Idyllic life. 
 
 R. D. Blackmore. 
 January, 1896. 
 
\.^ n Co vj ^ 
 
 M^l^ 
 
 Hetrtcatetr 
 
 BY PERMISSION TO THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 "LORNA DOONE." 
 
 Dear Mr. Blackmore, 
 
 My best thanks are due to you, not only for 
 permitting me to associate your name of world-wide 
 fame with that of a mere tt mbra, a lover of the thymy 
 grayling, an amateur, as well with the pen as with 
 the angle, but also for allowing me to print the 
 graceful tribute to the pleasure of angling, which 
 you have so kindly written for me. My only regret is 
 that my little book is not more worthy of your 
 acceptance. 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 The Amateur Angler. 
 
 311 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 ipVHOOD, fori?img Chapter I. of this little 
 book, now appears in print for the first 
 time. My desire in writing it was to en- 
 deavour to present to some of my friends — 
 especially to those *^ itz city pent ^^ — a picture of my 
 early life on a farm, a lovely, picturesque old place 
 on the Welsh Borders. I am conscious that I have not 
 realized my ideal in this sketch of some of the incidents 
 of the first, shortest, and most happy years of my life, 
 . It was a ti7ne of the most healthful, outdoor employ- 
 ment — a time of active enjoyfnejtt of all good things 
 about me. I found 
 
 ** Tongues in trees ^ books in the running brooks. 
 Sermons in stones ^ aftd good in everything." 
 
 Writing as a septuagenarian, I can with all thank- 
 fidness attribute the measure of good health which I now 
 enjoy, and the freedom from most of the infirmities 
 which too often accompaiiy old age, to the pure air, con- 
 stant outdoor exercise, and wholesoine life and living in 
 which I was trained in those early days. 
 Doubtless it was the pleasant mernories of these boyish 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 days that have reawakened the charm of angling which 
 has been to 7ne some solatium for the sorrow and 
 solitude of old age » 
 
 *' In ^pastures green ' ? Not always ; sometitnes He 
 Who knoweth besty in kindness leadeth rne 
 In weary ways, where heavy shadows be." 
 
 The remaining chapters are a bringing together^ 
 with sundry alterations and additions, of papers which 
 {as was the case with my other volumes) I have occa- 
 sionally contributed to " The Fishing Gazette.^^ I am 
 grateful for the very kind reception accorded to my 
 previous volu?nes. This kindness has, perhaps, niade 
 me too bold in venturing once more to claim indulgence 
 which I am quite sure is much needed. 
 
 *^* The illustrations in this volume are mostly from 
 photographs taken by ''^ Pise at or Major'''' and my 
 son-in-law, A. C, Z. 
 
 A, A. 
 London, 
 February^ 1896. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER lA 
 
 nOYHOOD.— An old farmhouse — Birds and eggs- 
 Fighting shells — Fighting nuts — Nutting — Shoot- 
 ing — Rat-catching— Sparrow pie — My pony — A sad 
 tragedy — An awful accident — Trouble — Dangerous 
 use of firearms — Fearful gun accident — Harvest 
 home — A lovely little river — Christmasing — My first journey 
 to London — My jubilee year 1-23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 An Easter Outing (and Inning). April 15M, 1893. — 
 Splendid March — Gilbert White's weather record — Troubles 
 — Netting for jack — Coming to grief in a quicksand 24-31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Spring AND Summer Rambles. Augjist xith, 1893. — Worthing 
 — Over the Downs to Chanctonbury Ring — Snakes and 
 adders — Best cure for adder's bite — Drive through Arundel 
 Park — First cuckoo and nightingales — Shanklin — Old 
 Roman villa — Alum Bay— Two Cuckoos— Martin caught by 
 "barbed betrayer" — Three playful stoats — The Lugg — 
 Lovely scenery — Remarkable rainbow — The Teme — Con- 
 tinued drought 32-43 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A Week with Hampshire Grayling. September isi/t, 1893. 
 — Drought — Herons — Stoat and mouse — Hawk attacked 
 by two rooks— An interesting fight — Success with the 
 grayling 44-53 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Chub. December 16th, 1893. — Have never eaten chub — Walton's 
 appreciation of chub — An irreverent disciple says it tastes 
 like "cotton wool and hairpins" — Walton gives chub to 
 milkmaid— Meadow placards— Beecham's Pills, Little Liver 
 Pills, etc 54-62 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Some March Jottings. March ijih, 1894. — A promising 
 schoolboy — Cleopatra — *' Give me mine angle " — Enthu- 
 siastic angler who takes note of nothing but his float — Wood 
 ants — A globular sack of spiders — Frogs — Shakespeare's 
 flowers — A visit to Ann Hathaway's cottage — A posy of 
 spring flowers from her garden — Amusing questions — Signs 
 of foul weather — Have bees the sense of hearing? . 63-71 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Our Holiday in Wild Wales. — The happy valley— Men of 
 the great city visit it— They covet the water of the river — 
 Carry the water away in tubes and aqueducts— Villages 
 and churches drowned in the lake — View of lake from hotel 
 — We go a-fishing — Caught five and a half brace — Tom 
 Parry the boatman and bard — Drive round the lake — 
 Extraordinary catch of over 2,000 chub — Tumble into the 
 source of the river — Our first catch of chub— Sandpipers 
 and chicks 72-83 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A Ride over the Mountains. — A twenty-two mile ride over 
 the mountains to Bala — Lovely scenery — Jenny Jones — 
 Plascoch Hotel — A charming ancient hostelry — Ancient 
 furniture — Oliver Cromwell's bed — The Vale of Edeirion — 
 Queen's visit to Pal6 — Bala whisky — Bala water to supply 
 London — A charming ride back to hotel — Forty miles in all 
 
 84-92 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A Day in Elysian Fields. — A wet day on the Ver — Fishing 
 a failure — Trout tailing — In a shed not waterproof — Lark's 
 nest — A lecture on cruelty to birds — A solitary trout — A 
 run to catch train — Too late — A pleasant pub. and a good 
 supper 93-102 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Grayling. — A good day with "Red Spinner" and the Major 
 — The Professor — "Red Spinner" spins yams — Professor 
 instructs us on the virtues of black pepper and West India 
 sugar — "Red Spinner" clings to "the Shoulder of Mut- 
 ton " and makes a full bag of big grayling — The Major 
 becomes a rover, but captures seven brace of splendid 
 grayling — The Professor instructs the A. A., who is fairly 
 successful 103-111 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ' Little Rivers." — What is the test of a river? "The power 
 to drown a man," says the author of " Lorna Doone" — A 
 lovely afternoon — The "milking bridge" — A vision— May- 
 fly fishing in the olden time — A rambling review of " Little 
 Rivers," a charming book by Mr. Van Dyke — Do hornets 
 bite? 112-127 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Four Men in a Boat. — A trip down the Wye — River unusually- 
 low — Seven hours to do twenty miles — Difficulties over- 
 come — A cow in the water — A calf ditto — Lovely scenery — 
 Election day at Hereford 128-134 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Walton and Cotton's Fishing House 
 Springtime on the Farm 
 Meadows and Elms, Old Farm . 
 Viaduct Cottage, Old Farm 
 
 Pollard Oak 
 
 The Lugg — among the Shobden Woods 
 
 View on the Lugg 
 
 Statue of Izaak Walton .... 
 
 Milkmaid's Song 
 
 View in Dove Dale 
 
 View on Lake Vyrnwy 
 
 Hotel in distance. Superintendent's House 
 Our first catch of Chub .... 
 
 More Chub 
 
 The Lugg in Flood 
 
 The Wye — very low water .... 
 
 page 
 frontispiece 
 toface I 
 
 16 
 32 
 41 
 50 
 S6 
 70 
 72 
 76 
 
 79 
 82 
 112 
 128 
 
' }M3^^m£B£i7', 
 
BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 An old farmhouse — Birds and eggs — Fighting shells — Fight- 
 ing nuts — Nutting — Shooting — Rat-catching — Sparrow pie — 
 My pony — A sad tragedy — An awful accident — Trouble — 
 Dangerous use of firearms — Fearful gun accident — Harvest 
 home — A lovely little river — Christmasing — My first journey to 
 London — My jubilee year. 
 
 " Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom. 
 
 For sportive youth to stray in ; 
 For manhood to enjoy his strength, 
 
 And age to wear away in ! " 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 WAS born in the country. My boyhood 
 was spent in an old farmhouse, and few 
 boys ever led a happier life than was mine 
 for the first fifteen years. I was at ease 
 with my surroundings, in sympathy and harmony 
 with all things about me. I had a personal ac- 
 quaintance with all the bipeds, feathered and un- 
 
2 BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 feathered, and all quadrupeds of fur, or hair, or 
 wool. 
 
 I knew where every hen laid her eggs, in the hay- 
 lofts, or stable-manger, in a bunch of nettles, or out 
 in the hedgerows. The turkeys had no secrets from 
 me. I knew all their odd ways, how they would 
 trample on smaller poultry with scornful indifference, 
 and I have witnessed a pitched battle with a neigh- 
 bouring clan.^ I have laughed at their strategic 
 manoeuvres to catch each other by the lower jaw, and 
 then hold on till grim death or some outward ob- 
 stacle separated them ; that was their manner of 
 battle : they never used wings or legs, with them 
 there was no sparring or spurring and flapping of 
 wings. 
 
 Birds and Eggs. 
 
 ** Beautiful birds of lightsome wing, 
 
 Bright creatures that come with the voice of spring, 
 
 We see you arrayed in the hues of morn, 
 
 Yet ye dream not of pride, and ye wist not of scorn." 
 
 HURDIS. 
 
 I knew every bird that haunted the buildings, the 
 garden, the hedgerows, and the surrounding woods, 
 and where to find their nests. I knew all their eggs, 
 and could tell their parentage from their colour, their 
 markings, and their size. Of birds we had an infinite 
 variety in the woods and dells that surrounded the 
 dear old place. 
 
 Of their flittings and migrations I knew little and 
 cared less. I welcomed them when they came, but I 
 don't think I noticed or missed them when they went 
 
 ' See " Fresh Woods and Pastures New," Letter V. 
 
BOYHOOD. 3 
 
 away. My knowledge of them was not obtained 
 from books, but from everyday observation. Of 
 course I knew about the swifts and swallows, their 
 presence or absence was too marked not to be noted. 
 Besides, I had seen hundreds of them in long rows on 
 the tops of barns start off all together at a given signal 
 to cross the sea, and not be seen again for many 
 months. The cuckoo's coming and going was another 
 matter which awakened lively interest. To give even 
 a list of the birds to be found on this one farm would 
 take up more space than can be spared. On looking 
 through a list of Herefordshire birds by the late Dr. 
 Bull,^ I find but few that I was not acquainted with. 
 
 At various times of my boyish career I kept a small 
 menagerie of beasts and birds — owls and guinea-pigs, 
 rabbits and squirrels, magpies, daws, and turtle-doves, 
 and at one time a young fox, though that artful 
 dodger soon found a way out of prison. 
 
 I have had many a narrow escape and many awk- 
 ward falls, from my propensity for climbing trees — any 
 tree that I could grip I could go up for magpies' or 
 jays' or rooks' nests ; but of all the nests I have seen 
 none were equal to those of Jenny Wren. They were 
 perfect little gems of moss lined with wool and hair, 
 covered over and cosy, the small entrance being at the 
 side. I have found them hanging on a small thorn bush 
 
 * Dr. Bull's " Notes on the Birds of Herefordshire " is a most 
 delightful book. He was an admirable ornithologist, and loved 
 the birds he describes so well. He mentions another charming 
 book, published in 1851, as being now out of print, " The Songs 
 of the Birds," by the Rev. W. E. Evans, Canon of Hereford. 
 It has since been reprinted and published by Sampson Low 
 and Company. 
 
4 By MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 standing by itself in a field — a tiny green nest, amid 
 green leaves, invisible but to the inquisitive eyes of a 
 boy, 
 
 " What nice hand, 
 With every implement and means of art, 
 And twenty years' apprenticeship to boot, 
 Could make me such another ? " 
 
 HURDIS. 
 
 Fighting Shells. 
 
 In the springtime we searched the hedgerows not 
 only for nests but for land shells — "snails' houses " as 
 we called them — not by any means with a scientific 
 motive. We knew all of them, it is true, that were 
 to be found on our farm, and we classified them, not 
 according to the proper order of the family Helicidce^ 
 but in strict recognition of their fighting qualities. 
 Those with the thickest and hardest points were classed 
 as A I, the rest were nowhere. The boy who possessed 
 a conquering shell, one that had smashed the tops of 
 all other shells in fair and honest fight, was regarded 
 as a conquering hero. 
 
 Fighting Nuts. 
 
 So, in the nutting season, we knew where to look 
 for, in hedge and coppice, the hardest kind of nuts 
 for pugilistic purposes. A hole carefully burnt 
 through the centre with a red-hot knitting-needle, a 
 strong piece of whipcord passed through it, with a 
 knot at the end to prevent it re-passing, a swinging 
 weapon was thus formed. Armed with this, two 
 boys would fight their nuts, each boy in turn placing 
 his stringed nut on the top of a felt hat or cap ; his 
 
BOYHOOD. 5 
 
 opponent swings his nut, and tries to smash the 
 other, this is done alternately : the nut that smashes 
 the other is conqueror. One good nut will sometimes 
 conquer scores or hundreds, and reign all through the 
 season, the happy possessor of such a weapon being 
 looked up to as to a king. 
 
 Nutting. 
 
 " But of all places at this season give me the nutwood, and 
 the old umbrageous lane, with its tall hazel thickets and hedges. 
 How many delightful days spent in these places with young 
 hearts and congenial souls come back upon the memory." — W. 
 
 HOWITT. 
 
 ** Then sprightly Carry shouts in French, 
 * All boys and girls come nutting.' " 
 
 R. D. B. 
 
 What a jolly time it was when we ran off, full of 
 glee, half a dozen of us, boys and girls together, to 
 the russet woods ; the lasses with baskets, the lads 
 with nut-hooks to pull down the hazel branches, all 
 overladen with the brownest of brown nuts. We 
 cracked our nuts, and with them our little jokes, 
 whilst the jealous squirrels up in the tall trees looked 
 down upon us, barking and scolding, afraid that we 
 should carry away all their winter provender : 
 
 " The copse, the lane, the meadow paths, 
 
 The valleys, banks, and hedges, 
 Were green with autumn's aftermath, 
 
 And gold with autumn's pledges. 
 
 " Wild rose, hung coral beads above. 
 And satchel'd nuts grew nigh them. 
 
 Like tips of a little maiden's glove 
 Ere ever she has to buy them." 
 
 R. D. Blackmore's Fringilla. 
 
6 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 Never since have I seen such woods for hazel 
 bushes, nor such bushes for profusion of nuts, '* brown 
 shellers " of the largest and sweetest kind. 
 
 Our baskets were soon filled, and we played **hide 
 
 and seek" in the bushes. We chased each other 
 
 home across the green meadows, and gaily looked 
 
 forward to the time for another such an autumn day, — 
 
 ** One of those heavenly days that cannot die " — 
 
 and hoped that our "sprightly Carry" would be there 
 and ready again to shout, 
 
 ** All boys and girls come nutting." 
 
 Shooting. 
 
 As boys of ten or twelve we were very unwisely 
 allowed the use of a gun. What glorious fun it was 
 (and wonderful that we did not shoot each other) 
 when we started off on a spring evening to the big 
 fields about a mile away from home, which were for a 
 long distance bounded by a wood. Here we stalked 
 and fired at scores of rabbits out in the field feeding 
 on the young oats and barley just peeping above the 
 ground. We fired through hedges or gates, and 
 sometimes we actually killed one. 
 
 Rat-catching. 
 
 Another fine time of excitement was when the rat- 
 catcher came with ferrets and half a dozen terriers to 
 clear the wheat ricks of rats and mice. Ferrets were 
 put into the runs, whilst dogs, men and boys with 
 clubs, stood in anxious expectancy all round the ricks. 
 Presently a rat makes a bolt, and Towser, or Bob, or 
 
BOYHOOD. 7 
 
 Vixen snaps him up, gives him one scrunch, and he was 
 as dead as the Sphinx. Hundreds of rats have I seen 
 killed in this way in a single day's sport. 
 
 Sparrow Pie. 
 
 Then wasn't it glorious when, on a dark winter's 
 night, we got one of the farm servants to arm himself 
 with a large "riddle," fixed on the end of a long 
 pikle (as it was called, or pitchfork), and a horn 
 lantern fixed at the back of it, and we all sallied forth to 
 the stackyard ? The riddle was carefully placed against 
 the eaves and sides of the rick, and — attracted by the 
 light and frightened by the rumpus — scores of sparrows 
 would fly out ; and that was how we got * * sparrow 
 pie." 
 
 My Pony. 
 
 Our farm was a very large one, and, as I have always 
 thought, beautiful in a romantic sense, because of the 
 great variety of its picturesque scenery, its undu- 
 lating green, lush meadows, its gigantic elms and 
 oaks, its woods of every kind of timber and shrub, 
 and its brimming river. Was I not proud when I was 
 first commissioned to ride my pony round, sometimes 
 to count sheep, ewes, and lambs, and see that the 
 shepherd was on duty on one side of the farm, and 
 then to gallop off to look after cattle and colts on the 
 other side ! 
 
 That was a plucky little brown mare of mine. I 
 one day rode her forty miles — ^galloping most of the 
 way. I had ridden with my father to market ten 
 miles away when he remembered that he had in his 
 
8 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 pocket a document which had to be delivered to the 
 revising barrister the same day at another town ten 
 miles off. He sent me off with it with all speed, and 
 I galloped all the way ; I got to the town hall, and 
 handed it to the venerable old gentleman who, I 
 remember, patted me on the head and said I was 
 the smallest churchwarden he had ever seen. Then 
 instead of going home, as I ought to have done, for 
 it was only seven miles, I galloped back to the other 
 town and caught my father who was just starting on his 
 return journey. My poor pony was in a white foam 
 from head to foot, and I got a severe reprimand for 
 my cruelty to the mare. I thought I deserved praise 
 for my pains, it never occurred to me that my willing 
 pony was a sufferer, and she had still to carry me ten 
 miles, but fortunately I was a light weight ; and after 
 a good rub down and bran mash she took me home 
 bravely . 
 
 A Sad Tragedy 
 
 was more than once mixed up with the comedy 
 of these boyish days. One of my uncles had taken 
 a fancy to and bought a beautiful bay pony which had 
 only partially been broken to harness, and had then 
 been turned out to grass with a number of young colts. 
 Several of the farm servants had been sent down to 
 the TorSf as the large woodland pasture of about 
 fifty acres was called, to bring the pony home. 
 
 I rode my pony with them ; we managed after 
 much scouting and shouting to drive the unruly herd 
 up into a corner of the field, and then to get a halter 
 over the pony's head, after many bolts. 
 
BOYHOOD. 9 
 
 Old Sam Griffiths succeeded in catching him. 
 No sooner had he mounted him, bare-backed, and 
 with only a halter on his head, than the pony bolted 
 after the colts. Sam was a good rider, and stuck on 
 manfully till the pony made a dash under the low, 
 spreading branches of a large oak tree. Sam was 
 struck against a big branch and fell on his head to the 
 ground. 
 
 When I galloped up to him I found him on his 
 back, his eyes half closed ; he gave a convulsive gasp 
 and was gone : his neck was broken. 
 
 Poor old Sam ! I have a vivid recollection of him 
 to this day. He was a little man with a large head, 
 and a very pleasant face, his hair reddish grey. 
 Whenever I have in after years seen the late Lord 
 John Russell, I have always been reminded of him. 
 
 The men soon came up and took proper care of him. 
 I galloped home full of the sad news. I was telling 
 my mother and sisters, I suppose in a very excited 
 way, forgetting that one of the servants was Sam's 
 daughter — and she was standing near. wShe uttered 
 a terrible scream and fell down in a swoon. 
 
 That was a time of lamentation and mourning in our 
 village, for old Sam Griffiths was beloved by all : his 
 daughter as I remember her was a pretty and modest 
 good girl. I was then but about twelve, and it 
 is curious how both of them, and, indeed, all the 
 people in the neighbourhood are still photographed in 
 my memory after nearly sixty years' buffeting with the 
 world. 
 
lo BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 An Awful Accident. 
 
 Not long after this another terrible accident occurred 
 which caused a sensation not only in our village but 
 throughout the county. 
 
 They were repairing a pump at our school, which 
 was supplied from a deep well. A workman had 
 gone down in a bucket without testing the air ; he 
 gave no sign of returning ; another man went down ; 
 he too made no sign ; a third man went down, and no 
 sign came up from him. Then the bystanders became 
 alarmed — the headmaster and the second classical 
 master were at their wits' end, when the drawing- 
 master came on the scene. He immediately sent a 
 lighted candle down, which was at once extinguished ; 
 it was thus he discovered that there was carbonic acid 
 gas down below, and he nobly, at the risk of his life, 
 volunteered to go down ; he knew the risk. He 
 placed a piece of wood between his teeth to prevent 
 their closing, and down he went with ropes and 
 proper tackle : presently he was hauled up with one of 
 the men — dead. Down again, and up with a second. A 
 third time he descended and successfully brought up the 
 third ; then, although all but dead himself, he set himself 
 at once to try at least to revive the three men, but it 
 was in vain ; they were all dead men. He told me 
 afterwards that he had hoped to recover them by 
 bleeding, and he accordingly cut great gashes across 
 their temples, but with no result. I do not vouch for 
 the absolute accuracy of this description of his mode 
 of treatment, for I was but a child at the time. I was 
 present, and I have a distinct recollection of seeing 
 
BOYHOOD. II 
 
 him crawling on the ground with a lancet in his hand : 
 whether his treatment was right or wrong I know not, 
 but I think it must be admitted that he performed 
 a most heroic deed, and in these days he would have 
 been recognized as a hero, but, I am sorry to say it, in 
 those old times such heroism Was not fully considered. 
 I fancy no Royal Humane Society then existed to 
 award its gold medal for his bravery, and as far as I 
 can remember nothing was done to reward him in any 
 way for his noble self-sacrifice. 
 
 He was my drawing-master, and I am sure we were 
 very good friends. I have a distinct recollection of 
 the little man. He wasvery short, thick-set, and rather 
 bow-legged ; of a sallow complexion, and a somewhat 
 Jewish cast of countenance, with bright dark eyes ; 
 he was of a kind and gentle nature. He said I had 
 some taste for drawing, and I regarded him as a won- 
 derful artist. A painting of his which was awarded to 
 me as a prize is in the possession of one of my family 
 to this day. I am afraid it does not quite justify my 
 boyish enthusiasm. 
 
 He left the school shortly after this event, consequently 
 my artistic proclivities remain to this day undeveloped. 
 I have never heard of him since, and of course he has 
 joined the majority long since. The other masters, both 
 ofthem clergymen, lived to agoodoldage. One of them, 
 with whom I had kept up a fitful correspondence up to 
 the time of his death, died only a few years ago. 
 
 Trouble. 
 
 Our ** Old Home " life, joyous and pleasant as it 
 was for the most part, was not altogether made up 
 
12 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 of mince-pies and apple-tarts. There were times 
 when we got into trouble. 
 
 My good father was a very strict disciplinarian, 
 though he never had occasion to whip me but once, and 
 then he certainly did not spare the rod. It was, as he 
 believed, for disobedience and lying. He had strictly 
 forbidden me to go a-bathing with some boys who 
 usually went to the river in our meadows. One day 
 I had been fishing for minnows in a ** carrier " lower 
 down the river, and on returning homewards up river 
 I came upon these boys in the water. They strongly 
 urged me to join them for a swim. I resisted the 
 temptation, and went home with a sense of being 
 very virtuous. 
 
 What was my surprise then when my father met me 
 with a severe look in his face and a light riding-whip 
 in his hand. He took me into the dairy and locked 
 the door, so that my mother should not come to my 
 protection. Then he gave me a long lecture on the 
 sin of disobedience, and he quoted Scripture to prove 
 to me how necessary it was for him to perform the 
 sad duty of giving me a good thrashing ! 
 
 ** But, father," I cried, "I have not been bathing 
 with those boys ! I " 
 
 ** Stop ! " said he. " Don't add the sin of lying to 
 that of disobedience. I saw you myself ! " 
 
 He had seen me, at a distance, with the boys on the 
 bank, and he jumped to the conclusion that I had 
 been bathing with them. 
 
 Then the whip was swung with vigour over my 
 shoulders. He certainly spared me not. My back was 
 covered with great wales which tingled for days after. 
 
w 
 o 
 
 H 
 H 
 
 o 
 
 Q 
 
 i 
 
BOYHOOD. 13 
 
 The aggravating part of it was that when he had 
 done, he protested with tears in his eyes that it was 
 certainly far more painful to him to chastise me than 
 for me to be whipped. I entirely dissented from this 
 doctrine, though I am bound to confess that, urchin- 
 like, I wished it were true. 
 
 I was sent off to bed without my supper, and told 
 severely to pray to God to forgive my wickedness. 
 
 I convinced my dear mother when she stole up to 
 my room and gave me a kiss and a hunch of bread 
 and butter, that I was perfectly innocent, but that my 
 angry father would not listen to my explanation. 
 
 I believe that when he heard the facts he was a bit 
 ashamed of his hasty anger ; he never apologized 
 to me — that would have been far too undignified—- 
 but I think it was a lesson for him which he never 
 forgot. Ever afterwards he was most tender and 
 affectionate. 
 
 Perhaps it was but fair retribution after all, for I 
 got into many a scrape for which I well earned an 
 equal thrashing, but of which my good parents re- 
 mained in blissful ignorance. 
 
 Dangerous Use of Firearms. 
 
 I am not a little surprised now, on looking back at 
 the thoughtlessness of these good people all — both my 
 father and my uncles — that they should have entrusted 
 us mere children with the unconstrained use of fire- 
 arms. On two occasions we all but enacted a fearful 
 tragedy. 
 
 The first was once when I was on a Christmas visit 
 to an uncle. I was entrusted with his gun and 
 
14 BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 ammunition as a matter of course. I was in the 
 farmyard, round which was a high stone wall ; stand- 
 ing three or four yards from this wall I was aiming 
 just above it at a blackbird in an apple-tree in the 
 orchard across the road. Just as I fired, a tall hat 
 appeared above the wall. My gun was pointed 
 slightly upwards, but I believe a great part of the 
 charge passed in an upward direction through the top 
 of that hat. Had the workman who wore it been 
 three inches taller he would certainly have been saved 
 from the sin of blasphemy — for he promptly alarmed 
 me with his curses — but I should have been sent to 
 gaol, tried by jury, found guilty of murder, and 
 hanged by the neck till I was dead ! That was the 
 terrible thought that overwhelmed me, and I fer- 
 vently thanked God for having made that man so short 
 and the wall so high, and for so mercifully preserving 
 me and the man from such an awful fate. It was a 
 long time before I could venture to touch a gun again. 
 
 Another Fearful Accident with a Gun. 
 
 Not long after this an equally ghastly event hap- 
 pened to my brother in our own home. 
 
 He was younger than I, and yet he, too, had been 
 allowed to fire away at rooks or wood pigeons around 
 the house. He had brought the loaded gun into the 
 hall, and was fooling somehow with the cock, or 
 trigger, when, bang ! it exploded. The charge 
 smashed through the parlour door, and lodged in the 
 leaf of a large polished oak table, where the shot 
 remain to this day. 
 
 There were two tailors at work in this room, for- 
 
BOYHOOD. 15 
 
 tunately not sitting on the table as was their usual 
 custom. I believe one of them fainted, and the 
 other was driven crazy for a time, and no wonder. 
 Surely a merciful Providence overruled our monstrous 
 folly. 
 
 Harvest Home. 
 
 The day on which the last load was carried home 
 was always one of festivity in the old home. I catch 
 a glimpse of it now, and it is like taking a peep 
 at another world and another stage of existence, as 
 I see the men at a table the full length of a large 
 kitchen — twenty or twenty-five of them — as jolly as 
 men could be. They had put themselves outside of 
 the best part of a four-year-old wether, a large round 
 of beef, and puddings and pies galore, with good 
 cider to match. The dinner being over, we youngsters 
 were allowed to go into the kitchen to hear the 
 singing. 
 
 My father took the head of the table, made a short 
 speech, and then called upon old Joe Hammond, the 
 head waggoner, for a song ; but Joe, too modest to 
 begin, begged to be excused, hoped Maister would 
 set them all an example, and he would try what he 
 could do later on. *' Maister " stood up at once, and 
 started with a song of which the refrain was : 
 
 " Like a fine old English gentleman, 
 All of the olden time." 
 
 Another of his songs began something like this : 
 
 " My friend is the man I would copy through life 
 He envies no mortal, he harbours no strife," etc. 
 
i6 BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 Another, I think, was about a woodpecker; it 
 began : 
 
 ** By the side of yon sumach. 
 
 Whose red berry dips 
 
 In the gush of the fountain. 
 
 How sweet to recline." 
 
 He sang very well, and played solemn music on the 
 piano to his own satisfaction. 
 
 By this time old Joe had got his throat clear. He 
 began, in a stentorian voice, a song on the battle of 
 Waterloo, of which I only remember the first verse : 
 
 " In aighteen hundert an' fifteen. 
 Of June the aighteenth daay. 
 We fought the French at Waterloo, 
 An' made them run awaay." 
 
 Then Tom Dyer, the ostler, gave us a sporting song 
 about ** Little Brown Bess." This extraordinary 
 mare 
 
 " Had won more money on this very daay 
 Than a coach and six horses could carry awaay." 
 
 Bill Watkins, the cowman, was a tall, handsome 
 young fellow, upright as a grenadier, with black 
 mutton-chop whiskers and curly black hair, and con- 
 ceited and vain as a peacock. They called him 
 " Swaggering Billy." He fancied himself a poet, and 
 composed a song in praise of himself, and sang it ; 
 it began in this way : 
 
 " Six feet high is Billy's portion, 
 I know he is a clever lad," 
 
 and so on for several verses. He had a rich, powerful 
 voice, and sang very well ; his music atoned somewhat 
 
< 
 o 
 
 Q 
 
 s 
 
 2 
 
BOYHOOD. 17 
 
 for the coxcombry of his verse. Swaggering Billy 
 was not a bad prototype of the Ingoldsby '* Smuggler 
 Bill:" 
 
 " Smuggler Bill is six feet high, 
 He has curling locks, and a roving eye. 
 He has a tongue, and he has a smile, 
 Train'd the female heart to beguile." 
 
 Old Bob, the oont-catcher^^ celebrated the country 
 round, also, as the best mower — he could mow from 
 three-quarters to an acre of grass in a day, the average 
 of good work being half an acre. The old chap knew 
 a good deal about hares and pheasants, as well as 
 moles. He sang a song commencing : 
 
 " 'Tis my delight, on a starlight night," etc. 
 
 Next came the turn of Tim Hughes, the shepherd, 
 a tall, gaunt, lean old chap, over six feet ; he had 
 a dumpy little wife just up to his elbow. Abraham 
 Lincoln and his wife (** the long and the short "), 
 whenever I have seen their portraits, have recalled 
 old Tim. He was tongue-tied, and had a curious 
 lisp. His song smacked of the Arctic regions, though 
 certainly he had never been ten miles from home in 
 his life. This was the first stanza as I remember it : 
 
 " Hereth a whale, hereth a whale, 
 Hereth a whale fith, he crieth. 
 An' she blowth at every spring, brave boyth, 
 An* she blowth at every spring." 
 
 Tim was the son of a celebrity in her day — ** Betty 
 Hughes, the witch of Fowden." She had been con- 
 sulted, it was popularly believed, by the nobility and 
 
 * Mole-catcher. 
 C 
 
i8 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 gentry, and even by royalty, in the troublous times at 
 the end of the reign of King George III. A coach 
 and six had been seen at her cottage door, and n\any 
 other chariots besides. I have frequently, as a child, 
 seen the old woman in her garden, bent almost 
 double with age, and leaning on a tall, weird-looking 
 staff, the handle resembling a note of interrogation 
 upside down u^. I remember her long hooked nose, 
 the pointed chin which almost met it, and dark, 
 piercing eyes ; she was in truth the very personation of 
 a witch, and we always passed her cottage with fear and 
 trembling. Her witching days were over in my time. 
 I never heard of her having done harm to man or beast, 
 except that she was said to turn herself into a black 
 cat and catch rabbits, which, after all, was a venial sin. 
 **Auld Lang Syne" they all sang together, and 
 "God Save the King " closed the evening, William IV. 
 being then on the throne. 
 
 A Lovely ''Little River," 
 
 * ** 'Twill murmur on a thousand years. 
 And flow as now it flows," 
 
 formed one boundary of the farm for a mile or more. 
 I was never an enthusiastic sportsman, and after the 
 terrible accident I have already described I abhorred 
 the very sight of a gun, and so I betook myself with 
 all the more zest to the calm, quiet, innocent, gentle 
 art of angling. I took to fishing just as naturally as 
 a baby moor-chick drops from its shell and floats on 
 the water; first with a hazel rod, a thread line, a 
 bent pin, and a worm. Then came a time when I 
 began to manufacture my own tackle. 
 
BOYHOOD. 19 
 
 The village carpenter lent me his valuable aid in 
 making a wonderful rod in three pieces with tin 
 ferules complete ; floats and lines I made myself. 
 There was on the farm a fine easy-tempered old grey 
 mare with a long white tail. Old Joe the waggoner 
 was proud of this tail, and would never allow us to 
 touch it. Our method of obtaining material for our 
 lines was to catch her in the meadow, coax her up to 
 a gate with a wisp of hay, and while one of us stroked 
 her old nose, the other selected a good hank from her 
 tail, and tied it firmly to a bar of the gate ; we then 
 gave her a swish, and off she went, leaving a nice bit 
 of her tail behind her. She enjoyed the fun, and we 
 got as many long white hairs as would make half a 
 dozen lines. 
 
 We were adepts in line plaiting, nine hairs knotted 
 together, and then divided into three strands of three 
 hairs each. Each strand was passed through a bit of 
 goose quill half an inch long ; into these quills were 
 fixed three bobbins, just firmly enough to allow the 
 hairs to slide out as the plaiting went on ; and our 
 machinery was complete. The knotted end being 
 fastened to some fixture, not infrequently to the knees 
 of our trousers, and the spinning began ; when a hair 
 dropped out another was inserted. Gradually the 
 number was allowed to drop down to six, and thus 
 we got a well-tapered line of five or six yards 
 long. 
 
 In process of time I became the proud possessor of 
 a good fly-rod. A friendly keeper supplied me with 
 flies, and taught me how to make and cast them. 
 Under his able tuition I became far more expert in 
 
20 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 casting and catching than after a broad hiatus of 
 almost sixty years I can boast of being now. 
 
 The days of my boyhood passed rapidly away, and 
 at the age of fifteen I had to quit school and the old 
 home for other scenes and other experiences. 
 
 My father was an only son, and the last of his race 
 until his own sons were born ; his descendants now 
 number about eighty. 
 
 My mother had seven brothers and five sisters. 
 All lived to be married ; and now, in the year of 
 grace 1896, there is only one solitaiy male descendant 
 bearing their name, and he, now a lad of sixteen, 
 narrowly escaped coming into this world at all ; his 
 father never married till he was sixty-five, and died 
 very soon after this son was born. 
 
 Two of my uncles had died before I came on the 
 stage, but five of them I knew well. They were all 
 substantial, well-to-do farmers, fine stalwart, honest, 
 God-fearing men ; the old homestead from which 
 they sprang had been in the family certainly for 
 nearly three hundred years, as an old family Bible 
 and tombstones in the churchyard testify. They all 
 lived within a circle of twenty miles from our home, and 
 one of the joys of our boyhood was to go a-Christ- 
 masing by turns to these jolly farmers. 
 
 We go a-Christmasing. 
 
 We had two ponies between four of us, and we 
 travelled on the plan of "Ride and Tie." Two 
 horsemen would gallop on for two or three miles ; 
 then dismount, tie their steeds to a roadside-gate and 
 walk or run on. When the pedestrians came up, 
 
BOYHOOD. 21 
 
 they mounted and cantered a mile or two beyond the 
 pedestrians, and so in turn till we reached our 
 journey's end. 
 
 In those good old Christmas holidays, which lasted 
 for six weeks, the atmosphere was always bright and 
 bracing, the roads always hard with frost, the hills and 
 fields covered with snow ; ponds and lakes were always 
 frozen, and we had pleasant times. We also visited an 
 old uncle and aunt of my father's, and there we had 
 our grandest revels, for there were two grandsons and 
 two granddaughters of our own age. 
 
 They dwelt in an old manor house, and nothing 
 pleased the old gentleman more than to have a 
 houseful of youngsters about him. There was an 
 ancient hall connected with the house large enouh 
 to hold fifty, or perhaps a hundred young folks, where 
 we danced, and played all sorts of games — "blind- 
 man's buff," "turn the trencher," "egg in the hat," 
 "drop the glove," and others I cannot recall. My 
 great-aunt was a wonderful little woman. I remember 
 well her mob-cap, rosy cheeks, and happy, cheerful, 
 chirpy ways, above all, her delicious mince-pies. She 
 lived to be ninety, and as she died about the year 
 1840, she must have been born 146 years ago — about 
 1750. I remember seeing in this hall, hung over 
 the wide fireplace, a plaited thorn which had been 
 blackened over a fire made at midnight out in the 
 fields, about the time of the young wheat just coming 
 out of the ground, by the servants with, I fancy, some 
 sort of incantation. Then it was brought in with 
 much ceremony, and hung up in this place, where it 
 remained for a year, when it was burnt, and the same 
 
33 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 ceremony repeated with another blackthorn. This 
 blackened thorn was supposed to be the emblem of 
 good luck to the household, and to act as a charai 
 against mildew or smut in wheat. 
 
 My last recollection of the old gentleman was 
 seeing him in his armchair with a cat on each knee 
 and one on each shoulder, all asleep and all happy. 
 
 My first Journey to London. 
 
 On the 29th of May (Oak-apple day), 1846, my 
 father drove me ten miles across country to take the 
 coach for a sixty miles' drive to Birmingham. It was 
 a lovely day. 
 
 This was about the time of the great railway mania. 
 The top of the coach was full of railway engineers, 
 surveyors, and speculators, and their talk was of new 
 lines, cuttings, tunnels, and viaducts. It was the 
 opening out of a new world to me, who had never 
 seen a railway. I travelled by train from Birmingham 
 to London, and my first night in a second-rate hotel 
 near the station (for I had arrived late at night) I am 
 never likely to forget. I suppose my wholesome flesh 
 was a sort of godsend to starved inhabitants of that 
 bed of a kind that I had never even heard of before. 
 
 I had quitted my dear old home with regret, and 
 that night I bitterly repented having left it. I was, I 
 am sure, the first and the least worthy of all my race 
 who had ever dwelt in London, and I longed, how I 
 longed, to leave it. But I had come to London to 
 make my fortune (that elusive phantom), like many 
 another ambitious youth. I had brought with me a 
 good constitution, a ** little Latin and less Greek " in 
 
BOYHOOD. 23 
 
 my head, a little money in my pocket, a good con- 
 science, full trust in Providence, and a determination 
 to work. 
 
 My good mother died a year before I left home, 
 and shortly after I left my dear old father gave up his 
 farm and retired to another county. 
 
 Only once after many years have I found the 
 opportunity of revisiting the scenes of my childhood, 
 and then all was changed, 
 
 **A11, all, were gone, the old familiar faces." 
 
 All my uncles and aunts were dead — my father alone 
 survived. He was born 106 years ago, and he died 
 in 1875 at the good old age of eighty-four. 
 
 I was a fairly good angler in my youth, but for 
 nearly forty years, immersed in the worries, anxieties, 
 and ups and downs of a city life, I never touched 
 rod or line. 
 
 When I took to angling again, it was in Dove 
 Dale, some twelve years ago, I discovered that I was 
 a mere novice. I had forgotten how to handle a rod 
 or cast a fly. I was a mere *' duffer," ages behind 
 the age. I had to begin all over again ; my early 
 education was quite lost upon me. Under the 
 guiding hand of Piscator Major (whom I saw chris- 
 tened) I have of late years been slowly improving, but 
 even now in this my Jubilee year of London life, I am 
 still, as the following pages will show, but a mere 
 amateur angler. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 AN EASTER OUTING (AND INNING). 
 
 April i5tA, 1893. 
 
 Splendid March—Gilbert White's weather record — Troubles 
 -Netting for jack — Coming to grief in a quicksand. 
 
 jjJHE oldest inhabitant whom I have encoun- 
 tered lately, and he was between eighty 
 and ninety, assured me that he never re- 
 membered such a splendid March as this 
 last one. It by no means follows that during the 
 eighty odd years of the old man's memory there has 
 not been many such March months. 
 
 I have seen many months of March in my time, but 
 in such matters my memory is so treacherous that I 
 could not §ay with certainty what sort of a March we 
 had even two or three years ago. I leave it to chro- 
 nologers to say how many such months of March there 
 may have actually been during the time of this old 
 man's pilgrimage. My general impression about the 
 month of March is that it has almost always been 
 cold and wet, and sleety and snowy, with biting 
 
AN EASTER OUTING {AND INNING). 95 
 
 easterly and north-easterly winds, and altogether dis- 
 agreeable. 
 
 My old and venerated friend, Gilbert White, gives 
 us a record of the weather for every month for twenty- 
 four years (1768- 1792), and of all those months of 
 March there is only one, that of 1770, which can be 
 quoted as even approaching the one which has so 
 pleasantly, and alas, so swiftly just passed from us, all 
 the rest have the bad character my own memory attri- 
 butes generally to this ungenial month. 
 
 ** 1770, the whole of March frosty with bright 
 weather. " 
 
 Our March has been somewhat ** frosty," and I 
 know not what our fruit growers think of it. My own 
 small garden seems to have enjoyed it thoroughly, 
 though now looking out for the warm April showers, 
 which as yet do not seem to be forthcoming ; apple 
 and pear, plum, apricot, and gooseberry buds all 
 appear to be plentiful and firm. Gilbert White's 
 April of 1770, following the bright March, was 
 ** cloudy, with rain and snow." 
 
 So much for the weather, bright and beautiful it 
 has been since March came in, and still continues, for 
 April though now far advanced, hath not yet ** with 
 his sweet showers pierced the drought of March, and 
 bathed every vein in the balm that produces flowers, " 
 as he did in Chaucer's time.^ 
 
 Such bright weather with an easterly wind, how- 
 ever gentle and breezy it may be, is not the best kind 
 of weather for angling for trout ; nevertheless when 
 
 1 Leigh Hunt's paraphrase of Chaucer. 
 
26 BY ME A DO IV AND STREAM. 
 
 the Major said to me three or four days before Easter, 
 *' Will you go a-fishing ?" I responded with alacrity, 
 **I will" — and so it was that on Thursday, March 
 30th, we found ourselves on the banks of the ever- 
 pleasant Itchin. My old henchman was there, hale 
 and hearty and eighty-two as he often told me, and 
 ready with net and basket. It was in full stream, 
 bright and clear as crystal — but the fish were not * ' on 
 the rise." Dry fly-fishing was not practicable, our 
 only chance being to fish the stream — a kind of fishing 
 which the accomplished Major somewhat despises. 
 He prefers crouching on bended knees half an hour 
 at a time waiting for a rise, and then to drop his 
 deadly fly, dry and floating, just above that fated 
 trout, which would of course soon find his way to 
 creel. But in this very bright weather even the Major 
 soon grew tired of his favourite method, and, like me, 
 he mostly devoted himself to the streams and rippling 
 shallows. Fishing in this way and wading down 
 stream, casting straight across and allowing the fly to 
 float down slightly under the rippling water, I was the 
 first to get a rise, and a nice half-pound trout came 
 into old Davis's net. This was a fair beginning. I 
 soon hooked another and brought him in, but, alas ! 
 he was a grayling of a pound and more — out of season, 
 he had to go back with grace to grow bigger, please 
 goodness, to give me another chance at him next 
 autumn. 
 
 And now our troubles began. The Major was un- 
 fortunate, he caught one i^lb. trout, and then neither 
 of us could catch anything but grayling. ** Confound 
 these grayling, " we said; *^what right have they to 
 
AN EASTER OUTING {AND INNING). 27 
 
 be rising like this when they are not in season?" 
 There must be ten grayling to one trout in this bit of 
 our river — they really ought to be thinned out, or else 
 they should keep themselves down till they are wanted. 
 One proof that they are more numerous than trout is 
 that when we netted the river for jack in February last 
 we brought up at every draught three or four or six 
 grayling and only a trout or two. On that interesting 
 occasion of netting for jack, which I had never wit- 
 nessed before, and which deserves a longer description 
 than I can now devote to it, we caught twenty-two 
 jack, varying in size from 2 lb. to 10 lb. A curious 
 lot they were. One of them had an ancient gash in 
 his side, in which one could bury one's finger, but he 
 was otherwise in good health, and as lively as he could 
 be expected to be when turned out to grass ; another 
 disgorged a live quarter pound trout, which went back 
 to the river to grow bigger. One trout was caught with 
 four flies hooked to his lips, and bits of gut sticking 
 out like a cat's whiskers. 
 
 They were netting again a few days afterwards when 
 I was not present, but our valiant keeper, old Davis, 
 was there to see that our trout and grayling were pro- 
 perly put back. Davis vows that on that occasion he 
 saw in the shallow water a jack of about 4 lb. go quietly 
 up behind a i lb. trout and swallow him at a gulp. 
 The trout was entirely taken by surprise, and was 
 allowed no opportunity for making a splash about it. 
 The most curious thing was that immediately after- 
 wards they drew the exact spot where he had seen this 
 tragedy enacted, and their haul brought up amongst 
 others a 4 lb. jack in which they found a i lb. trout, 
 
28 BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 which was akeady partly digested ! Now ye learned 
 piscators, tell me if this was the same jack and the 
 same trout which Davis had seen performing as above 
 not many minutes before ? But to return to our trout 
 and grayling. 
 
 I had another good trout, over a pound. I caught 
 him in a very awkward position. I hooked him down 
 stream nearly on the opposite side ; I could not get 
 below him on account of a deep pool and a hedge, so 
 I had to draw him across and up stream. He fought 
 well — I never had such a fighter. I was in middle of 
 the river, and I got him at last to close quarters, when 
 he sank and sulked in a bed of weeds, and there he 
 held on tight and motionless. At length I got the net 
 from Davis and gave him a prod ; out he leapt, but 
 still hook and gut held on to him, till finally after a few 
 minutes' struggle I got the net ouside his pretty pink- 
 spotted body. 
 
 Now, although the pesky graylings kept our baskets 
 light, I must say they gave us good sport, and the 
 game was lively and interesting. There was scarcely 
 a fly to be seen on the water. Occasionally one came 
 across a solitary *' March Brown." We were too 
 early for them, the nights being very cold ; but the 
 days were glorious, and I assure you, my friends, we 
 had a most delightful little holiday. All nature was 
 alive and gay, the air was exhilarating, the birds sang 
 their sweetest songs in the woods, and in the trees and 
 bushes by the river. A sweet little black-capped fly- 
 catcher followed me all down the river on the opposite 
 side ; he seemed to be particularly amused and inter- 
 ested in my flies, and frequently when I threw across 
 
AN EASTER OUTING [AND INNING). 29 
 
 towards him he would dart out and make believe to 
 catch them, but I am sure he was only joking, he knew 
 quite well what they were made of, his bright quick 
 little eye could easily see through these ' ' barbed be- 
 trayers," as Canon Scott-Holland calls them. 
 
 I might have mentioned before that we were three 
 in our party, the third being a young disciple of the 
 Major's, who managed to get his flies on the water in 
 very good style, but in a manner quite original, and 
 contrary to accepted methods ; nevertheless, he got 
 many a good rise, and lost many a good fish, whether 
 trout or grayling, for he was not an adept at landing 
 his fish, and, besides, he had no net. Notwithstanding 
 all these disadvantages, to him belongs the honour of 
 having hooked and landed the biggest trout that was 
 caught on this expedition. 
 
 Easter Monday — a brilliant, genial, lovely day — we 
 sallied forth in the morning as usual, and we did our 
 usual execution amongst the grayling, but trout would 
 not be lured. I may remark here that nearly all our 
 fish whether trout or grayling were caught before one 
 o'clock. Not a rise could we get in the afternoon or 
 evening. 
 
 This was our last day, we had to return to town in 
 the evening, and, alas, that I should have to record 
 it, or rather, I should rejoice that I am alive to tell the 
 tale, for on this morning the "Amateur Angler " came 
 to grief. 
 
 I saw a rise, the only one I had seen that morning, 
 within six inches of the opposite bank and under a 
 small bush. It was a long cast, my fly hooked itself 
 on to a twig of the bush, just above the trout, and 
 
30 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 would not come back. I was wading, the stream being 
 about two feet deep all across. I came within a yard 
 or two of the bush. I could see the gravel bottom all 
 the way across. I stepped unwarily on an innocent- 
 looking bed of weeds, and down I sank, down, down, 
 till I feared I was making a short cut to the Antipodes. 
 My waders were soon waterlogged, and my legs fast 
 in the soft sinking and yielding mud. Happily for me 
 the Major was there, he rushed into the water and 
 came to my help. I should have found a difficulty in 
 extracting myself, for I could not lift my legs at all. 
 "With his welcome help I struggled ashore, and started 
 off for home. The house was quite near, if I could 
 only get to it by crossing another branch of the river, 
 otherwise I must take a long round. I reached that 
 river. It was a full strongly-flowing stream, and seemed 
 to me to be about two and a half feet deep. I am wet, I 
 said to myself, I cannot get much wetter, I will make 
 the venture. I rushed into the strong current. In the 
 middle of the river I found the water up to my arm- 
 pits, and flowing strongly. Luckily that was the 
 deepest part ; it soon grew shallower. There must 
 have been many gallons of water in my boots, but there 
 was no mud. I scrambled over the gravel, and was 
 really thankful to find myself on land. I lay down, 
 and turned a small river out of my boots, ran off to 
 the farm, changed everything, had my wet clothes 
 hung out in the hot sun, and within an hour, filled 
 with new enthusiasm, I was down at the riverside 
 again, fishing away more vigorously than ever. 
 
 Our brief holiday came too quickly to an end. We 
 had good sport, though, for the reasons given already, 
 
AN EASTER OUTING {AND INNING). 31 
 
 our baskets were light. Indeed, there was a sort of 
 satisfaction, to one of us at least, after having had a 
 pleasant tussle with a gamesome grayling, and showing 
 him for once in his life the upper world and the green 
 grass, in sending him back rejoicing to his native 
 element. Think what a yarn he must have to spin 
 to his astonished brethren about the wonders he had 
 seen in a world where there is no water : he will try 
 it again some day. 
 
 Last June we had a delightful time on this water 
 when the May-fly helped to fill our baskets. Let us 
 hope the genial Doctor will be with us when the next 
 May-fly time comes round. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 SPRING AND SUMMER RAMBLES. 
 
 August T.'zth, 1893. 
 
 Worthing — Over the Downs to Chanctonbury Ring — Snakes 
 and adders — Best cure for adder's bite— Drive through Arundel 
 Park — First cuckoo and nightingales — Shanklin — Old Roman 
 villa — Alum Bay — Two cuckoos — Martin caught by "barbed 
 betrayer " — Three playful stoats — The Lugg — Lovely scenery — 
 Remarkable rainbow — The Teme — Continued drought. 
 
 jjITH every desire to maintain my long- 
 established character as a steady-going 
 business man, I am bound to confess, and 
 I do so with some compunction, that of 
 late I have done much that is not quite consistent 
 with that respectable character. 
 
 I have been a wanderer from my stool and my 
 desk ; my office has been too frequently deserted. I 
 must see to it, that I do not set too lax an example to 
 my young confreres. I find that I am now looked 
 upon by them as one of the ancients ; they urge me to 
 think of my precious health, and beg me to go away 
 into the country for a change of air. On some such 
 
THE LUGG — AMONG THE SHOBDEN WOODS. 
 
SPRING AND SUMMER RAMBLES. 33 
 
 flimsy pretences as these I have this year frequently 
 been beguiled to take many a week-end run into the 
 country. 
 
 Then a little later in the month of April I found 
 myself and some members of my family at Worthing. 
 On this occasion I was not on fishing bent. At that 
 time we were in the full enjoyment of splendid sunny 
 weather, and were only just beginning to wonder when 
 rain was coming, for the trees were budding and 
 bursting forth into leaf and bloom, but there was no 
 grass on the face of the fields, which already felt the 
 unusual drought, and it was pitiful to see the poor 
 cattle and sheep wandering disconsolately over the 
 brown close-cropped meadows. We enjoyed our stay at 
 quiet Worthing very much, quite unconscious of the 
 terrible disaster which was then brooding, and which 
 has since smitten that favourite resort. There are 
 many charming walks and drives in that neighbour- 
 hood. One day I wandered over the Downs as far as 
 Chanctonbury Ring, a most picturesque spot, where 
 one gets a grand view of the country looking north- 
 wards and westwards towards Brighton. Here 
 amongst the furze bushes on the sunny little banks I 
 kept a look out for snakes and adders, for this was 
 just the place for them, and this the time when one 
 might expect to see them ; but I saw none. I met an 
 old shepherd who for many years had been monarch 
 of all he surveyed round '*the Ring." From him t 
 learnt that the place used to swailn with adders, but 
 he had waged such constant war against them that 
 they may be said practically to be exterminated. He 
 told me that the very best cure for an adder's bite is 
 
 D 
 
34 ^y MEADOW AND STREAM, 
 
 an adder's fat — you cut a strip out of the back. Now 
 I am not quite sure whether the fat has to be eaten or 
 only appHed to the wound. 1 think a liitle of both 
 would be good. I have slaughtered many of these 
 creatures in my boyish days, by a good swish on the 
 tail with a hazel rod. This may account for my 
 desire, in my old age, to renew acquaintance with 
 ^them. 
 
 Now that w^e have advanced so much further into 
 summer, and have become accustomed to the sights 
 and scents of all kinds of flowers, one almost wonders 
 at the childish delight one feels at the first sight of a 
 bright bunch of milk-white May. Here and there in 
 the hedgerows I came across many white and pink 
 May trees just bursting into bloom. These and the 
 pink-tipped apple blossoms are amongst the first 
 harbingers of spring. 
 
 A few days later on we took a drive through the 
 extensive and lovely park which surrounds and over- 
 hangs the fair Castle of Arundel. Here the foliage 
 was just bursting into leaf; but the undulating meads 
 and bosky dells were sad to see, for the long drought 
 and the hot sun had burnt up the grass, and left the 
 ground bare and hard and pastureless. The deer were 
 herded together in the shadiest spots, for the sun was 
 fierce as midsummer, and they had still to be fed with 
 hay strewn over the brown fallow-like pasture. It 
 was curious to notice here and there, far away from 
 the herd, a solitary and melancholy buck standing 
 beneath a spreading oak, and looking the very picture 
 of misery, as if for some misdeed he had been banished 
 from the herd, and was weeping and bemoaning the 
 
SPRING AND SUMMER RAMBLES. 35 
 
 hardness of his fate. We saw three of these * * soli- 
 taries " in far-away nooks of the park. 
 
 We returned by way of the cool and pleasant dairies, 
 and had a peep at the fish-ponds, which seemed to be 
 more or less overgrown with wild weeds, and had the 
 appearance of being quite neglected. 
 
 Here in the park we first heard the monotonous 
 song of the cuckoo, 
 
 " With its twin notes inseparably paired ; " 1 
 
 and our coachikian drew our attention to a nightin- 
 gale's sweet warble, almost lost in the noisy songs of 
 scores of other birds. I had an idea that the nightin- 
 gale sings only at night, but I find this is not correct. 
 He sings like other birds by day, but his note is not 
 then so distinguishable as when he has all to himself 
 the solitude of night to utter his thrilling notes. This 
 **chiefest of the little nimble musicians of the air, 
 that warble forth their curious ditties with which 
 nature has furnished them to the shame of art," as 
 says Izaak Walton, is peculiar in his choice of locality. 
 He is never found in Cornwall and South Devon, 
 the climate of which would seem to suit best his 
 delicate nature ; nor is he often found north of the 
 Trent. 
 
 A day or two later we migrated to Shanklin in the 
 Isle of Wight, which we made our headquarters for 
 rambles and drives and railway trips to different parts. 
 One very interesting spot is the Old Roman Villa 
 discovered a few years ago at Morton Farm, between 
 
 1 Wordsworth. But not always twin notes; later in the 
 season it has " six cucks to one coo»* 
 
36 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 Sandown and Brading — a place which no visitor to the 
 island should leave without seeing. It has now been 
 very extensively developed. Curious mosaic pavements 
 of singular mythological designs, black potteiy, old 
 bones, a human skull, iron nails, fragments of glass, a 
 remarkable lock, etc. No less than thirty-six chambers 
 have already been opened up. 
 
 Another day we drove to Alum Bay and walked 
 over the downs to the Needles. A pleasant drive it 
 was, for it was just the time when furze and broom 
 were in fullest bloom. Roadsides M^ere lined with 
 gold, and the patches of golden masses on the hillsides 
 were a pleasant relief to the otherwise brown of the 
 downs, burnt up by the long drought. I never saw 
 furze in such absolute perfection. We passed a small 
 tablet on the edge of the cliff which marked the spot 
 where a hapless wayfarer a year ago had lost his way 
 in the fog and fallen over into the sea. Now a 
 broad chalk path has been cut across the hillside, 
 which can scarcely be missed in the darkest night. 
 It was curious to notice a score of long-horned sheep 
 standing on the highest peak of the cliff. They seemed 
 to be looking out to sea, and longing to get down to 
 the water, as if that would quench the thirst from 
 which they must have been suffering, for certainly no 
 lush herbage was to be found on that bare and burnt- 
 up hill. 
 
 A cuckoo was sitting on a rail not far from our 
 path, and playing such curious pranks, singing and 
 flitting about the bushes, that I thought she must be 
 nesting somewhere thereabouts. She flew away at 
 our approach, but there she was again on the same 
 
SPRING AND SUMMER RAMBLES, 37 
 
 rail when we returned. I searched about amongst 
 the bushes in the hope of finding some nest — not her 
 own, of course — in which she had deposited her eggs, 
 but I failed to find one. Evidently there was some 
 special attraction for her at that spot, for we heard her 
 note and saw her return there when we had got some 
 distance away. Her mate was answering her from a 
 long way off. It is surprising what a distance that 
 monotonous cuckoo note can be heard. 
 
 Cuckoos are more often heard than seen. Words- 
 worth calls him ** The darling of the Spring ... a 
 voice, a mystery." 
 
 "To seek thee I did often rove. 
 Through woods and on the green ; 
 
 And thou wert still a hope, a love, 
 Still longed for, never seen." 
 
 May 17th was remarkable for the fact that a little 
 rain fell at Shanklin for the first time for about ten 
 weeks. 
 
 On the 20th I found myself again on the banks of 
 the Itchin, and with an interesting company, for the 
 early May- fly. We had a good time and excellent 
 sport. I fished, of course, and with good success, but 
 I was quite as well pleased to sit idly under a tree or 
 a hedge, or on the bench in front of our humble 
 straw-thatched hut and watch the skilful performance 
 of my friends. I must say I was equally interested in 
 watching the antics of that amusing but timid little 
 reed bird, the black- capped bunting, sometimes so 
 shy that he will not permit himself to be seen ; at 
 another time so bold that he would flit across from 
 the opposite bank and twitter on a rail within a few 
 
38 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 yards of me. It is delightful to hear the yellow- 
 hammer's song — his only song : 
 
 * ' A little bit of bread and no c h e e s e. " 
 Or the skylark singing : 
 
 " Up in the lift go we. 
 
 Tehee, tehee, tehee, tehee ! 
 There's not a shoemaker on the earth 
 
 Can make a shoe to me, to me ! 
 Why so? Why so? Why so? 
 
 Because my heel is as long as my toe." 
 
 Fro7n Chambers^ quoted by Swainson. 
 
 On the 27 th I went down again for a few hours' 
 fishing, but it came to nothing. It was a scorching 
 time. I did little but sit on the bench in the shade of 
 our beautiful May-tree watching and waiting for a 
 rise. Water as clear as crystal, reflecting with perfect 
 distinctness streaks of blue sky and flitting white 
 clouds — not a May-fly or insect of any kind was to be 
 seen on the placid surface, which was never disturbed 
 by the slightest motion of a fish. Sedgebirds twitter- 
 ing in the reeds, rooks cawing in the trees, waiting to 
 come down to the lush water meadows from which 
 my presence kept them away, peewits floating about 
 overhead, chaflinches and robins singing in the woods, 
 starlings feeding their young ones in the trees ; a 
 gentle north-west breeze blowing ; fishing a useless 
 waste of strength. Yonder — as pleasant a sight as 
 any of the pleasant sights around — comes a boy with 
 a basket filled with good things specially intended for 
 consumption in the straw -covered cabin sacred to 
 piscators. 
 
 For my own part I repeat what I have said before, 
 
SPRING AND SUMMER RAMBLES. 39 
 
 if the catching of fish was the only pleasure to be 
 derived from going a-fishing, I for one should neces- 
 sarily soon get tired of it. Is there nothing, then, in 
 the pleasant exercise of casting your fly over the water 
 and watching it float upright and steadily over a rising 
 fish, even if that educated sharp-eyed trout or grayling 
 scorns to be beguiled by it ? **The barbed betrayer," 
 will not always "betray," even when cast by the 
 most cunning hand ; were it not so, where is the trout 
 stream in this beautiful island of ours that would not 
 soon be denuded of its finest fish ? 
 
 Is there nothing in the lovely surroundings of a 
 pleasant river ? " The barbed betrayer " is sometimes 
 guilty of a worse deed than even betraying a lusty 
 trout or grayling. The other day as I was crossing a 
 plank bridge over a stream, and gently swaying my 
 fly in the air, I felt a sudden tug — and there, betrayed 
 by this perfect resemblance of an insect, was a poor 
 little sand-martin, struggling and fluttering and terribly 
 frightened. Evidently its quick little eye had dis- 
 covered its mistake — but too late — for it had not 
 swallowed the fly after all, but it had come too near, 
 and the hook had caught it just in the joint of its 
 wing. I had a terrible job to get that nasty hook out 
 without causing more pain than was necessary. When 
 at last I had succeeded, it lay for a moment on the 
 palm of my hand, its eyelids covering the eyes, and 
 quivering as if all but dead. I pitied and patted and 
 caressed it, and when I opened my hand again it flew 
 off" as if nothing was the matter. I was delighted, for 
 I was afraid the wing was broken or injured enough 
 to prevent its flying. 
 
40 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 At another time I was reclining under the friendly 
 shelter of a wide-spreading sycamore, which pro- 
 tected me from the scorching rays of the midday sun ; 
 lying quite motionless, I heard a little rustle in the 
 hedgerow behind me. Presently out trotted three 
 stoats, two old ones and a young one. They were in 
 a quite playful mood, chasing each other about ; two 
 of them ran over my legs, mistaking them, no doubt, 
 for the tree's roots. I was anxious to keep quiet, but 
 I must have made some slight move, perhaps winked 
 my eye, for they were off like a shot — before I could 
 wink again. Hitherto I had always looked upon 
 these creatures as the most bloodthirsty little wretches 
 in existence, and had rarely seen them but in pursuit 
 or riding on the back and gorging the blood of a 
 rabbit. I had never thought of them as capable of 
 fun and amusement. 
 
 These are the little incidents, and such as these, 
 commonplace enough, doubtless, that give zest to my 
 amateur angling and country rambling. It is not 
 alone to catch fish that I go a-fishing. 
 
 My last day's fishing in July was not so bad. I 
 hooked many good fish, but only two brace came to 
 grass ; the reason of my failure was that the river was 
 chock full of weeds, which, owing to the warmth of 
 the water, were unusually prolific. The fish, and I 
 had hold of some big ones, almost invariably broke 
 loose in these weeds. Added to this growth in the 
 water was the fact that they had just been cutting 
 above, and we had the full benefit of the floating 
 weeds. To add to our discomfort some confounded 
 gardener up yonder had this morning been mowing a 
 
^mmm^ 
 
SPRING AND SUMMER RAMBLES, 41 
 
 lawn and thrown the short grass into the water, so 
 that for an hour or two the surface of our water was 
 like a green meadow. 
 
 I heard the cuckoo again, but she has now changed 
 her note. Now she only utters a single sound, her 
 voice is broken and harsh. The Rev. C. Swainson 
 quotes the following from Heywood : 
 
 " In April! the koocoo can sing her song by rote, 
 
 In June, of tune, she cannot sing a note : 
 
 At first, koo-coo, koo-coo, sing still can she do, 
 
 At last, kooke, kooke, kooke, six kookes to one koo." 
 
 The following lines of good advice to farmers, 
 quoted from the Welsh by the same author will bear 
 quoting again : 
 
 " If the cuckoo sings when the hedge is brown, 
 
 Sell thy horse and buy thy corn. 
 If the cuckoo sings when the hedge is green, 
 
 Keep thy horse and sell thy corn." 
 
 August Bank Holiday time set me at liberty for a 
 few days. 
 
 On this occasion I paid a visit to the Lugg in 
 Herefordshire. Friday, the 3rd, was a thundery day — 
 alternate heavy showers and bright sunshine. Trout 
 will not rise in thunder weather ; that was the con- 
 clusion we came to, for we saw scarcely any. Gray- 
 ling were not so shy ; we caught between us six 
 brace, of not large dimensions, but passable in these 
 parts, where a |lb. fish is quite respectable. 
 
 But what a lovely bit of scenery we had dropped 
 into. Far away from the haunts and habitations of 
 men the river wanders in and out amongst the hills. A 
 
42 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 picturesque old stone bridge of two arches spans it 
 in the middle of the narrow valley, and through it the 
 river winds its way — now in rippling stream, and now 
 deep and slowly flowing. The hillsides come down 
 to the valley in a garment of green velvet. Every- 
 thing is bright and green. A most remarkable object 
 — one might almost call it a phenomenon, owing to its 
 singularity — suddenly presented itself at the farther 
 end of our valley, which here forms a very perfect V 
 shape, formed by the sides of two hills. In the very 
 centre of this V-shaped opening a most lovely rainbow 
 had set its foot straight down upon the green foliage of 
 the valley ; from this valley it shot up, casting a very 
 perfect halo of all its glorious colours over the conical 
 hill, its right limb falling in the centre of another 
 similar valley. 
 
 Its coruscations and gradations of colour were abso- 
 lutely perfect in the whole semi-circle, lighting up the 
 green hill with wonderful effect. 
 
 The next day found me and a gipsying party on the 
 banks of the Teme, where we fished, and the ladies 
 boiled their kettle, and laid out a pleasant " tea " 
 under a greenwood tree. 
 
 It was a lovely day, and the river in good order, and 
 towards evening, after our tea, grayling began to rise 
 freely, and we captured a satisfactory number of them. 
 I refrain from describing the capture of each fish, or 
 the fly which did most execution. I can only say that 
 on one occasion two flies of a totally different style and 
 character, viz., a ** Wickham's Fancy " and a very small 
 light blue gnat brought me in at one cast each of them 
 a nice grayling. During the time of drought I 
 
SPRING AND SUMMER RAMBLES. 43 
 
 travelled through Surrey and a good part of Hamp- 
 shire and the Isle of Wight, when it was painful to see 
 the brown meadows, and hungering sheep and cattle. 
 My late wanderings have taken me through a large 
 portion of Shropshire and Herefordshire, where the 
 contrast is wonderful. The farms here seem to have 
 suffered very little from the drought. Everywhere 
 crops, grass, and turnips appear to be abundant. 
 Apples and hops abounding. Even on the top of 
 high hills, where I accompanied a farmer, and where 
 naturally, if anywhere, I expected to find the worst 
 effects of the drought, crops of wheat, barley, and 
 oats were splendid. There was one field of oats 
 on the veiy top of the hill with straw over my head, 
 and so splendidly headed that my friend expects at 
 least seventy bushels to the acre from it. Turnips 
 and mangolds equally prolific. Those who are de- 
 spondent about the harvest may comfort themselves 
 with the expectation that it will not be so disastrous 
 as was once expected, at least, Herefordshire and 
 Shropshire are quite up to the usual average. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A WEEK WITH HAMPSHIRE GRAYLING. 
 
 September xstk, 1893. 
 
 Drought— Herons — Stoat and mouse— Hawk attacked by two 
 rooks — An interesting fight — Success with the grayling. 
 
 URELY these grayling are not as other 
 grayling are in other waters — they are not 
 dull and stupid. Here they ** laugh and 
 grow fat" on these chalky beds. Here 
 they are deep, cunning, wise ; know how in a measure 
 to take care of themselves ; they are playful, game- 
 some, and full of humour ; nothing pleases them 
 better than to rollick on the top of the water, now 
 with their heads and now with their tails in the air. 
 In such moods they are not much good for fishing pur- 
 poses. You may by chance hook one by fin or tail, 
 but never will he take your fly, he is only playing 
 — his stomach already full, he can afford to laugh 
 at you. 
 
 It was on Friday, September 15th, that the Major 
 and I set forth for change of air and scene, and made 
 
A WEEK WITH HAMPSHIRE GRAYLING, 45 
 
 for the banks of our favourite stream. We arrived at 
 2.15, on one of the hottest afternoons we have had all 
 through this droughty summer. Too hot for me to fish 
 in these bright and shiny waters, but the Major went 
 immediately to work, and I followed, with an eye on 
 his movements, keeping mostly in the shade. The 
 grand May-tree overhanging the hut before spoken of, 
 which in early June was one mass of white bloom 
 is now a mass of red berries. I sat on the bench 
 underneath this pleasant tree and lazily watched the 
 Major labouring in the fierce sun. What a quiet 
 scene it was, far away from the stirring, madding 
 noises of Babylon, that great wilderness of bricks 
 and mortar — not a breath of wind, not a sound to 
 be heard but a starling sometimes crooning overhead 
 amongst the berries, or the occasional flop of a ripe 
 acorn from an overhanging oak into the deep water, 
 startling one like the rise of a big fish ; it is surprising 
 with what aplomb a sound acorn comes down and 
 goes straight to the bottom, whilst an unsound one 
 falls lightly and floats away. Yonder, away up in the 
 hot sun, are a couple of herons croaking and flapping 
 their great wings, waiting to come down to our water- 
 meadows ; a stoat runs across from the water to the 
 wood with a mouse in his mouth. Now comes a great 
 chattering of rooks overhead, two rooks in savage pur- 
 suit of a light-coloured hawk, darting at him by turns, and 
 pecking him at every chance — he was evidently in for 
 a bad time. One of the rooks soon gave up the chase, 
 but the other pursued his enemy steadily on till both 
 disappeared in the far-off woods. One would have 
 thought that one hawk was more than a match for 
 
46 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 one rook ; probably the hawk in his headlong flight 
 was not aware that he had only one pursuer. Ten 
 minutes later, sitting still in the same place, again 
 came over the clatter of many voices, and overhead 
 flew that same unhappy hawk still pursued by that 
 same revengeful rook ; they kept up the fight with 
 equal flight, but both seemingly almost exhausted, for 
 they must have travelled many miles since last I saw 
 them. Now the heroic rook had a body-guard away 
 up above him in the sky, but these were only there to 
 back up their champion and to see fair play, they in no 
 way interfered in the fight. 
 
 I watched them till, away across two meadows, 
 hawk and rook seemed to drop exhausted wiih their 
 long fight into an ash tree. I ran up to the tree ex- 
 pecting to find one or both of them dead in the 
 branches or on the ground, but they had both dis- 
 appeared in the woods, where I heard a great caw- 
 cawing. 
 
 I did not meanwhile lose sight of the Major. His 
 first cast brought to land what I should have regarded 
 as a nice grayling, about half a pound, but he con- 
 temptuously threw him back that he might grow 
 bigger and give better sport next year. I would cer- 
 tainly have bagged him. 1 lazily followed him up 
 stream till we came to the "pub." — there I sat 
 me down in the shade, the stiles and gates touched by 
 the sun being far too hot to sit on with any degree of 
 satisfaction. Be it understood that the place we 
 affectionately call "the pub." is a half-way resting 
 place between the bridge and the hut, and is not 
 a **pub." at all, it is only a name — a wide-spreading 
 
A WEEK WITH HAMPSHIRE GRAYLING. 47 
 
 oak, underneath whose sheltering branches it is sweet 
 to recline and smoke the pipe of peace and content- 
 ment after thrashing the river up from the hut, or 
 thrashing it down from the bridge. The Major, how- 
 ever, is not given to exhaust his strength in vain 
 thrashing; he does not care for the *'chuck-and- 
 chance-it " method ; he prefers to wait on the bank 
 and watch for a rise; and the more awkward the 
 place, the more it exercises his mind and his skill 
 to get over that rising fish; thus it is that with 
 untiring patience, a quick eye, and steady hand, he 
 gets his fly into holes, round corners, and under 
 banks, where I invariably get hung up. 
 
 The sort of thing that pleases him and tries me, is 
 to see a big fish rise in deep slow water just under the 
 bank on one's own side, say twenty yards up stream — 
 and with a strong wind blowing dead against that 
 bank — the fish only a foot or two from the bank, and 
 against wind and tide your fly must ride steadily over 
 him, or it is no go. In nine cases out of ten the wind 
 carries my fly into the bank and fixes it there in root 
 or weed, and, of course, my grayling is put down. 
 Now, in nineteen cases out of twenty the Major's fly 
 goes merrily singing and cutting through the wind, 
 and drops just into that grayling's mouth, and the 
 grayling is put into the Major's basket : that is just 
 the diflerence between us ; in ordinary circumstances, 
 wind and weather being agreeable, I can throw very 
 well. Now I hear a splash. The Major gives a low 
 whistle. I look up, his rod is gracefully bending, 
 and a grayling comes fighting along till he rides 
 peacefully to grass, this time over a pound, so he 
 
48 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 is thought big enough to satisfy the Major's fastidious 
 taste ; and now another, and another, of equal if not 
 greater girth, follow in the same wake. Then we 
 rest for half an hour, with our eyes mostly on the 
 water. The Major caught sight of one of those quiet 
 lumping-up and circling-round rises a long way up 
 stream, which indicates the motion of a big fish ; a 
 trout, he said it was, and a trout it proved to be ; it 
 is your small fry, half-pounders and under, that make 
 the splashes. A long line is switched out, the fly 
 dropped gently on the outer swirl of the ring, and 
 this big trout came at it. He was fairly hooked, 
 leaped a yard out of the water, then came along 
 almost to the bank. I was ready with the net, he 
 made another big splash — and was off. The Major 
 sighed and said, *'It's trying to one's nerves to lose 
 such a fish as that ; he was a big one." After dinner 
 we sauntered forth again to look at the river under 
 the young moon. The Major's afternoon and evening 
 catch was three brace of grayling and one trout. 
 
 Saturday^ Sept. i6th. — I find that I have devoted 
 so much space to our first evening's sport, in which I 
 only shared as a spectator, that I must cut short the 
 days that follow. This day was dull — heavy — misty 
 — no sunshine whatever — besides being cool. It 
 could hardly have presented a greater contrast to yes- 
 terday's scorching heat. It was not a bad day for the 
 grayling — or perhaps it is truer to say it was a bad 
 day for some of 'em. I caught five fine grayling, 
 one of them just a 2 lb., and the Major three brace — 
 nothing to make a boast of, but this be it remembered 
 is only a record. This was a day of triumph for me — 
 
A WEEK WITH' HAMPSHIRE GRAYLING. 49 
 
 for I had beaten the Major, my biggest fish weighing 
 2 oz. more than his biggest. He rose in a deep pool 
 on my side. I knew I could not throw up stream on 
 account of the wind, which would have tied me up at 
 once. I got above him and threw down in his face, 
 but keeping as much out of sight as possible. I had 
 a long throw, and came down upon him nicely ; he 
 took my fly, and, after a long struggle, Davis landed 
 him neatly, a good two-pounder. I was very proud, 
 but the Major humbled me by saying he would never 
 have had the cheek to make such a cast as mine. I 
 attribute that remark to envy. 
 
 Monday, iSl/i. — A dull day ; heavy rain in after- 
 noon. Major caught three and a half brace of gray- 
 ling. The present writer could only show one brace 
 of small fish. In the evening the Major was obliged to 
 return to the London Fetters, and for the remainder 
 of this week I shall miss his pleasant company and have 
 to look after my own hooks and lines and flies. 
 
 Tuesday, i^th. — I deserted the river and took a 
 stroll through the ancient city of Winchester. I 
 wanted specially to see the Walton monument in the 
 cathedral, and was gratified to see it occupying so 
 honourable a niche on that grand screen which carries 
 the statues of so many worthies of the olden time. 
 
 How this statue of Izaak Walton came to be erected 
 may be of some interest to my angling friends. Dean 
 Kitchin had already suggested that a niche on the 
 great screen hould be occupied by '*the Father of 
 Angling," and Mr. H. T. Jenkins, of the Portsmouth 
 Waltonian Club, in a letter to "The Times," Sep- 
 tember 23rd, 1886, was the first to make the sugges- 
 E 
 
50 BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 tion that such a statue should be erected by subscrip- 
 tions from anglers. It was in consequence of this 
 suggestion that the editor of " The Fishing Gazette," 
 Mr. R. B. Marston, opened the columns of his paper, 
 and, after much perseverance, was enabled to raise a 
 fund sufficient for the purpose. In a letter addressed 
 to him. Dr. Kitchin, on October 2nd, 1886, says : 
 
 " My suggestion that the Dean and Chapter should 
 find a place on the great screen for Izaak Walton has 
 attracted so much attention that I hope you will allow 
 me to assure the lovers of the gentle craft that we will 
 gladly reserve a niche for * the Father of Angling,' 
 should anglers be kindly inclined to present us with 
 his statue. We should set him over against his 
 brother-in-law. Bishop Ken." 
 
 This statue was charmingly executed by Miss Mary 
 Grant, and was placed on the great screen in the 
 autumn of 1890. I have pleasure in appending a 
 reproduction from a photograph of this statue. 
 
 On April 5th, 1895, the same energetic editor, and 
 the same enthusiastic body of anglers, celebrated the 
 tercentenary of Walton's birth by erecting a memorial 
 window to him in St. Dunstan's Church, Fleet Street 
 
 Wednesday, 20th. — I fished alone, yet not alone, 
 for had I not my old friend, Davis, to carry my net 
 and basket? Come Monday he will be eighty-three, 
 and still is strong and hearty in spite of aches and 
 pains in back and stomach ; he has a quick eye for a 
 rising fish. 
 
 We were sitting on our bench under the old May- 
 tree. 
 
 " See yonder," says Davis, " away up stream, there 
 
A WEEK WITH HAMPSHIRE GRAYLING. 51 
 
 are two big 'uns, one on this side and t' other ath'urt 
 the river." ** Let's have a go at 'em ! " says I. ** I'll 
 try them with an * Artful Dodger.'" I wish I had 
 tried that fly before, for hitherto I had been working 
 with small success amongst the small fish with the 
 three Duns, olive, yellow, and blue, and several 
 others. "Wickham's Fancy" brought me one big 
 grayling. I got above the fish on this side, and 
 allowed the "artful" one to drop down quietly and 
 unostentatiously into the grayling's mouth. He came 
 at it splendidly, and I had him. Ah, how that gray- 
 ling fought. *'What a fool I am!" he seemed to 
 say. * * I zvotit be caught this way ; I am far too old 
 a fish for this sort of thing." And he wouldn't ; he 
 fought to the last gasp. Davis had almost got the 
 net under him, when he tried his last dodge. "Whilst 
 the line was tight, and I thought I had him safe, he 
 suddenly sprang into the air, and his enormous weight 
 snapped the gristle of his lip — a piece of which came 
 away with the hook fast in it — and he was free. 
 Certainly it was a pretty battle, and one to be re- 
 membered. *'It is better," I cried (improving 
 Tennyson for the occasion) — 
 
 '* 'Tis better to have hooked sxid lost 
 Than never to have hooked at all/' 
 
 such a beauty as that. *'A three-pounder, if an 
 ounce; he was long as that," exclaimed Davis, show- 
 ing me two-thirds of his walking-stick. " I am 
 sorry. " 
 
 Let us have a try at that fellow over yonder. He 
 was still rising under the opposite bank in open water, 
 
52 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 away over a big bed of reeds that were lying flat nearly 
 on the top of the stream. * ' You'll never get him 
 across them weeds, " said Davis. I tried my best ; 
 with a fair wind, my fly landed just above him, and 
 sailed cockily down over his lair. He came, he saw, 
 he was conquered ! What a tug I had with him to 
 keep him from getting under the weeds instead of 
 over them ; at last, over he came, like a lamb, till he 
 caught sight of Davis and that awful net ; then he 
 made a final struggle, but he was too exhausted to 
 fight well, we got him to the side, and, bravo ! to 
 land ; he tried the same dodge as the other, but I 
 had been taught a lesson, and slackened up in time. 
 He scaled 2 lb. 2 oz. He was our biggest fish this 
 outing. So I triumphantly packed him up and sent 
 him off to the Major the same evening, to make his 
 mouth water. ^ 
 
 Friday, 22nd {my last day). — I will say nothing of 
 the smaller fry I caught. I came to a pool which I 
 call '*the Doctor's^'" where his wily '* patients " live. 
 Several of them were paddling about on the top of 
 the water, with their maws full no doubt, and not 
 caring a rap for any flies that float, but I observed 
 one fellow close to the bank— too close for my hopes 
 — that seemed to be more in earnest ; he was greedily 
 taking every insect that came sailing by, so I thought 
 I would give him a taste of mine. He evidently liked 
 the look of the "artful" one, but only nosed it on 
 the first throw. I threw again, and he could not 
 resist the temptation. I carried him home this 
 
 ^ He was such a handsome fish I have sent him to be set up. 
 —The Major. 
 
A WEEK WITH HAMPSHIRE GRAYLING. 53 
 
 Saturday evening, and we have just had him nicely 
 cooked for dinner. He was big enough to give four 
 of us a snack, and we all, with one consent, said he 
 was delicious ; he only weighed 2 lb. So ends my 
 little holiday. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 December i6ih, 1893. 
 
 Have never eaten chub— Walton's appreciation of chub— An 
 irreverent disciple says it tastes like " cotton wool and hair- 
 pins" — Walton gives chub to milkmaid — Meadow placards — 
 Beecham's Pills, Little Liver Pills, etc. 
 
 HF any further proof were wanted than those 
 which I have persistently given from time 
 to time in these pages that I am but a mere 
 amateur, or, as the chairman at the Annual 
 ¥\y Fishers' Dinner last week calls himself, a mere 
 novice in the angling art — a nibbler off and on for 
 many years — that proof may be found in the fact that 
 I have never eaten chub, I never caught one. Here, 
 you may be sure, is the distinguishing line which 
 separates every true-born Izaak Waltonian from the 
 mere peddler at angling. Nascitur non fit is as true 
 of piscators as of poets — if one is not born so, one can 
 never be made an angler of the true breed. Is it 
 possible that there can be any degenerate son of 
 
CHUB. 55 
 
 Izaak Walton who has not tasted and revelled in the 
 delicious meat to be found amongst the bones of a 
 good, handsome chub ? And yet an irreverent disciple, 
 who spoke at that dinner with becoming veneration 
 for his beloved master, had the audacity to question 
 the reality of his benevolence in the matter of the 
 milkmaid when he rewarded her for singing so sweetly 
 that pretty song of Kit Mario w's : 
 
 " Come live with me, and be my love," 
 
 by presenting her with a lovely chub ! This gentle- 
 man had himself tasted chub, and vowed that it was 
 **like cotton wool and hairpins ; it is like the shad, 
 which is so much eaten across the Atlantic, and of 
 which a well-known American writer said, * You 
 should fry it lightly, eat it carefully, and then you 
 should strip off all your clothing and rub yourself 
 down with sandpaper to remove any of the bones 
 projecting through the skin.' " 
 
 We are all aware that there is as great variety 
 amongst trout as there is amongst sheep, which 
 ** differ from one another in their shape and bigness, 
 and in the fineness of their wool," and it may be 
 added, in the delicacy or toughness of their flesh ; 
 but undoubtedly there is this to be said of every kind 
 oi trout, that he is a ** generous fish," and, as Walton 
 says, " the most dainty palates have allowed pre- 
 cedency to him." There are varieties of bass. I 
 have eaten black bass in New York which, for delicate 
 tenderness and yet firmness of flesh and sweetness of 
 flavour, would compete for precedency even with the 
 "admirable trout" of "The Dove," which "are 
 
56 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 reputed by those who live upon its banks as the best 
 of any," a statement by Izaak Walton which is quite 
 confirmed by my own limited experience. I have 
 also heard of black bass caught somewhere in the 
 Southern States, which, as articles for human food, 
 are about on a par with the sole of a boot and a 
 blacking brush combined. Might one not then rea- 
 sonably argue that the particular chub mentioned in 
 the interesting speech above referred to is one of a 
 baser sort than that which Izaak Walton so lovingly 
 presented to the milkmaid ? Or it may be, as I have 
 already hinted, that the proper cooking of chub in 
 these degenerate days has become a lost art. I admit 
 that, even in those good old times, the chub had an 
 unsavoury reputation ; but what says the master ? 
 
 Pise. " I doubt not but at yonder tree I shall catch 
 a chub ; and then we'll turn to an honest, cleanly 
 hostess, that I know right well, rest ourselves there, 
 and dress it for our dinner." 
 
 Ven. (evidently alarmed at the prospect) replies : 
 " Oh, sir, a chub is the worst of fish that swims ; I 
 hoped for a trout for my dinner. " 
 
 Fisc. " Trust me, there is not a likely place for a 
 trout hereabouts. . . . The sun is got so high and 
 shines so clear that I will not undertake the catching 
 of a trout till evening ; and, though a chub be by you 
 and many others reckoned the worst of fish, yet you 
 shall see Pll make it a good fish by dressing it,'''' 
 
 Ven. " Why, how will you dress him ? " 
 
 Pise. "I'll tell you, by-and-by, when I have caught 
 him." 
 heedless it is for me to tell how he was caught, or 
 
THE milkmaid's SONG. 
 
CHUB. 57 
 
 how he was cooked. Every true Waltonian possesses 
 the " Compleat Angler ; " if he wants to learn how 
 to catch and how to cook this maligned fish, let him 
 turn to Chapter III.: ** How to fish for and to dress 
 the Chavender or Chub." 
 
 It is frankly admitted by the master that the chub 
 as he is usually dressed does not eat well. He is 
 objected against, not only for being full of small 
 forked bones dispersed through all his body, but that 
 he eats waterish, and that the flesh of him is not firm, 
 but short and tasteless ; the French think so meanly 
 of him as to call him un vilain; all of which goes to 
 confirm the "cotton wool and hairpins" theory — but 
 then so much depends upon the cooking. 
 
 Again, what says the master ? 
 
 Pise. "Come, hostess, how do you? Will you 
 first give us a cup of your best drink, and then dress 
 this chub as you dressed my last, when I and my 
 friend were here about eight or ten days ago ? But 
 you must do me one courtesy — it must be done 
 instantly." 
 
 Hostess. ** I will do it, Mr. Piscator, and with all 
 the speed I can." 
 
 Pise. "Now, sir, has not my hostess made haste? 
 and does not the fish look lovely ? " 
 
 Ven. * * Both, upon my word, sir ; and therefore 
 let's say grace and fall to eating it. " 
 
 Pise. " Well, sir, how do you like it ? " 
 
 Ven. " Trust me^ Uis as good meat as ever I tasted. 
 Now let me thank you for it^ drink to you, and beg a 
 courtesy of you ; but it must not be denied me." 
 
 Pise. " What is it I pray, sir ? You are so modest 
 
58 BV MEADOIV AND STREAM. 
 
 that methinks I may promise to grant it before it is 
 asked." 
 
 Ven. ** Why, sir, it is, that from henceforth you 
 would allow me to call you master, and that really I 
 may be your scholar ; for you are such a companion, 
 and have so quickly caught, and so excellently cooked 
 this fish, as making me ambitious to be your scholar." 
 
 Pise. ** Give me your hand, from this time forward 
 I will be your master . . . ." 
 
 What better testimony than this supreme act of 
 friendship could we possibly have that the chub of 
 the olden time was not merely an edible animal, but, 
 when properly cooked, a dainty dish ? 
 
 After all, perhaps, about as much may be said 
 against the villain chub, as the French call him, as in 
 favour of "the poor despised chub," as the master 
 calls him. I am bound to confess that my little study 
 of him has not inspired me with the least desire 
 either to catch or eat him ; but the master's character 
 for kindly benevolence must not be assailed with 
 impunity. 
 
 True it is, and it must be owned, that the particular 
 chub he was generously about to present to the milk- 
 maid was the one which he had just before spoken of 
 disrespectfully, but that was only because he thought 
 he had got hold of a trout ! " Sir, o' my word," he 
 cries, ** I have hold of him. Oh! it is a great 
 logger-headed chub ; come, hang him upon that willoiu 
 twig, and let's be going.'' Evidently he thought better 
 of it, and consigned the chub to his basket. Shortly 
 afterwards he encountered the milkmaid and her 
 mother. *'Look yonder! On my word, yonder 
 
CHUB. 59 
 
 they both be a-milking again. I will give her the 
 chub, and persuade them to sing those two songs 
 to us." 
 
 *'God speed you, good woman ! I have been a- 
 fishing, and am going to Bleak Hall to my bed, and, 
 having caught more fish than will sup myself and my 
 friend, I will bestow this upon you and your daughter ; 
 for I use to sell none." 
 
 (Surely one can excuse that little outburst about 
 hanging him upon a willow twig ! ) " Marry ! God 
 requite you, sir, and we'll eat it cheerfully," said the 
 milkwoman. Evidently she knew how to appreciate 
 the gift, and how to cook it. 
 
 I am quite sure the dear old boy thought he was 
 doing a real kindness in giving this " logger-headed 
 chub " to the pretty milkmaid's mother — and it was 
 on that account so thankfully and gracefully received 
 by her. It was not the value of the gift but the 
 warm-hearted geniality of the giver that won the 
 hearts of the milkmaid and her mother, and caused the 
 latter to promise him *' a syllabub of a new verjuice 
 in a new made haycock" when he came that way 
 again, and another song from Maudlin — for they both 
 **love all anglers." No doubt he was fonder of 
 giving away chub than trout. When he had educated 
 Venator up to catch a chub, and was asked by him, 
 ** What shall I do with my chub or chevin that I 
 have caught ? " his reply was, " Marry, sir, it shall be 
 given away to some poor body, for I'll warrant you 
 I'll give you a trout for your sapper ; and it is a good 
 beginning of your art to offer your first fruits to the 
 poor, who will both thank God and you for it.' 
 
6o BV MEADOIV AND STREAM. 
 
 Possibly the irreverent scoffer might retort that the 
 good old master would only eat chub when he 
 couldn't catch trout. 
 
 Meadow Placards. 
 
 The Hon. Treasurer of the Fly Fishers' Club drew 
 attention, at their annual dinner, to these flaunting 
 advertisements, which, as he said, *' blot the scenery." 
 I confess that I approach this subject with an open 
 mind ; doubtless there is much to be said against 
 them, and I suppose not much in their favour. Let 
 us imagine our good friends Piscator and Venator 
 taking shelter from the passing showers which **fell 
 gently upon the teeming earth, giving a sweeter 
 smell to the lovely flowers that adorn these verdant 
 meadows," and then finding themselves suddenly con- 
 fronted by a large square red placard informing them 
 that Beecham^s pills were worth a guinea a box I In 
 those good old times advertisements in this attractive 
 style were quite unheard of. Surely such an appari- 
 tion would have been to them what a red cloak is to 
 a bull, and yet at this end of the nineteenth century I 
 have seen a bull rubbing his shoulders against the 
 supports of such a glaring red show board with calm- 
 ness and indifference. Surely a bull of the seventeenth 
 century would have madly dashed it to pieces ; that 
 was the age for contemplation, this the age for adver- 
 tisement ; the times are changed, and we are changed 
 with them. Why strain at these gnats in our fields, 
 and swallow the camels that adorn every brick wall 
 in our cities? What are Beecham's pills compared 
 with that flaming picture of a seductive nymph light 
 
CHUB. 61 
 
 ing a cigarette at the mouth of an equally attractive 
 masher ? Our dead walls are now alive with the fine 
 arts ; the ends of houses are picture galleries ; our 
 omnibuses are covered with alluring announcements. 
 We seemingly enjoy and applaud all these things, 
 whilst Beecham occupying a quiet nook in the country, 
 and brightening the green landscape with a dash of 
 vermilion, excites us to taurine frenzy. Surely now 
 Beecham is a benefactor to his race and his country — 
 does he not sell for a shilling what is worth a guinea ? 
 And if it costs him only a penny he does not himself 
 pocket the profit ; he bestows a large portion of it on 
 an ungrateful public. Does he not spend ;^5o,ooo, or 
 perhaps ;ifioo,ooo, a year in advertising? See the 
 profit that accrues to the farmers who expose his pills, 
 and the innumerable newspapers, magazines, and 
 periodicals that grow rich on his expenditure, to say 
 nothing of the benefit which his invaluable pills afford 
 to weak humanity. Happy the farmer, in these de- 
 plorable times, whose fields encompass a railway — 
 Beecham' s Pills wall go a long way to help him pay 
 his rent ; Carte7''s Little Liver Pills will add to his 
 impoverished income if they do not present so attrac- 
 tive an object in the landscape ; to an unbiassed mind 
 a little patch of red in a green field, a red-roofed 
 cottage or a sand-red cow, for example, has a 
 picturesque effect, and Beecham's board is red. I am 
 not aware that Pears' Soap, or Sapolio, or Keen's 
 Mustard have yet invaded the green fields, but 1 
 fancy I have seen them here and there (if not every- 
 where) at railway stations, in railway carriages, and 
 all along the line — soap and pills, Keen's Mustard, 
 
62 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 and the Waverley Pen, are they not all a boon and a 
 blessing to men ? In past days it was said that "good 
 wine needed no bush," but in these days good pills 
 and good soap need a deal of Push. Bold advertise- 
 ment they must have — they must make a noise in the 
 world, or humanity will suffer. When a rosy-faced 
 maiden in the far away Devonshire lanes bids him 
 good morning, and modestly asks your hon. treasurer 
 if he has used Pears' Soap, you may be sure that the 
 sweet lassie has used it herself. If Pears has not yet 
 invaded our meadows, he has gone much further. 
 He has invaded the hearts and the cheeks of our 
 Devonshire lasses and helped to make them rosy. 
 Personally I am not much interested in these things. 
 I have used Pears' soap, and found it good. I have 
 never taken a Beecham pill, nor bathed in the sea 
 from a Beecham machine, nor floated in the air in a 
 Liver Pill balloon ; but I am happy in feeling that I 
 can bear the infliction of their country advertisements 
 with an equal mind. This is the age of "bold 
 advertisement," but it is nothing to that which looms 
 in the future ; for is not the time approaching when 
 the very clouds that lower above our houses will be 
 made radiant and gorgeous with awful signs and 
 wonderful advertisements? Like influenza, it is a 
 disease of the age, and cannot be suppressed — the 
 people will have it so. Nothing will be bought in the 
 future until it has first been hung up in the sky for all 
 men to gaze at. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SOME MARCH JOTTINGS. 
 
 March ijtk, 1894. 
 
 A promising schoolboy — Cleopatra — " Give me mine angle " — 
 Enthusiastic angler who takes note of nothing but his float — 
 Wood ants — A globular sack of spiders— Frogs — Shakespeare's 
 flowers — A visit to Ann Hathaway's cottage — A posy of spring 
 flowers from her garden — Amusing questions — Signs of foul 
 weather. 
 
 AS SING through Lincoln's-inn-fields this 
 evening, I heard one schoolboy shout to 
 another across the road, ' ' I say. Jack, 
 have you written your essay yet ? " " No ; 
 have you ? " ** Well, I've done two or three pages of 
 rot ; something like what the old muff talked about 
 this morning, so I hope it will pass." 
 
 The frank but disrespectful remarks of this pro- 
 mising boy served to remind me that the editor of 
 *' The Fishing Gazette" had insisted on my supplying 
 him with bricks, but leaving me to furnish straw. 
 
 It is difficult to steer clear of the tedium which the 
 ingenuous youth called rot when one is asked to write 
 
64 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 something for * * The Fishing Gazette " with no other 
 fund to draw upon than the weather. Nothing but 
 angling for the angler ! and no angling experiences 
 have befallen me ; not a stream have I visited, not a 
 fly have I cast on the water, since that pleasant day 
 in the month of September last when I hooked and 
 brought home that big grayling which now smiles 
 upon me from a glass case on yonder wall. " Hack- 
 neyed in business " for six months or more without 
 intermission, the spirit rebels, and now that 
 
 ** Sturdy March, with brows full sternly bent. 
 And armed strongly, riding on a ram," 
 
 is again upon us, one begins, like the spring itself, to 
 feel the stirring of nature within one, and to lament 
 the fate which ties one to a stool when longing once 
 more to be off to the woods and the fields. 
 
 Up to the time of this writing the March of 1894 
 has been rather gentle and lamblike than leonine and 
 blustering, still, 
 
 " The west wind loud, 
 Rising in vigorous and sonorous play," 
 
 has helped to rouse the teeming earth, and made us 
 feel that spring has come ! We have had none of 
 those icy blasts from the frigid plains of Siberia, 
 which, however, may yet come to remind us that 
 winter has not quite gone. Better that those cold 
 easterly winds should come now than in the merry 
 month of May, as they not unfrequently do. This is 
 truly the month of "strength and life and hope." 
 Hitherto we have had sunny mornings, westerly 
 winds, and rainy evenings, and very little of the 
 
SOME MARCH JOTTINGS, 65 
 
 golden dust, ** worth a king's ransom," has yet been 
 seen. **A dry March never begs its bread," is a 
 proverb not yet in the v^^ay of being carried out. 
 
 Vegetation is pushing forward, perhaps too rapidly, 
 the little green pinheads of the hawthorn hedges are 
 quickly expanding into leaf — even in our smoke-be- 
 spattered suburban gardens it is pleasant to watch the 
 young flowers peeping through the brown earth. 
 Snowdrops have already come, lived their little day, 
 and are now quickly fading. Crocuses and bulbous 
 squills, hyacinths and daffodils are beginning to 
 smile upon us, and stray cats and dogs, and sparrows 
 (a murrain on them !) never miss a chance of scratch- 
 ing up our beds, and tearing the fragile flowers to bits. 
 A thousand welcomes to spring ! Though she cannot 
 restore to us who are growing or have grown old the 
 flowers of our youth, she still clothes the earth with 
 glory, and rejoices the hearts of all those happy 
 anglers who can go forth with their rods and their 
 tackle, their baskets and nets, and all the parapher- 
 nalia needed to betray the cunning trout, the frisky 
 roach, or the villainous pike. In some waters the 
 trout is already in good condition ; in others the 
 wisdom of conservators, taught by experience, will 
 extend his liberty of action for another month. These 
 jolly Piscators can now cry, with Cleopatra : 
 
 ** Give me mine angle, we'll to the river there, 
 My music playing far off. I will betray 
 Tawny-finned fishes ; my bended hook shall pierc6 
 Their slimy jaws ; and as I draw them up, 
 I'll think them every one an Antony, 
 And say, Ah, ha ! you're caught." 
 F 
 
66 BY MEADOIV AND STREAM. 
 
 Debarred as I am, poor wretch, from the country 
 rambles I so much desire, I will take a ramble through 
 old books, and pick out such jottings as may not be 
 uninteresting to some, at least, of your readers. Some 
 others there may be who despise all reference to any- 
 thing on earth but tackle, flies, ground-bait, how to 
 make snares, and how to cook and eat the snared. 
 There is one enthusiastic angler whom I know who, 
 intent as a heron fishing in the water-meadow, would 
 not be diverted from the nibbling of a roach and the 
 wobbling of his float even if an eagle flew over his 
 head with a screaming baby in his clutches. 
 
 Here is a bit about wood ants — doubtless many of 
 your readers have at this time of year noticed these 
 wood ants beginning to run across the path. "The 
 nest of the wood ant looks like a large heap of litter, 
 where dead leaves and short withered grass have been 
 thrown lightly down upon the earth ; perhaps at the 
 moment there is no sign of life about it beyond a 
 straggler or two at the base of the mound. Thrust in 
 the point of your stick, and all the ground will be 
 alive in a moment ; nothing but a mass of moving 
 ants will be seen where you have probed ; nor will it 
 do to stay too long, for they will be under your 
 trousers and up your boots, and you will soon feel as 
 if scores of redhot needles were run into you, for they 
 wound sharply. If you want the clean skeleton of a 
 mouse, bird, or any other small animal, throw it on 
 the nest of the wood ant, and on the following day 
 you will find every bone as bare as if it had been 
 scraped. " 
 
 The foregoing swarm of ants reminds me of a small 
 
SOME MARCH JOTTINGS. 67 
 
 globular sack, like a lady's net veil, dotted with 
 minute pinhead spots, which I found suspended 
 amongst some leaves against my garden wall. I just 
 touched the globe, when lo ! a transformation scene 
 — the thing collapsed as if by a magic touch. Hundreds 
 of the tiniest little spiders hung suspended by as many 
 filmy ropes. I was startled by the absolute sudden- 
 ness of the change ; the spiders were not larger than 
 a turnip seed, and the gossamer rope was all but in- 
 visible. This rude though slight touch of mine 
 seemed to Jiave given them their first start in life (or 
 it may be in death) ; these baby marauders thus pre- 
 maturely cast adrift from their mother's care, were 
 thrown upon their own resources, and, like the young 
 ducklings that would venture into the torrent in spite 
 of the old hen's cackling, were carried off to de- 
 struction ; at all events, they never again, so far as 
 I could discover, gathered themselves into a similar 
 bundle. Probably this spider's nest is a very common 
 object in oUr gardens, but I had not observed one 
 before. 
 
 This is the season for the beginning of frogs. *' In 
 ponds and ditches may be seen thousands of round- 
 headed, long-tailed tadpoles, which, if not devoured, 
 will soon become nimble young frogs, when they have 
 a better chance of escaping the jaws of fishes and 
 wildfowl ; for no end of birds, fishes, reptiles, and 
 quadrupeds feed on them. Only a few weeks ago 
 they were in a torpid state and sunk like stones 
 beneath the mud. Since then they left their black 
 spots, which may be seen floating in a jellied mass on 
 the water, and soon from this spawn the myriads of 
 
68 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 lively tadpoles spring into life. Experienced gardeners 
 never drive frogs out of their grounds, as they are 
 great destroyers of slugs. " 
 
 "Violets, which Shakespeare says are * sweeter 
 than the lids of Juno's eyes,' impregnate the March 
 winds with their fragrance, and it is amazing what a 
 distance the perfume is borne on the air from the spot 
 where they grow. Through the frequent mention 
 made of it by Shakespeare, it must have been one of 
 his favourite flowers, and as it still grows abundantly 
 in the neighbourhood of Stratford-on-Avon, it may 
 perhaps yet be found scenting the March air and 
 standing in the very same spots by which he paused 
 to look at it. " 
 
 Last Easter (1895) I paid a short visit to Stratford- 
 on-Avon Of course I walked over to Shottery, and 
 in Ann Hathaway's garden I gathered a posy of spring 
 flowers, composed of violets, rosemary, and rue, 
 alison (or march -may as the old lady, Mrs. Baker, 
 a lineal descendant of the Hathaways, called it), 
 pansies, lavender, lads'-love, or southernwood, daflb- 
 dils, and cowslips, or cuckoo bud. 
 
 Here are some quaint bits, culled from a book 
 entitled ** Demands Joyous " (which may be rendered 
 " Amusing Questions "), which was printed in English 
 by Wynkyn de Worde in 151 1 : 
 
 Dem. **How many cows' tails would it take to 
 reach from earth to sky ? 
 
 Res. ** No more than one if it be long enough. 
 
 Dem, ** What is the distance from the surface of the 
 sea to the deepest part thereof? 
 
 Res. ** Only a stone's throw. 
 
SOME MARCH JOTTINGS. 69 
 
 Deifi, " Which was first, the hen or the Q.gg ? 
 
 Res. "The hen at the creation. 
 
 Devi. "What is the age of a field mouse ? 
 
 Res. ** A year ; and the age of a hedgehog is three 
 times that of a mouse ; and the life of a dog is three 
 times that of a hedgehog ; and the life of a horse is 
 three times that of a dog ; and the life of a man is 
 three times that of a horse ; and the life of a goose is 
 three times that of a man ; and the life of a swan is 
 three times that of a goose ; and the life of a swallow 
 is three times that of a swan ; and the life of an 
 eagle is three times that of a swallow ; and the life of 
 a serpent three times that of an eagle ; and the life 
 of a raven is three times that of a serpent, and the 
 life of a hart is three times that of a raven ; and an 
 oak groweth 500 years, and fadeth 500 years. " 
 
 The old printer or his author could hardly have 
 calculated the age of some of these wonderful animals 
 — thus, according to the rules of the multiplication 
 table, a goose would give up the ghost in her 243rd 
 year ; a swan in his 729th year , a swallow in his 
 2187th year ; an eagle would be 6561 ; a serpent may 
 live 19,683 years; the raven 59,049 years; and a 
 hart would reach 177,147 years. O ! Wynkyn ! 
 
 Here is a bit of sound (if rather brutal) advice to 
 lady authors (and others) : 
 
 "A lady sent a manuscript poem to Dr. Johnson, 
 and told him she had other irons in the fire. * I 
 advise you to put your poem with the irons.' " 
 
 Perhaps some of my readers may like to be re- 
 minded that this 17th day of March is the fourteenth 
 centenary of the death of St. Patrick. 
 
TO BY MEADOIV AND STREAM. 
 
 *' No doubt St. Patrick was an angler 
 
 Of credit and renown, Sir, 
 And many shining trout he caught 
 
 Ere he built Dublin town, Sir." 
 
 Have Bees the Sense of Hearing? 
 
 We were sitting at breakfast one morning at the 
 farm on the Itchin not long ago, quietly eating our 
 toast, when, hark ! there's a row outside like a call to 
 arms? Fifes, clarions, and kettle-drums all rolled 
 into one most awful clatter. We rushed outside and 
 shouted "What's the matter?" Have the perfidious 
 French bored their hole under the Channel, and are 
 they now pouring up from the bowels of the earth in 
 Mid Kent? Or have a million Germans landed on 
 the Essex Marshes? Worse than all this. The 
 Bees are in rebellion, and the clatter arises from 
 the beating of pots and pans to keep them from all 
 swarming away. The row made, I suppose, is meant 
 to drown the guiding buzz of the leader of the rebellion. 
 At all events in this case the bees were so far con- 
 trolled as to cluster in an apple tree close by. Piscator 
 photographed them as they clung in masses round a 
 big branch of the tree, and the farmer, face and 
 hands covered, went up to them and scraped them off 
 the branch into a hive. He was not stung much — a 
 mere trifle — only three bees had got up his sleeve — 
 they stung him, and he crunched them. 
 
 If, however, it is true, as Sir John Lubbock seems 
 to imply, that bees have no sense of hearing, and he 
 tested them over and over again with the loudest and 
 shrillest noises he could make, then, unless as he 
 observes, their range of hearing is very different from 
 
< 
 Q 
 
SOME MARCH JOTTINGS. 71 
 
 ours, the use of the clanking of these pans and pots 
 could have no effect, and the bees settling in the 
 apple tree instead of flying off, as they sometimes do 
 to a long distance, was due to some other cause. 
 Possibly the sound waves caused by this clatter 
 vibrating on the air in some way affected the nervous 
 organization of the bees. I remember some years ago 
 reading of a flight of bees settling upon a man's head 
 and neck in Regent Street. 
 
 I will finish these rambling notes by quoting a few 
 lines on the weather, at all seasons. 
 
 Signs of Foul Weather. 
 
 {From. Dr. Jenner. Quoted by R. Chambers.') 
 
 ** Loud quack the ducks, the sea-fowl cry, 
 The distant hills are looking nigh ; 
 How restless are the snorting swine. 
 The busy flies disturb the kine ; 
 Low o'er the grass the swallow wings ; 
 The cricket, too, how sharp he sings ? 
 Puss on the hearth with velvet paws 
 Sits wiping o'er her whisker'd jaws ; 
 The smoke from chimneys right ascends. 
 Then spreading back to earth it bends ; 
 The wind unsteady veers around. 
 Or settling in the south is found ; 
 Through the clear stream thejfishes rise 
 And nimbly catch the incautious flies. *^ 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OUR HOLIDAY IN WILD WALES. 
 
 The happy valley— Men of the great city visit it— They covet 
 the water of the river — Carry the water away in tubes and 
 aqueducts— Villages and churches drowned in the lake— View 
 of lake from hotel — We go a-fishing — Caught five and a half brace 
 — Tom Parry the boatman and bard— Drive round the lake — 
 Extraordinary catch of over 2,000 chub— Tumble into the source 
 of the river — Our first catch of chub — Sandpipers and chicks. 
 
 ** ' Sir,* said the old man, * if you had seen the miseries of 
 the world you would know how to value your present state.' 
 * Now,* said the prince, * you have given me something to 
 desire, I shall long to see the miseries of the world, since the 
 sight of them is necessary to happiness." — Rasselas. 
 
 Lake Vyrnwy. 
 
 rlNCE upon a time there dwelt in a peace- 
 ful valley all surrounded by lofty hills, a 
 wise and contented race of people, whose 
 ambition never led them to surmount the 
 mountains which were the limit of their little world. 
 Generation after generation had lived in this secluded 
 spot, happy and careless of what may be going on in 
 the outside world. At length an ambitious youth, 
 
:v*-;.^fl&2|S-f 
 
 > 
 
 55 
 O 
 
OUR HOLIDAY IN WILD WALES, 73 
 
 like the Abyssinian Rasselas, rose up amongst them, 
 who would not be confined within the limits of these 
 hills. He was cautioned by the sages of the valley 
 that beyond those mountains were *' regions of 
 calamity, where discord was always raging, and 
 where man preyed upon man," but he would not be 
 persuaded. He set forth on his travels till he came 
 to a great city, whose inhabitants were in danger of 
 perishing for lack of water; there he saw "the 
 miseries of the world " which he had gone forth in 
 search of, and he told those unhappy people all about 
 his own native valley, through which a pleasant river 
 ran, perpetually supplied from the everlasting hills, 
 pure and sweet. And the men of that great city 
 arose and went to see this happy valley, and they 
 coveted it. They said, we will dam up one end of 
 the valley and make a great lake, which shall climb 
 a hundred feet up the sides of the hills, and this 
 water shall be a perpetual source of supply to our 
 great city ; we will bore holes through mountains, 
 lay down great pipes and aqueducts across valleys, 
 and pour into the reservoirs of our city, and our 
 people shall no longer be in danger of perishing for 
 want of water. This great deed was done, the water 
 gradually rose up and filled the valley, and the people 
 who had lived there all their lives were driven out to 
 find for themselves new homes elsewhere ; but some 
 of the very old people loved the place of their birth, 
 and would not move out of their houses till the rising 
 waters poured in at their windows, then they went 
 away and died of broken hearts. Still the waters 
 rose, till farms and villages, churches, chapels, and 
 
74 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 homesteads were overwhelmed and now lie beneath 
 the great lake. Tombstones and coffins with their 
 contents had been removed, and planted afresh in 
 sacred ground on the mountain side ; the church- 
 yards were laid down with cement, and the waters 
 which now flow over these engulfed villages and 
 churchyards, and pour for many miles through tun- 
 nels and tanks, is pellucid and pure, and the people 
 of the great city derive health and vigour from the 
 waters of these mountains of Wales. And so it was 
 that the happy valley of the Vyrnwy became a great 
 lake, filled with big trout and other gamesome fishes ; 
 happy anglers sail upon its surface, and return to 
 the hotel laden with 'spoil, naturalists find endless 
 occupation amongst the birds and ferns and rocks on 
 the hills all round, and the great city of Liverpool is 
 grateful to the young Rasselas who first hinted to 
 them that here, lying in the bosom of North Wales, 
 was the water supply they so sadly needed. 
 
 It was to visit this wonderful lake, and, if haply 
 we could, to catch some of the trout which were said 
 to swarm in its waters, that we travelled from London 
 (I, my daughter R., and her husband) on the last day 
 of June, 1894 — a glorious day. This happy valley 
 (now a small sea five miles in length) lies high up in 
 the Welsh mountains, far away from railways and 
 " madding crowds." The twelve or fifteen mile drive 
 through lovely mountain scenery already inspires one 
 with glowing hope, and we reach the Lake Vyrnwy 
 Hotel with a warm welcome from the cheerful 
 hostess. 
 
 Looking on Lake Vyrnwy from the hotel window 
 
OUR HOLIDAY IN WILD WALES. 75 
 
 on the glorious summer evening of our arrival, one's 
 first impression of it is that of its vast antiquity. Sur- 
 rounded as it is by the everlasting hills, its rugged 
 time-w^orn shores surely prove that its existence is 
 coeval with the hoary mountains that encompass it. 
 Yonder, standing out in the lake, is an ancient 
 Italian tower, which in the gloaming looks as old and 
 weather-beaten as the " prison of Chillon," to which, 
 indeed, it bears a marked resemblance, not, one may 
 presume, undesigned. Another first impression is 
 the perfect peace which reigns around this ancient 
 lake. There is a gentle silent simmer on the surface 
 of the water, and nothing is heard but the singing of 
 many birds in the woods beneath us. 
 
 When I read the very interesting description of 
 this lake which appeared in **The Fishing Gazette" a 
 long time ago, written by C. W. Gedney, I decided 
 to take the first chance of coming and seeing it for 
 myself. He seems to have described every part of it 
 in so thorough and practical a way, and always with 
 an angler's eye to its fishing capabilities, that I 
 hardly see an opening for a mere amateur to find 
 anything new to say about it ; but, as a truthful 
 narrator, I must tell of things as I find them. 
 
 July \st. — Sitting in one of the summer-houses 
 which the hotel provides for its guests on a rugged 
 brow, looking down upon the lake over the top of a 
 fringe of green oak foliage, who shall tell me that 
 yonder expanse of blue water lying in a great basin, 
 formed by a circle of Welsh hills a thousand feet 
 above the sea, has not reflected the wood-crowned 
 heights, brown heather-clad mountains, cultivated 
 
76 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 fields and green meadows, which on all sides slope 
 down to its very margin, ever since they began to 
 stand as they stand yonder now ? 
 
 Just above where I am now sitting is an obelisk, 
 which, at this distance, I take to be at least of the 
 same antiquity as Cleopatra's Needle, which for a 
 thousand years lay prone in Alexandria's sands, and 
 now stands erect on the banks of the Thames. It 
 seems at a short distance to bear hieroglyphics partly 
 obliterated by venerable age. But what is it that I 
 read on closer inspection ? What is the truth about 
 this tall monument which as seen from a distance 
 ** lifts its bold head and lies?" It now reveals a 
 truthful and melancholy story. 
 
 After all, then, this wonderful lake is probably the 
 youngest in the world ; it is not yet five years old, 
 with all the calm dignity of a thousand years. Art 
 has intentionally assisted Nature in producing this air 
 of antiquity. The monument, which is most sub- 
 stantially built of rough dark blue granite, was erected 
 *' To the memory of men who have died while efnployed 
 in the works of Lake Vyj-nwy, 1880 to 1890. Erected 
 by their fellow workmefi. " It also bears the names of 
 the men, ten of whom were killed, and thirty-four who 
 died during that period. 
 
 Monday, July 2nd. — Full of the grand exploits 
 which the eloquent Mr. G. had led us to anticipate, 
 we start for the lake. I took one boat and R. and 
 her husband another, and that nothing should be 
 wanting, G. 's boatman became mine. Now, Tom is 
 a poet, a descendant of the bards of old. He it was 
 who celebrated, no doubt in touching strains, the 
 
\ 
 
OUR HOLIDAY IN WILD WALES. 77 
 
 opening of this lake ; he is a frequent prize winner, 
 and constantly finds a welcome corner in the weekly 
 newspaper ; but Tom is very modest, and I have not 
 yet prevailed on him to give me only a few verses for 
 *'The Fishing Gazette," which, being in Welsh, I am 
 sure would be highly appreciated. He plays the harp 
 " a little." My boatman poet is a giant in strength, 
 and he smiles gently when I sometimes promise to 
 throw him overboard for not bringing me over rising 
 fish. 
 
 Tom is not enthusiastic, indeed rather pessimistic, 
 he does not think the water propitious for fishing, 
 gleams of sunshine, he says, thrown on troubled waters 
 through white clouds cause a glaring shimmer not 
 good for fishing, which I am sure is bosh ; however, 
 it soon came on to rain heavily, and then between us, 
 for it would be invidious to say which boat was most 
 successful, Tom or David's, we captured five and a 
 half brace of fine trout. 
 
 We did not regard this as much to brag about, 
 knowing what has been done here, but we were 
 moderately content, looking for better doings to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Tuesday, July yd. — Attracted by the lovely scenery 
 below the embankment bridge, I employed this morn- 
 ing in an attempt to rise a trout from the bright shallow 
 water of the River Vyrnwy, for, notwithstanding the 
 divergence of its waters to Liverpool, the Corporation 
 is bound to maintain the river's normal supply as a 
 tributary of the Severn, but I only rose and caught 
 one trout. Meanwhile David had taken his pair of 
 enthusiasts on the lake. R. throws the fly with skilL 
 
78 By MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 and precision, and her husband is rapidly becoming an 
 expert under her tuition ; but like myself they failed on 
 this occasion. The good and beautiful lake refused to 
 yield up its treasures of fish, but not the less were 
 they pleased with their experience, paddling around 
 the lake. This new lake, like the old ones, has 
 already learnt to be capricious, and is not always to 
 be successfully wooed. We are getting accustomed to 
 finish up one day by hopefully looking for better luck 
 on the morrow. 
 
 Wednesday, July d^h. — Fishing, according to our 
 two melancholy prophets, being out of the question, 
 on account of the brilliancy and heat of the sun, we 
 drove up to the far end of the lake to assist in netting 
 three of the creeks for our ancient enemy, the villainous 
 chub. Here we had good hope of an exciting scene, 
 for it was only last week that our netsmen (under the 
 able superintendence of our hostess. Miss Davies, 
 hauled out over 2,000 chub from their spawning 
 grounds. During the past few weeks over 4,000 of these 
 lovely but despised monsters have been caught about 
 here, and the atmosphere is still not sweet over the 
 spot where these tons of chub lie buried. Our catch 
 altogether amounted to two chub. 
 
 Thursday , July ^th. — Miss Davies — perhaps a little 
 too confident on account of the success which generally 
 attends her expeditions on the lake — volunteered to 
 accompany us for another attack on the chub in the 
 same quarters ; and so it happened that on this most 
 lovely day we had another drive round the lake, 
 gathering oak ferns on our way. We drove right up 
 into the mountains, and beyond where our horses 
 
OUR HOLIDAY IN WILD WALES. 79 
 
 could go I walked to explore the source of the 
 Vyrnwy ; for miles I plodded on through the wild 
 mountain pass, till at last, caught in a bog, I fell slap 
 into the very beginning of this water. Muddy and 
 rather slimy I returned to the carriage. 
 
 We then drove on to the creek and netted thirteen 
 chub, and so ended our chubbing. 
 
 On the road we found another bard, for they seem 
 to be as plentiful as bilberries in these parts. He was 
 a fine old chap, who goes by the name of Tom 
 Richards, he was engaged in painting the Corporation 
 rails which surround the lake. Thos. Richards is 
 endowed with a splendid baritone voice, old man 
 though he is. He made the welkin ring with that 
 spirited song, " Hyfaen y cwrw melen," which being 
 interpreted means, " The cream of good beer ; " then 
 he gave us " Dyffryn Clwyd," " The Vale of Clwyd," 
 and the "Men of Harlech" (of course in Welsh). 
 He finished by giving a carol in a very touching strain 
 — for Thos. R. is known throughout the whole country 
 as an exquisite carol-singer. 
 
 Friday^ July 6th. — Another bright day. We 
 started off with lunch in our boats and hope in our 
 hearts to spend a happy day at the far end of the 
 lake. There was a pleasant ripple on the water, like 
 the silvery scales on the sides of a chub, as we trolled 
 lazily up the north shore, drawing each of us a poor 
 little spinning minnow behind us, but drawing no 
 trout thereby. I tried my celebrated spinner, known 
 as "the Derby Killer," and he brought me in one 
 fine trout, a small triumph over the natural minnow 
 the others were trying. When we reached the centre 
 
8o BV MEADOIV AND STREAM. 
 
 of the lake, marked by white posts on each side, we 
 put up our spinners and took to our flies as in duty 
 bound — but first we made our way to an old ruined 
 chapel which stands on the very edge of the lake, and 
 only just failed of being swallowed up when the great 
 flood came. Just below us as we row up to this old 
 chapel lie, a hundred feet deep, the remains of the 
 church, the chapel, the "Powys Arms," and the 
 village of Llanwddyn. This chapel now serves as a 
 resting-place for anglers — piscatoribus sacrum — and 
 here we rested and partook of our luncheon. 
 
 Then we proceeded to Eunant Bay, and fished 
 from the shore, but with small success, for time and 
 season are against us. Last month we should have 
 done wonders, and so should we do next month if we 
 could but stay, but this month the attempt is useless — 
 thus are we comforted by Tom the sad poet, and 
 David the desponding. The most interesting thing 
 that happened to us, and it was really a novel and a 
 pretty sight, was Rose's encounter with the sandpipers 
 on the Eunant beach, which shall be given in her 
 own words. 
 
 "As I was casting my flies from the beach of 
 Eunant, a pretty sandpiper flew backwards and 
 forwards, scolding around me. I was not aware that 
 the little mother bird was speaking to me, but it 
 gradually dawned upon me that I was the object of 
 her displeasure, that her maternal instincts were 
 aroused, and that somehow 1 was keeping her from 
 her nest. Still the trout were rising, and all my 
 thought was, * Silly bird, go to your home, and leave 
 me a chance for yonder two-pounder,' but she wouldn't 
 
OUR HOLIDAY IN WILD WALES. 8i 
 
 go, and presently flew to a rock a yard from my feet, 
 seemingly in the utmost distress. I could stand it no 
 longer. Throwing down my rod, I called David to 
 come and search for the nest; we heard a wee cry 
 from the young ones, but although.it seemed to come 
 from the ground at our feet, we could not find the 
 nest, so gave it up. But the bird was not happy, nor 
 was I, for I felt I was doing a cruel thing in keeping 
 that woebegone little mother from her chicks. It was 
 quite pitiful the way she begged me to go away. I 
 looked about again, and I found that had I taken 
 another step backwards I should have hurried a wee 
 fluffy baby sandpiper out of the world ; then I found 
 two more, and last, out of a hole in the bank, came 
 forth another. I gathered them up gently and made 
 a nest on the beach with grass ; they closed their eyes 
 and looked so resigned and sad, as if they thought it 
 was all up with them, and my heart ached, for I felt 
 that I was the innocent cause of all this lamentation, 
 and mourning, and woe. But baby sandpipers are 
 dear little humbugs ; the instant I left the nest, and their 
 mother called them, those half dead and frightened 
 little pipers ran as fast as their legs would carry them 
 to the secure shelter of their mother's wings, which 
 she spread over them just as a hen does over her 
 chickens. Sandpipers nest on the ground,^ they lay 
 four eggs, and as soon as the young birds can walk they 
 
 1 The nest, if it was a nest, where we found these little 
 unfledged birds was just under a bit of overhanging turf, resting 
 on the ground, leaving a hollow space behind. The birds ran 
 in and out at both ends, but there was no appearance of lining 
 of any kind. 
 
 G 
 
82 BV MEADOIV AND STREAM, 
 
 wander away from home, and the affectionate mother 
 has an anxious time in keeping an eye, one after 
 another, on the whole brood. The maternal instincts 
 in the hen were so strong that we could have caught 
 her easily as she came boldly up almost to our feet to 
 cuddle and croon over her brood of unruly chicks ; 
 and her gentle cooing tone towards them curiously 
 contrasted with the shrill, nagging tone she had used 
 to warn me off." David vowed he never saw such a 
 pretty scene in all his life, and I am sure Tom Parry 
 is meditating a poem to be called " The Piper's Nest '* 
 (in Welsh), which, if it reaches fruition, I shall hope 
 to include in this book for the special edification of 
 my readers, particularly of that large portion of them 
 who are acquainted with the Welsh language. 
 
 Saturday ^ July "Jth. — Not quite so pleasant a day 
 as usual. A cold wind blew over the lake, which 
 had a boisterous and unfishable look. Rose and 
 Arthur, accompanied by the faithful David, ventured 
 out, and came back with two and a half brace in the 
 morning, and three and a half brace in the evening — 
 six brace of fine trout, which made a pretty display on 
 the hall table. 
 
 Up to last night and during the whole week Hotel 
 Vyrnwy has been almost in our sole possession. Last 
 night the Water Committee of the Corporation of 
 Liverpool came down upon us in a body to examine 
 their property and enjoy a pleasant holiday, and they 
 could hardly come to a pleasanter place. 
 
 I will finish up my record of this week by saying 
 that the accommodation to be found in Hotel Vyrnwy 
 is such as should satisfy any reasonable being ; it is 
 
OUR HOLIDAY IN WILD WALES. 83 
 
 very tastefully furnished throughout, the table is ex- 
 ceptionally liberal, and the cooking is perfect. I 
 should like emphatically to endeavour to dispel what 
 I find to be a very general impression, that this beau- 
 tiful little inland sea is a mere reservoir and nothing 
 more. Its constantly changing panorama is always 
 in front of us, and the varying tints of the surround- 
 ing hills as sunshine and shade alternate are delightful 
 to gaze upon. Painters of nature may find a happy 
 resting-place in this health-giving retreat. I am 
 myself a living proof of the bracing atmosphere, 
 having come here a week ago in a somewhat dyspeptic 
 tone of body and mind. I can now eat the trout I 
 have caught with proper zest, and at the present 
 moment am prepared to challenge any member of the 
 Liverpool Corporation to a foot race from here down 
 to yonder bridge. 
 
 Not being an all-round sportsman, I have found 
 nothing to say about the many thousands of acres of 
 grouse moors connected with this hotel, or of the 
 abundance of wildfowl to be had for the shooting. 
 
 There is an excellent tennis lawn for those who 
 enjoy that health-giving game, and a superb billiard 
 room for indoor amusement. There is room enough 
 and to spare on the hillsides for a tough golf-link, 
 and a club will soon be formed for this sport. 
 
 I should be very ungrateful were I to close this 
 rambling article without making some acknowledg- 
 ment to our most kind and cheerful hostess, Miss 
 Davies, who possesses the happy faculty of inspiring 
 her guests with the assurance that life is worth living 
 at Lake Vyrnwy. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A RIDE OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 A twenty-two mile ride over the mountains to Bala — Lovely 
 scenery— Jenny Jones— Plascoch Hotel— A charming ancient 
 hostelry — Ancient furniture — Oliver Cromwell's bed— The Vale 
 of Edeirion — Queen's visit to Pale — Bala whisky — Bala water 
 to supply London — A charming ride back to hotel— Forty miles 
 in all. 
 
 UESDA V, July loM.— Yesterday (the 9th) 
 
 we fished the lake all day, lazily roaming 
 
 over its surface, rather careless whether we 
 
 caught fish or did not catch them, the 
 
 total result being six brace of elegant trout. 
 
 To-day we abandon the lake and are off in a 
 waggonette and pair of horses, with Miss Davis as 
 our guide, for a twenty-two mile drive over these wild 
 Welsh mountains to Bala. I wish no worse luck to 
 my readers than that they should, in their turn (with 
 Miss D. as their guide), have such a glorious ride as 
 we had, for although we set forth early in the day in 
 a downpour of rain which threatened to be continuous, 
 it lasted only an hour. 
 
 The nearest way to Bala is fifteen miles, but we 
 
A RIDE OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 85 
 
 took the longest, the wildest, and most rugged, over 
 the Eunant and Moel y gadfa mountains (I am not 
 sure about the names of my mountains), a ride which 
 made our hearts rejoice, for the air was delicious and 
 the scenery superb. I am sure there is nothing finer 
 in Wales than the grand view one gets of the vale of 
 Dinas Mawddwy from the junction road, on the top 
 of the pass of Bwlchygroes, where we halted to rest 
 our horses, and be refreshed ourselves from the 
 generous basket which Miss D. had thoughtfully 
 provided. 
 
 Turning northwards at the junction, with our backs 
 on the beautiful valley, and frequently enjoying long 
 walks up the steep ascents, we, after many miles of 
 winding, downward ways, found ourselves at the 
 village of Llanuwchllyn. Here it was that we met 
 old Jenny Jones, who, in her youthful days, " when 
 George the Fourth was King," must have rivalled her 
 namesake of " The Vale of Llangollen " for grace and 
 beauty. She wore the national costume (now rapidly 
 disappearing) and stood a snap - shot from A. 's 
 ** Kodak" with graceful dignity. 
 
 On the roadside which runs along the beautiful lake 
 of Bala is a remarkable object called "The Trinity 
 Tree." Out of a stem of oak spring a mountain ash 
 and a birch tree, all three now in full foliage.^ 
 
 ' Remarkable Growth on Oak Trees. — "A correspon- 
 dent writes to us from Viking es, Hardanger : ' In my rambles 
 through the woods I have been much struck with the luxuriance 
 of vegetation. The oak is not a common tree in this latitude in 
 Norway, but here are some really wonderful oaks. They must 
 be of very great age indeed, considering how slowly the oak 
 grows in Norway. We measured one of them and found it to 
 
86 JBV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 Bala Lake, the whole length of which we passed 
 along on the western side, is not by two hundred 
 acres so large as Lake Vyrnwy, nor- is the scenery 
 which immediately surrounds it so imposing. The 
 fishing there is said to be good, and would be better 
 but for the numerous pike, which want thinning out. 
 
 That was a stout pair of horses that drew four of 
 us and a weighty, steady coachman (always addressed 
 as "Johnny " by Miss D.) up and down those moun- 
 tain sides, and landed us safely at the Plascoch Hotel 
 Bala. This is one of the quaintest hotels imaginable, 
 combining all the good features of an ancient hostelry 
 with all the last modern appliances. Here are fine 
 old Chippendale tables, ancient carved oak chests and 
 bedsteads, and priceless old china. Here, in the hall, 
 a venerable harpist, said to be one of the best in 
 Wales, delighted our ears with the most charming 
 melodies. 
 
 We could not stay the night, or I might have been 
 
 be just twenty feet in circumference. Another tree forms with 
 a bough a beautiful natural arch over a path in the woods. 
 But the strangest thing is to see on some of these oaks, tall well 
 grown mountain ashes, growing on the parent oak, and now 
 forming a part of the tree. I do not know if this is a common 
 occurrence with the oak or other trees, but I have never seen 
 such a growth before. More than a dozen trees have mountain 
 ashes growing out of them. In one or two of the older trees, 
 the ash has grown up the hollow stem, its fine polished bark 
 looking like a pipe in the hollow trunk, and half way up the 
 tree, you can see the leaves and berries appearing through a 
 hole in the old oak tree. I would be glad if some of your 
 botanical readers would say if such growths are common in 
 other places.' " — Front Beyer s Weekly News for Travellers in 
 Norway. 
 
A RIDE OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 87 
 
 haunted by the ghost of Oliver Cromwell, who once 
 slept on one of these bedsteads on the occasion of a 
 memorable visit to a neighbouring mansion. This 
 hotel belongs to, and is well looked after by, our own 
 hostess of **The Vyrnwy," the indefatigable Miss D. 
 
 It may be incidentally mentioned that wild Wales 
 is now about to enter into serious rivalry with Scotland 
 and Ireland in the matter of tvhisky ; the new Welsh 
 whisky is to surpass old Irish and old Scotch in 
 purity, strength, delicacy of flavour, and any other 
 good qualities there may be that go to make most 
 excellent toddy. This is, of course, bold assertion 
 without proof. I do not pretend to be an adequate 
 judge. I will only say that the sample I tasted was 
 very good, but being only a thimbleful, was not 
 enough to inspire me with proper eloquence. Here it 
 was, in a cellar, that we were permitted to have a 
 private view of a puncheon of the new liquor, oak- 
 polished and silver-hooped, which the Freemasons of 
 Bala are about to present to H.R.H. the Prince of 
 Wales, their Grand Master, on the occasion of his 
 approaching visit to Rhyl. 
 
 As a curious coincidence, this old town of Bala, 
 so soon to become celebrated for its whisky^ is also 
 destined to become more celebrated for its water. We 
 are told here that London, bitterly disappointed at 
 the loss of our Vyrnwy, has now decided to seize 
 upon Bala Lake and carry its water as well as its 
 whisky to Babylon. A great dam, like the one I 
 look down upon now from Hotel Vyrnwy, is to be 
 formed below the old town, and the water will rise 
 mountains high, and that charming old town, its 
 
88 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 curious hotels, churches, and chapels, will disappear 
 "like the baseless fabric of a vision," just as yonder 
 village of Llanwyddan lies hidden in this lake. But 
 a new Bala will arise on the mountain sides, and its 
 whisky and its water will flourish for ever. 
 
 It was nearly seven o'clock before we could tear 
 ourselves away from Bala, and then, by the toss of a 
 penny, we were destined to return by an equally 
 circuitous route, which led us over the Berwyn 
 Mountains by, if possible, a still more picturesque 
 route than the one by which we had arrived. 
 
 Passing up the mountain side we had glorious views 
 of many other mountains — Cader Idris, towering 
 highest away off westward, and Arran Maw^ddwy, the 
 second highest in Wales, which lifts its cloud-capped 
 head above the hills surrounding Lake Vyrnwy. 
 Then down yonder at our feet we trace the river Dee 
 winding its way through the Vale of Edeirion, said to 
 be the most lovely in the Principality. Yonder is 
 the noble castle of Pale nestling in the woods and 
 looking down the vale. Here it was that Her 
 Majesty spent some days in the year 1889, and pro- 
 nounced the surrounding scenery to be the most 
 charming she had ever seen, which gracious words 
 have made the inhabitants very proud. 
 
 And so our horses plodded steadily up steeps and 
 down inclines and across undulating moors, and the 
 night came slowly on, till twilight deepened into 
 darkness, and nothing could be seen, and nothing 
 heard but the steady tramp of our horses, the clatter 
 of our own tongues, the occasional bark of a sheep- 
 dog, and the bleating of a mountain sheep in the 
 
A RIDE OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 89 
 
 distance, the clucking cries of grouse in the bilberry 
 bushes away up on the mountain sides. An occasional 
 star twinkled through the clouds, but the moon on 
 its downward course failed to cast a glimmer of light 
 through its curtain of blackness till it rested on the 
 distant mountain tops, over which for a few minutes 
 it threw a grand display of fireworks, and then sank 
 down, leaving us in darkness still more visible. 
 
 Our steady horses knew every step of the road, and 
 they trotted down steep inclines where a swerve of a 
 foot or two to right or left would have sent us all 
 whirling into space. 
 
 At the foot of Berwyn we came down upon the 
 important mining village of Llangynog, where we 
 gave our trusty steeds a refreshing meal of bran 
 mash. 
 
 Somewhere up yonder in the darkness above this 
 village lies Penant Melangell, the ** City of Refuge." 
 
 " *Tis a church in a vale, 
 
 Whereby hangs a tale 
 How a hare being pressed by the dogs was much distressed, 
 
 The huntsman coming nigh, 
 
 And the dogs in full cry. 
 Looked about for someone to defend her ; 
 
 And saw just in time, 
 
 As it now comes pat in rhyme, 
 A saint of the feminine gender." 
 
 SOUTHEY. 
 
 The poor hare found refuge under the saint's 
 petticoats. This good saint was called Monacella. 
 The princely huntsman, it is said, was so impressed, 
 that he endowed an abbey, of which she became the 
 abbess. 
 
90 BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 The darkness of our way was here and there bril- 
 liantly lighted up by innumerable glow-worms shining 
 forth to attract their mates, and they really served as 
 lights to our feet and lamps to our path in the 
 deepening darkness. 
 
 We reached Hotel Vyrnwy at eleven o'clock, our 
 single pair of horses having carried us over hill and 
 dale for more than forty miles, a most pleasant excur- 
 sion, which none of us will ever forget. 
 
 Thursday f July I2th. — A showery morning, with 
 alternate sunshine and a continuous cold wind. We 
 visited the trout breeding ponds which the late pro- 
 prietor of this hotel, Mr. Ward, has established up 
 yonder on the hill side. The young fry and yearlings 
 in the smaller ponds are in flourishing condition. 
 There is one small pond containing about 3,500 year- 
 ling trout which presented a most lively appearance ; 
 they are exclusively of the good old Vyrnwy breed, 
 playful and frisky, taking the food thrown in to them, 
 and following the man in charge round the side with 
 the utmost apparent glee ; these are the sort of fish 
 that will know how to rise to the fly when they take 
 their turn next February to go out into the lake. 
 
 In the larger pond and other tanks there are some 
 thousands of yearlings, two-year-olds, and smaller, 
 which will also go to increase the swarm in Lake 
 Vyrnwy. These native trout grow faster, and thrive 
 better, than the fish imported from Loch Leven. 
 Unfortunately, on account of their pluck, they are 
 the very fish that first get into trouble in the lake. 
 The keeper is of opinion that nearly all of them that 
 were put in a year ago have fallen victims to the rod 
 
A RIDE OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 91 
 
 and line and imitation flies, while the Loch Leven 
 trout mostly come to the minnow, and do not rise 
 well. Nor are they to be compared in plumpness to 
 the natives, and generally arrive lanky and listless, as 
 if life in Lake Vyrnwy was not good for them. The 
 cross-bred fish are better fighters ; and, doubtless, in 
 course of a short time the old stock will come to the 
 front as a survival of the fittest. It may be added 
 that the yearly turn-out from these hatcheries amounts 
 to about sixty thousand fry. 
 
 . Friday^ July I'^th. — As I sit basking in the sun 
 facing the lake on this bright morning, three merry 
 maidens come tripping down the road with rakes on 
 their shoulders — they are going a-haymaking up 
 yonder on the hillside — and now I hear their pleasant 
 laughter as they flit about the hayfield now raking up 
 the fragments that remain after the cocks have been 
 loaded on the sleighs, and now flirting with the 
 swains who are pitching and loading. A. and R. are 
 off" on the lake for the last time on the look-out for a 
 last dish of trout, which they fortunately succeeded 
 in getting. They brought in six brace of trout, which 
 will accompany them home to-morrow. I meanwhile 
 take a last stroll over the hills for a chat with the 
 birds. I fancy that nearly all English birds are to be 
 found round this lake. I made acquaintance with all 
 my old friends and some new ones — the Mountain 
 Brummar, locally so called, among others. 
 
 Our wild Welsh visit is now drawhig to a close, 
 and I can but hope that the random notes of my own 
 very pleasant experiences may induce many others to 
 try a like experiment. I have no motive for belaud- 
 
92 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 ing this place, and certainly not the faintest ground 
 for decrying it. I can only hope that all who may 
 come here may derive as much pleasure from their 
 visit as we have done who are now regretfully 
 leaving it. 
 
 Tom Parry, not feeling quite equal to a poem on 
 the sandpiper's nest, has just sent the following lines, 
 which speak for themselves : 
 
 "LLYN Y VYRNWY 
 (Lake Vyrnwy). 
 
 " Hardd groew loew fawr Lyn— a welir 
 
 Ar waelod Llanwddyn 
 Roedd yn bod i ddod i ddyn 
 
 Yn barod yn y Berwyn. 
 
 * Gwrthglawdd y Vyrnwy ' 
 ( ' The dam of the Vyrnwy '). 
 
 ** Ceir urddas gwmpas y gwych gampwaith-hwn 
 
 Ac ynddo orchestwaith ; 
 
 A gwir enwog gywrainwaith 
 
 Beri'n gryf heb yr un graith," 
 
 Lake Vyrnwy Tom Parry. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A DAY IN ELYSIAN FIELDS. 
 
 A wet day on the Ver — Fishing a failure — Trout tailing — In 
 a shed not waterproof — Lark's nest — A lecture on cruelty to 
 birds — A solitary trout — A run to catch train — Too late — A 
 pleasant pub. and a good supper. 
 
 H HAT wild enthusiast about everything of a 
 fishy nature who, over the pseudonym of 
 ** Dragnet," drags into his net all those 
 interesting and amusing scraps in "The 
 Fishing Gazette" which constitute its "lighter vein," 
 has insisted, on behalf of the editor, on my writing 
 a story of some sort for this Christmas number. 
 But, bless him, I have no story to tell ! When I 
 happen to have any reminiscences to fall back upon 
 I record them truthfully, and without the garnish of 
 a vivid imagination. I leave the imaginative to the 
 poetic "Dragnet;" in his column truth is rarely 
 found, and fiction doth abound. 
 
 There are many men so happily fixed in the world 
 as to be able to devote all the time they want to the 
 delightful pleasures of angling. Others there are 
 who, like myself, can but rarely indulge in waterside 
 
 V 
 
94 By MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 amusements, and have therefore not even the most 
 commonplace incidents to furbish up into readable 
 material. 
 
 The French used to say that November is the month 
 in which Englishmen hang themselves. We have 
 now reached that depressing period, without, let us 
 hope, the suicidal tendencies which the French attri- 
 bute to us, but which a visit to the Morgue at any 
 time would probably show to be more applicable to 
 themselves, only they generally drown themselves. 
 If, as saith the poet, 
 
 *' November's sky is chill and drear, 
 November's leaf is red and sere," 
 
 it hath its compensations. We have already made a 
 considerable dip into the dark and dismal days of 
 December, and can we not sit in our armchairs, those 
 of us who are still young : 
 
 " And anxious ask — will spring return, 
 
 And birds and lambs again be gay. 
 
 And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray ? " 
 
 while those of us who are old are apt to take back- 
 ward glances, and beguile the weary time by trying 
 to fight our pleasant angling battles o'er again. In 
 this way, I, being too old to look forward, as some of 
 you can, with the bounding hope of youth, will hark 
 back to days gone by. 
 
 It was in the leafy month of June that we started 
 for a charming stretch of water on the pretty Hert- 
 fordshire Ver. 
 
 Our party consisted only of two rods — the Major 
 and that well-known sporting writer *'Sarcelle." I 
 
A DAY IN ELYS I AN FIELDS. 95 
 
 had promised to meet them at West Drayton, and 
 we were all to drive over together to our water, about 
 five miles away. I missed the train, and so had, later 
 on, to hire another trap and follow them. 
 
 It was a blithe morning, not, however, quite free 
 from suspicious clouds ; a morning of doubtful 
 augury, whether for sun or rain. The Major had 
 equipped himself in a thin summer suit and thin 
 boots to match, and the **Sarcelle" was still more 
 lightly clad ; whilst I, who had only come to look 
 on, was prepared for any weather — mackintosh, 
 umbrella, gaiters, and thick boots. I was weather- 
 wise, they were weather-foolish. 
 
 When I came up to them about noon it was in a 
 drizzling rain, which came on thicker and thicker, till 
 at length we were all compelled by a heavy downpour 
 to adjourn to a neighbouring shed. 
 
 They had fished for hours, of course with their 
 usual consummate skill, but had caught nothing. If 
 their clothing was damp, not to say saturated with wet, 
 their thin shoes full of water, and flabby trousers 
 clinging to their gaiterless legs, their spirits were not 
 damped in the least ; they were ready at any moment 
 to sally forth again at the first sign of the storm 
 abating, but it did not abate. The aggravating part 
 of it was that the little deep-running stream was 
 bubbling over with big trout, but not a fly would they 
 look at, natural or imitation. There they were with 
 their broad, fan-like tails waggling out of the water 
 and their heads down in the mud, some close under the 
 banks, others having nice little gambols amid stream, 
 playing about like big babies ; for you may be quite 
 
96 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 sure that trout have their play time like the big bipeds 
 who love to play with them. 
 
 These trout were not a bit shy, as most trout are. 
 Of course, with their heads in the mud, they could not 
 see us, and their sense of hearing must be very slight. 
 I all but caught a whopper by slyly putting the net 
 under his body, but he was not to be caught in that 
 improper way. 
 
 We stood or squatted in that shed till its apparently 
 waterproof covering of old rat -hole thatch became a 
 a sieve, and the rain came through with as much free- 
 dom as it came down outside. 
 
 They had sent us from the railway hotel a basket of 
 provisions and a big jar of beer, and as lunch time had 
 arrived we tried, each of us, to find a dry corner 
 in which to consume it, but a dry spot could not be 
 found. My umbrella served me well, but the others 
 had to eat their food soaked with rain-water. Our 
 provisions had been brought down by a farm labourer, 
 and the Major, with his usual magnificent but rather 
 thoughtless liberality, had told him and a companion 
 who had joined him to help themselves to some beer 
 while we were away fishing — and they did. When we 
 came to our jar we found it necessary to tilt it to an 
 angle of about 75 degrees from the perpendicular 
 before a drop of beer would come out. Our share 
 amounted to about half a tumbler each out of this haif- 
 gallon jar. 
 
 Presently, when we had finished our repast, these 
 two youths turned up, and, seeing the plight we were 
 in, politely invited us to take shelter in a neighbour- 
 ing barn. This refuge was at least quite dry, and 
 
A DAY IN ELYSIAN FIELDS. 97 
 
 there we were weatherbound for nearly three hours ; 
 the rain came pouring dowTi, thunder rolling, and 
 lightning flashing all the time. We smoked and told 
 tales, and did what we could pour passer le temps. 
 A game of marbles would have been a relief, but taws 
 were wanting. By way of a little diversion one of 
 these chaps came sidling up to us, with a leary look on 
 his face and a twinkle in his eye, and said, in a low 
 tone, as if he did not want all the world to know, 
 ** Would erra one o' you gents like to take 'ome to your 
 famblies a pair o' nice young singing larks ? I knows to 
 a nest down in yander bushes." 
 
 ** Well," I said, ** I should like to see a lark's nest ; 
 come and show it to me. " 
 
 So we trudged off through the rain and the long wet 
 grass, and, as we reached the spot, two hundred yards 
 off, the mother bird flew out of the bush, and flitted 
 round in sore trouble. There across a deep ditch, and 
 hidden away among the brambles, I saw the nest, and 
 in it a couple of young nearly flush larks, with their 
 mouths wide open. 
 
 ** Pretty little innocents ! " I cried, sentimentally, 
 **I would not touch them for all the world, and 
 I strongly advise you, my friend, to keep your hands 
 off them." 
 
 *'Why?" said this young ruffian. 
 
 " Why," said I, ** did you never hear of an Act of 
 Parliament called the * Wild Birds Protection Act ? * 
 Touch those birds, and you render yourself liable 
 to twelve months' imprisonment, bread and water, 
 hard labour, and a cat-o'-nine tails to finish you up 
 with." 
 
 H 
 
98 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 " I dunno nothink about that," said he. " I 
 don't see no more 'arm nor cruelty in me taking 
 them young birds than there is in you taking young 
 fishes. " 
 
 This was a floorer for me for a moment, but I 
 replied, with virtuous indignation. 
 
 "You are quite mistaken, my friend; when by 
 chance we catch young fish we immediately return 
 them to the bosom of their family. It is only the old 
 big sinners that go about marauding all day and 
 all night seeking some living thing to devour that are 
 sometimes wilHng to be caught by us. They are just 
 as pleased to swallow flies with hooks in 'em as any 
 other flies, and they quite enjoy being pulled out of 
 the water, as you may easily see by the way they 
 wriggle about. Besides, are you who have lived all 
 your lifetime by the waterside ignorant of the well- 
 known fact that cold-blooded fish have no sensory 
 nerves, and therefore cannot feel any pain at all ? It 
 is not so with birds. Again, don't you know that fish 
 is a most wholesome, delicate, and necessary food for 
 human beings ? What would become of us all with- 
 out fish ? It would be a sin not to catch them." 
 
 ** Well," said he, ' * ain't young larks good for human 
 food ? Tell me anything that is nicer than plump 
 young larks, 'specially on toast. " 
 
 He had me again, *'on toast." My speech was 
 quite lost upon him, he meant to have those young 
 larks in spite of the law, and as many more as he 
 could find a market for, and so we trudged back to 
 the barn. 
 
 At the first glimpse of a small scrap of hazy blue, 
 
A DAY IN ELYSIAN FIELDS. 99 
 
 enough to make a Chinaman a pair of breeches, 
 struggling out of the heavy black clouds just over the 
 tree tops in the west, and although drizzling rain was 
 falling, and another storm of lightning, thunder, and 
 rain was coming up from the east, the Major and 
 **Sarcelle" determined to risk another wetting, and 
 they got it. Profane outsiders would have called 
 them cranks, but you, my readers, know something of 
 the afflatus that inspires an angler's soul, and converts, 
 for him, splashy puddles, long, wet grass, and pouring 
 rain, into veritable Elysian fields. 
 
 ** Sarcelle," as you know, is the French for teal, 
 and teal is the smallest of the Duck tribe — hence his 
 imperviousness to water — but the Major has no such 
 excuse. 
 
 They fished again, *' Sarcelle " using the wet-fly — 
 not at all difficult in such weather — and the * ' chuck- 
 and-chance-it " system. The Major adhered to the 
 scientific " dry-fly " plan, wherein he is a well-known 
 adept ; keeping his eye always wide awake for a rise, 
 and never casting till he saw one ; but the trout were 
 still a-tailing. After long and patient waiting the 
 Major's quick eye caught sight of an almost imper- 
 ceptible bubble under the opposite bank ; he placed 
 his fly exactly on that spot, a big trout seized it, and a 
 long and pretty battle ensued. There was a long and 
 broad belt of cut and live weeds lying in the middle of 
 the stream, and after a desperate struggle to get under 
 these weeds, the Major brought him to the top of them, 
 and then the hook came away, but the astonished trout 
 knew it not, he thought he was caught, and lay there 
 dreaming of the frying-pan for the space of about one 
 
xoo BV MEADOJV AND STREAM. 
 
 minute ; he weighed just i lb. 13J oz. I could not 
 reach him with the net ; he was too far away, and the 
 water was deep. The Major touched him with the 
 point of his rod ; he awoke from his pleasant dream, 
 and was off like a dart. 
 
 If my memory is not at fault, that was the only fish 
 that was caught on that delightful day, and he, as 
 we have seen, was not caught. I weighed him accu- 
 rately with my eye as he resteci sweetly on that bed of 
 weeds. 
 
 I had found it necessary repeatedly to warn this 
 brace of enthusiasts that time was flying, and that 
 trains would not wait. I got them away at last ; we 
 returned to our hovel, gathered up our traps, and then 
 we had considerably more than a mile to go, and just 
 about twelve minutes to catch our train. We walked 
 fast, and then ran fast. I, the elder, came in first, 
 panting and breathless, and was charmed, as you may 
 suppose, to see the red light at the end of the train pass 
 out of the station as I reached the platform. 
 
 We adjourned to the pleasant *'pub.," and took 
 counsel with the landlord as to the best way of 
 getting home. We wanted to drive over to West 
 Drayton, but the landlord vowed he had neither 
 horse nor trap nor man to spare, but our good " Sar- 
 celle " so overcame him with blarney that he at last 
 agreed not only to find a horse and trap, but he de- 
 clared he would drive us over himself. He started off 
 at once to get the trap, but by the time he was ready 
 we had found our quarters so pleasant, that we de- 
 cided to stay there two hours for the next train. It 
 was a wise decision, for the rain came down again in 
 
A DAY IN ELYSIAN FIELDS. lox 
 
 torrents. Our landlord was not a bit huffed at the 
 changeableness of our minds. We ordered supper of 
 ham and eggs and tea, and we were presently ushered 
 into a very cosy private sitting-room where three 
 charming young ladies were reading and sewing ; but, 
 unhappily for us, no sooner had we entered their 
 symposium, than they gathered up their books and 
 fancy work, and flitted away like frightened fawns ; 
 and no wonder, for on surveying ourselves in the 
 glass on the mantelshelf, we discovered that we 
 looked like three half-drowned poachers who had just 
 been rescued from the river. 
 
 There was a blazing fire in the room, at which we 
 dried our draggled habiliments, and we consoled our- 
 selves for the loss of the fairies by consuming a supper 
 more fit for the heroes we were than the brigands we 
 looked like. 
 
 We caught the nine o'clock train, and so ended my 
 only visit to the Ver. I need not say that, despite 
 our disasters, we all longed to revisit that pleasant 
 stream and to make acquaintance with those splendid 
 trout under circumstances less favourable for them, 
 when their tails would be where they ought to be, 
 lying horizontally with their heads up-stream, and 
 keeping a keen look-out for the flies floating above 
 them. 
 
 Now, my angling friends, as Christmas is coming, 
 I bid you all farewell, with this parting benediction : 
 May your homes be happy, may your wives be minis- 
 tering angels, may there be no domestic jars (except 
 for pickles and such like), no frettings and wranglings 
 and naggings, which are like the crackling of thorns 
 
I02 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 under a pot. May your daughters be as the tender 
 vines dinging round your hearts ; may your sons be 
 stalwart, affectionate, honest, and truthful ; may you 
 all eat your Christmas pudding with moderation and 
 thankfulness ; and, finally, may you sometimes have 
 tight lines and full creels when you go a-fishing. I 
 say sometimes advisedly ; if you were sure your creels 
 would always be filled the excitement and pleasure 
 would pall upon you, and you would be deprived of 
 such Elysian delights as those which befell the accom- 
 plished Major and the famous ** Sarcelle " on the occa- 
 sion I have endeavoured to describe. 
 
 I write these lines from my solitary eyrie on the top 
 of the northern heights of London. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 GRAYLING. 
 
 A good day with ** Red Spinner " and the Major— The Pro- 
 fessor — "Red Spinner " spins yarns— Professor instructs us on the 
 virtues of black pepper and West India sugar — ** Red Spinner" 
 clings to " the Shoulder of Mutton " and makes a full bag of 
 big grayling — The Major becomes a rover, but captures seven 
 brace of splendid grayling — The Professor instructs the A. A., 
 who is fairly successful. 
 
 *' O, blessed drums of Aldershot ! 
 
 O, blest South-Western train ! 
 O, blessed, blessed Speaker's clock ! 
 
 All prophesying rain. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 O, blest south wind, which toots his horn 
 
 Through every hole and crack ! 
 I'm off at eight to-morrow mom 
 
 To bring such fishes back ! " 
 
 Charles Kingsley. 
 
 RID AY, Oct. \%th, 1895, Waterloo Station: 
 ** Good morning to you, Professor, I am 
 very glad to meet you this fine October 
 morning, and happy to have your company 
 on our little fishing excursion, on which my thoughts 
 have been turned for many a long and weary day. 
 
I04 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 What think you of our prospects?" The Professor is 
 not usually given to be optimistic, but he was con- 
 strained to allow that the weather was not altogether 
 unpromising. '* The wind last week," said he, " blew 
 a gale down stream, the pools were boiling cauldrons, 
 and the natural insects on the water were swept clean 
 away ; not a grayling rose for six days, and fishing 
 was nowhere.'* ** You will admit," I said, "that it 
 looks more promising to-day ; there is but little wind 
 stirring, so far as one can judge from the window, and 
 that north-easterly, which suits our river exactly ; the 
 sky is bright, with a few dull clouds hanging about ; 
 the air is crisp — a fair-looking day for the grayling. " 
 ** That's all very well," said the cynic ; " but if there 
 is any rise to-day it will all be over before we can get 
 to the water at three o'clock." 
 
 We reached the river about that time, when the last 
 *'rw^" had already happened, for we saw no more. 
 Notwithstanding, I did manage to bag a nice brace of 
 grayling with the **Iron Blue," and was satisfied. 
 
 Saturday f Oct. igth, was glorious, a day to be re- 
 membered, for it possessed all the essential qualities 
 of a perfect grayling day. 
 
 We started for the river filled with the hope, 
 amounting almost to certainty, of soon having our 
 baskets weighed down by the big grayling only wait- 
 ing to be caught. 
 
 Alas ! when we got to the river, what had happened 
 to it ? It was one field of floating greenery ; hundreds 
 and hundreds of tons of newly-cut weeds, and old, 
 suspended weeds had been let down upon us from 
 some demon holds above ; on, on they came, an end- 
 
GRA YLING. 105 
 
 less procession as far as the eye could reach, the water 
 hardly visible beneath its floating burthen. To add to 
 the chagrin we naturally felt, the fish were rising 
 freely amongst the weeds, but it was quite impossible 
 to cast over them. 
 
 By an early train we expected two doughty cham- 
 pions, the Major and *'Red Spinner" (probably 
 so called on account of the sanguine yarns he spins). 
 We had vainly thought to open their eyes and 
 water their mouths by the baskets we youngsters 
 had hoped to have exhibited. It was a galling 
 disappointment; happily, by lunch time the demons 
 above had done their worst, the weeds began to thin 
 out, and by the time the first champion, *'R. S.," 
 arrived, our river was as innocent of weeds as if it 
 had never borne any ; and, better still, for a short 
 time, in a well-known corner, called " the Shoulder of 
 Mutton," the rise was fast and furious. We gave up 
 this place of honour to our distinguished visitor. 
 The Major did not arrive till two or three hours 
 later, almost too late for the feast. Our Professor, 
 the most unselfish of men, did not fish, but he accom- 
 panied me down stream, where, in the many grayling 
 beds below, that we knew well, we expected to find 
 an equal uprising of the fish to rejoice in bright sun- 
 shine and swallow insects, after the heavy canopy of 
 green weeds which had for so many hours obscured 
 their daylight. We were not so favoured ; we saw 
 only three rising fish the whole length of our tether. 
 I had captured one i^ lb. grayling, and hooked and 
 lost another, and, with my rod, the Professor brought 
 a third into the basket. 
 
io6 SV ME A DO IV AND STREAM. 
 
 We returned rather disconsolately to where we had 
 left **Red Spmner." There he was, still plying at 
 **the Shoulder of Mutton," and the Major was not 
 far off. Between two and four o'clock the **R. S." 
 had bagged five brace of splendid grayling, without 
 moving from the enchanted corner. The Major, 
 who only arrived on the scene when the rise for the 
 day was almost over, bagged three brace of the 
 biggest sort. Of course, I allow something for skill 
 to these accomplished craftsmen, but in this particular 
 instance I attribute quite as much to luck. I have the 
 presumption to think that had the "A. A." taken 
 " Red Spinner's " place, and sent him down to those 
 other good places, our baskets would have been more 
 equally weighted. I have constantly averred that 
 there is pleasure in fishing, quite apart from catching 
 fish, and not the least of it is to see that your friends 
 have, by luck or skill, been satisfied with their after- 
 noon's work. 
 
 We dine at our old farmhouse in a primitive fashion, 
 but luxuriously enough, and then we sit round a bright 
 logwood fire, which our Professor allows no one to 
 touch but himself, for he has a notion that no one but 
 he can place the logs in the exact position they ought 
 to be in. The ' ' Spinner " spins many a yarn of his early 
 and varied experiences, and the Professor causes mirth 
 by his drolleries and his self-assertive, dogmatic, and 
 pessimistic views about the country in general, which 
 he vows is going rapidly to the dogs. He imports his 
 own whisky in cask direct from the distillery of Glen- 
 livet, and maintains that he makes a clear profit of 
 twenty per cent, on every glass he drinks. On being 
 
GRA YUNG. 107 
 
 asked to explain how the consumption of whisky, 
 which costs him money, could possibly be a source of 
 revenue to him, " I will tell you," says he. **Man 
 must have whisky, must he not ? Very well. I pay 
 17^. dd, a gallon for mine, and you cannot get similar 
 stuff for less than 2\s. or more. There is a difference 
 of twenty per cent, gained by me by buying direct 
 from the distillery. Isn't it as plain as a pike- 
 staff that I make a profit by every glass I drink?" 
 We were at the time partaking of his old over- 
 proof **Glenlivet," and we found it good and com- 
 mendable. 
 
 As moderate men, we partook of this insinuating 
 drink quite sparingly and hot, with a half-inch square 
 of the thin outer rind of a lemon, which gives it that 
 pleasant aroma. We were obliged to admit that his 
 logic was unassailable on the assumption that his 
 major premise was sound, viz., that every man must 
 take whisky ! A proposition capable of being 
 questioned. 
 
 At breakfast our Professor is great on the question 
 of sugar. "Here," says he, "you go and import a 
 lot of bounty-fed beetroot rubbish which has no 
 sweetening power in it, and leave our colonies and 
 sugar merchants to starve. Go into any shop you 
 like, and ask for West Indian cane-grown sugar, and 
 you'll find none from one end of the town to the 
 other — they don't keep it. No, they will try and 
 palm off on you that nasty gritty German stuff, be- 
 cause it can be bought for less money, and they make 
 a fraction more profit ; and yet we call ourselves 
 patriotic. No ! thank you, none of that turnipy stuff 
 
io8 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 for me ! Here, try some of this honest, old-fashioned 
 brown Demerara, and insist on getting it wherever 
 you go, that's the way to get that dyspeptic foreign 
 stuff out of this market — I was only able to get this by 
 a fluke." 
 
 And so at dinner our genial cynic is equally hot on 
 pepper. " Please pass the white pepper." ** White 
 pepper!" he exclaims; "my dear sir, there's no 
 such thing as white pepper in existence ; that is simply 
 a vile concoction of hellebore and poisonous chemicals 
 manufactured at a fourth of the cost of the true 
 pepper, which of course is black. Never catch me 
 using white pepper ! " 
 
 No man can discourse more eloquently and con- 
 vincingly on flies, imitation and natural. He knows 
 them all, and you cannot deceive him by the shadow 
 of a shade of tint on hackle, or wing, or body. 
 
 Sunday, Oct. 20th, was a very pleasant day, a day 
 of rest for the grayling. We took our walks abroad 
 across the meadows and through the woods, now 
 delightfully *'hung with tapestry of all glorious 
 colours," acorns, brown and yellow, strewed in pro- 
 fusion under the wide-spreading oaks ; the copper- 
 leaved guelder rose, with its bunches of red berries, 
 as pretty now as it is in its summer dress of white 
 roses ; but what has become of the swallows ? They 
 have departed from this neighbourhood. Starlings 
 have taken their places in groups of hundreds ; flocks 
 of wild geese are seen far away up in the sky, sailing 
 southwards in triangular form, like a floating pyramid. 
 Small birds twittered in the hedgerows. Our country 
 walk was very pleasant. The grayling in the river 
 
GRAYLING. 109 
 
 enjoyed their short reprieve, and ** rose " with freedom 
 in blessed ignorance of the fate awaiting many of 
 them to-morrow. Big hip berries were plentiful in 
 the hedgerows, but haws were scarce, and did not 
 promise much bird food for the winter. 
 
 Monday, Oct. 2\st. — Another glorious morning, 
 precursor of another ideal day for the grayling. Wind, 
 very slight, north-easterly, but hardly perceptible ; 
 sky, heavy and leaden, admitting of no sunshine, but 
 refraining from sending down rain We, piscators, 
 were out early, but our Professor, while making allow- 
 ance for our juvenile enthusiasm, assured us there 
 would be no rise till about twelve o'clock, and that 
 the fish would all be down by four. ** Red Spinner," 
 with a too scrupulous conscience, insisted on keeping 
 up his acquaintance with "the Shoulder of Mutton" 
 region, which he had so punished and depleted on 
 Saturday. He might, with his extraordinary skill, 
 have done much better lower down, but he did not do 
 badly, having at the end of the day accounted for 
 several brace of fine grayling, besides several large 
 trout, which had to be returned. 
 
 The Major became a rover, but clung to the most 
 promising spots, and easily captured seven brace of 
 lovely grayling, two only of which w^eighed less than 
 I lb. — most of them nearer 2 lb. — besides two brace 
 of fine trout returned. 
 
 The '*A. A." fished with his usual skill and his 
 usual want of luck, but he finished up with two and a 
 half brace of really big grayling — one of them 2 lb. , 
 and the others of quite passable and respectable 
 dimensions. 
 
ixo BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 After a careful examination of the water, and 
 catching innumerable floating flies, in the morning, 
 the Professor came to the decision that the Iron Blue 
 was the proper imitation to tempt the grayling. 
 ** Red Spinner" began and ended his successful out- 
 ing with a Red Tag, an imitation which has no proto- 
 type on land or water, but which seemed to have a 
 natural attraction for the grayling quite remarkable. 
 I have seen them repeatedly allow the true natural 
 Iron Blue to pass over their noses, and go for the Red 
 Tag — to their destruction. 
 
 The Major, I think, varied his flies, but did best 
 with Iron Blue. 
 
 I placed myself under the wing of our good Pro- 
 fessor, who rendered me all sorts of kindnesses, not 
 only selecting my flies, but tying them on for me — for 
 my eyes are not what they were. He kept a sharp • 
 look-out for rises. ''There you are, just over that 
 clump of weeds. Now cast a couple of yards above 
 him, and let your fly float down over him, and you'll 
 have that fish to a dead certainty. Ah, you've got 
 him ! Hold on, keep the point of your rod up, and 
 don't let him get below you. Oh ! he's off"; I told 
 you so, you held him too tight, you should have given 
 him more line, and not let him get below you. "Why, 
 man, he was a two-pounder, and no gut could stand 
 the strain of pulling hard against fish and stream ; 
 never mind, better luck next time." 
 
 That important question of casting over a fish is 
 one upon which these experts differ. Our Professor 
 waxes quite wroth if you put your fly just over, or a 
 few inches above your fish. 
 
GRAYLING. iii 
 
 ** There now, my good sir, you've put him down at 
 once. You should have cast two yards above him." 
 
 Now, that other great authority, the **R. S.," dis- 
 tinctly lays it down that you must make your cast just 
 from six inches to one foot above your fish, and becomes 
 at you straight. If you cast farther away, you give him 
 time to think and examine and suspect, and by the 
 time you are on him he has found you out and gives 
 you the cold shoulder. 
 
 The Major is silent on this question, he only 
 smiles and takes his own course, which rarely fails to 
 bring in the unfortunate unsuspecting victim over 
 which he casts. Thus we talked and fished, and dis- 
 cussed everything all through the brief time of our 
 outing. It was a time of mirth and pleasure, and was 
 over all too soon. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " LITTLE RIVERS." 
 
 What is the test of a river ? ** The power to drown a man," 
 says the author of "LornaDoone" — A lovely afternoon— The 
 *' milking bridge " — A vision — May-fly fishing in the olden time — 
 A rambling review of ** Little Rivers," a charming book by 
 Mr. Van Dyke— Do hornets bite ? 
 
 ** The west wind wafts the scent of May 
 
 Adown the verdant valleys ; 
 The friendly sun with tempered ray 
 
 Peers forth from cloudy alleys ; 
 And in his gleam the duns and browns 
 
 In joy of life are winging, 
 While I, afar from noisy towns, 
 
 Go forth to angle singing." 
 
 Lyra Piscatoria by Cotswold Isys. 
 
 SJHO does not love little rivers ? Breathes 
 there the angler with soul so dead within 
 him that he never to himself hath said, ** I 
 love to wander and linger on the banks of 
 a pretty stream, even if it fails to yield to me its store 
 of trout and grayling at my bidding ? " I envy not 
 the spirit of the man, angler though he calls himself, 
 who can sit hour after hour on his basket, his eye so 
 
Q 
 O 
 O 
 
''LITTLE RIVERS." 113 
 
 intently watching his float that he can find no time to 
 gaze around him, or listen to 
 
 " The small birds warbling to their paramours." 
 
 **But what is the test of a river?" asks the author 
 of ** Lorna Doone." ** The power to drown a man," 
 replies the river darkly. ** But rudeness is not argu- 
 ment. Rather shall we say that the power to work a 
 good undershot wheel without being dammed up all 
 night, is a fair certificate of Riverhood." 
 
 I, indeed, have been a lover of little streams ever 
 since I can remember. None of them without the 
 power, if occasion offered, " to drown a man." 
 
 When I was young (ah, woful when !) by many a 
 pretty stream did I fish and wander, but one bright 
 day stands out from all others in my memory. A 
 lovely afternoon, in the leafy month of June, I strolled 
 down, across the daisy-decked meadows, to as sweet 
 a little river as ever was seen. I began to fish at 
 the Old Stone Bridge, hard by a dilapidated paper 
 mill. Down that stream I wandered, casting my flies 
 rapidly as I hurried on, not much minding whether 
 a fish came at me or not, till a mile down I came to 
 **the Milking Bridge," a picturesque but shaky old 
 wooden, one-armed structure, which spanned the 
 river where it runs deep and slow ; here it was that I 
 set to work in earnest, for the May-fly was '*up," 
 and the trout were rising splendidly. Now I cast 
 carefully and with the greatest precision, and soon 
 hooked and landed a fine trout. I was doubly trium- 
 phant ; firstly, because it was my first May-fly 
 capture ; and, lastly, because I had seen a vision on 
 I 
 
114 ^y MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 that dear old bridge. A pretty maiden stood there ; 
 she leaned against the wooden rail, and watched me 
 with a laughing eye. Clad all in white was she, a 
 light pink sash encircled her waist, a moss rose 
 nestled in her bosom, and in one hand she held a 
 basket of wild flowers. She wore a saucy sailor's hat, 
 and her bonny brown hair flowed from beneath it in 
 wavy ringlets over her shoulders. It was, I assure 
 you, a pretty picture. 
 
 " Her looks as clear 
 As morning roses freshly wash'd with dew. " 
 
 We had met before, in truth we were old friends, 
 and probably our meeting was not altogether an " un- 
 designed coincidence." She clapped her hands, and 
 her bright brown eyes sparkled with delight as she 
 came down to examine my catch ; but when she saw 
 me forcing the hook from the poor trout's mouth, and 
 striking his head on the butt of my rod, she turned 
 away with a shudder, and with a tear in her eye, and 
 trembling lip, she cried, ** How can you be so cruel ? " 
 
 I soothed her with the most specious reasons I 
 could think of, for on this subject I am not quite 
 orthodox. I remember reading of an argument of 
 two hours' duration on this question of cruelty be- 
 tween the Rev. John Brown (father of the author of 
 *' Rab and his Friends,") and his attached friend the 
 Rev. Dr. Ward law (an ardent fisherman). At last 
 the doctor was driven to exclaim, ''Well! I cannot 
 answer you, but fish I tfttist and shall l^"* That is, 
 perhaps, the best argument that can be adduced, and 
 is certainly decisive if not conclusive. 
 
'* LITTLE rivers:' 115 
 
 It was a calm and balmy evening ; the rooks over- 
 head in the rookery just above were caw-cawing and 
 feeding their young ; song birds were making melody 
 in the hedgerows, now pink with wild roses, now 
 milk white with May bloom ; the meadows were 
 carpeted with daisies and gilded with cowslips, but- 
 tercups, and daffodils ; great trout were flopping up 
 in the river ; rabbits flitted across our path as we 
 loitered on through the woods and by the side of the 
 stream, no longer fishing, but chatting pleasantly of 
 things past, present, and to come — 
 
 ** It was the time of roses, 
 
 We plucked them as we passed," 
 
 till we came to the point where our roads diverged. 
 Alas ! it is fifty years ago and more. In our saunter 
 through the wood we had met with a young man and 
 maiden, then in the heyday of youth and happiness — 
 they had wandered into this lovely solitude of wood 
 and river not to angle, but clearly to settle prelimi- 
 naries, for they were married soon afterwards. They 
 had a large family, and have long since passed into 
 the shadowy land. One of their sons is now an 
 eminent physician. 
 
 As to the maiden of ** the Milking Bridge," she, 
 too, was married long, long ago. She had many sons 
 and daughters ; and alas ! alas ! she, too, has long 
 since gone to the land of shadows. One of her sons, 
 piscator natus^ is now one of the most expert among 
 anglers, and is therefore probably not unknown to 
 many of my angling friends. 
 
 Surely this is a long digression from the book to which 
 
ii6 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 I am wishful to draw the attention of my readers. 
 "Little Rivers," by Henry Van Dyke (D. Nutt), its 
 very title sent me off into this garrulous reminiscence 
 of a bygone time. I have no thought of reviewing it, 
 that interesting work must be left to the critic, and I 
 possess not the critical faculty. The work consists of 
 eleven essays, and one has to read them to know what 
 they are about ; it has no long chapter headings, out of 
 which an artful critic could construct a slashing or a 
 brilliant review without the trouble of perusal. 
 
 I propose leisurely to read these essays one by one, 
 and to cull therefrom such tit-bits as I think may in- 
 terest or amuse my readers. As yet I have got no 
 further than the title page. This is followed as a pre- 
 lude by a little poem, " An Angler's Wish in Town," 
 from which I take one verse for the sake of the last 
 line : 
 
 " Then weary is the street parade, 
 And weary books, and weary trade ; 
 I'm only wishing to go a-fishing ; 
 For this the month of May was made." 
 
 "Little Rivers" is the title of the first essay, in 
 praise of rivers in general. " For real company and 
 friendship, there is nothing outside of the animal king- 
 dom that is comparable to a river." 
 
 " It is by a river that I would choose to make love, 
 and to revive old friendships, and to play with children, 
 and to confess my faults, and to escape from vain, 
 selfish desires, and to cleanse my mind from all the 
 false and foolish things that mar the joy and peace of 
 living. 
 
 " Every river that flows is good. But those that we 
 
''LITTLE RIVERS." 117 
 
 love most are always the ones that we have known 
 best — the stream that ran before our father's door, the 
 current on which we ventured our first boat or cast our 
 first fly, the brook on whose bank we first picked the 
 twin flower of young love." 
 
 Here is an exquisite little bit which our author 
 quotes from Charles Darwin, in a letter to his wife. 
 " At last," says he, "I fell asleep on the grass, and 
 awoke with a chorus of birds singing around me, and 
 squirrels running up the tree, and some woodpeckers 
 laughing, and it was as pleasant and rural a scene as 
 ever^I saw; and I did not care one penny how any of 
 the birds or beasts had been formed.''^ 
 
 At the end of this chapter the author describes very 
 fairly, but as I think too modestly, w^hat the book is. 
 
 "You shall not be deceived in this book. It is 
 nothing but a handful of rustic variations on the old 
 tune of *■ Rest and be thankful,' a record of uncon- 
 ventional travel, a pilgrim's scrip with a few bits of 
 blue sky philosophy in it. There is, so far as I know, 
 very little useful information, and absolutely no cri- 
 ticism of the universe to be found in this volume, so if 
 you are what Isaak Walton calls * a severe, sour- 
 complexioned man,' you would better carry it back to 
 the bookseller and get your money again, if he will 
 give it to you, and go your way rejoicing after your 
 own melancholy fashion." 
 
 The next essay is called ** A Leaf of Spearmint." 
 " The clear, spicy, unmistakable smell of a bed of 
 spearmint, that is the bed whereon memory loves to 
 lie and dream. " A leaf of mint plucked from between 
 the pebbles, and rolled between his fingers, wafts him 
 
xi8 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. i 
 
 backwards to a stream that runs through the country 
 of "Auld Lang Syne," and fills his creel with the 
 recollections of a boy and a rod. This delightful 
 chapter is devoted mostly to his boyish exploits 
 in the Catskills, the Adirondachs, and the Green 
 Mountains, in the midst of which he lived and 
 moved, and had his summer holidays ; it tells how he 
 caught his first trout, " longer than a new lead pencil," 
 and another of less tremendous dimensions ; how he 
 met, and fell in love with, and adored the beautiful 
 Annie V. ; how that wonderful brace of trout was 
 cooked for breakfast next morning ; how he saw " the 
 adored of his soul " sitting at the other end of the room 
 and faring **on the common food of mortals !" and 
 shall she not feast on his dainties ? The waiter is sent 
 for a hot plate, on which the largest trout is placed, and 
 sent to the lovely Miss Annie V., and how his heart 
 went pit-a-pat the while, repenting his rashness, doubt- 
 ing whether she would deign to accept his chivalrous 
 offering or not. She seems to accept rather indiffer- 
 ently he thinks, and his heart sinks within him ; but 
 for an instant the corner of her eye catches the boy's 
 sidelong glance, she nods perceptibly, and he is happy. 
 Time passed, and all-day pic-nics gave place to a 
 two weeks' camping trip, and wanderings with his 
 father (now promoted to the title of " Governor "), 
 amid many wild and rugged scenes in the Adiron- 
 dachs and elsewhere bring us to the end of the 
 chapter. 
 
 The next chapter is called " Ampersand," and gives 
 a pleasant account of wanderings up and down this 
 mountain, which stands in the heart of the Adirondach 
 
*' LITTLE rivers:' 119 
 
 country. I find little in it that I can steal, unless I steal 
 the whole ; but here is a quotable bit : 
 
 "Send your fly in under those cedar branches where 
 the water swirls around by the old log. Now draw it 
 towards the foam ; there is a sudden gleam of dull 
 gold in the white water. You strike too soon. Your 
 line comes back to you. In a current like this a fish 
 will almost always hook himself. Try it again. This 
 time he takes the fly fairly, and you have him. It is 
 a good fish, and he makes the slender rod bend to the 
 strain. He sulks for a moment, as if uncertain what 
 to do, and then with a rush darts into the swiftest part 
 of the current. You can never stop him there. Let 
 him go. Keep just enough pressure on him to hold 
 the hook firm, and follow his lordship down the stream 
 as if he were a salmon ; he slides over a little fall, 
 glancing through the foam, and swings around in the 
 next pool. Here you can manage him more easily ; 
 and after a few minutes' brilliant play, a few mad 
 dashes for the current, he comes to the net, and your 
 skilful guide lands him with a quick steady sweep of 
 the arm. The scales credit him with an even pound, 
 and a better fish than this you will hardly take here in 
 midsummer." 
 
 A pretty description of an every-day occurrence. 
 Our southern anglers will smile at so much fuss over 
 a I lb. trout. He might have been 3 lb. at least to 
 justify so much type and paper. Of course size depends 
 on locality, a i lb. trout in a mountain stream is com- 
 paratively as good as a three-pounder in the Test. 
 By the way, one wonders what kind of hornets those 
 may be which he met with on the Ampersand. 
 
I20 BY MEADOIV AND STREAM. 
 
 " Our trail led us at first through a natural meadow, 
 overgrown with waist-high grass, and very spongy to 
 the tread. Hornet haunted also was this meadow, 
 and therefore no place for idle dalliance or unwary 
 digression, for the bite of the hornet is one of the 
 saddest and most humiliating surprises of this mortal 
 life." 
 
 Do hornets bite ? Our hornet ( Vespa crabrd) is a 
 stinging insect, a sort of giant compared with Vespa 
 vulgaris, the common wasp. It builds in decaying 
 hollow trees, eaves of old barns, etc.; but this Ameri- 
 can meadow-haunting, biting hornet is new to me.^ 
 
 The next essay transports us to Scotland and the 
 Hebrides, under the title of " A Handful of Heather." 
 Our author has a fancy for reading his fiction in the 
 place where it was grown. Thus ^ * Romola " accom- 
 panies him to Rome, " The Heart of Midlothian " to 
 Edinburgh, and "Lorna Doone" to Exmoor ; but, 
 says he : 
 
 ** I never expect to pass pleasanter days than those 
 I spent with *A Princess of Thule' among the 
 Hebrides ; for then ... I was young . . . but even 
 youth itself was not to be compared with the exquisite 
 felicity of being deeply and desperately in love with 
 Sheila, the clear-eyed heroine of the charming book. 
 In this innocent passion my grey-haired comrades, the 
 Chancellor of the University of New York and my 
 father were ardent but generous rivals. . . . According 
 to Tennyson, the most important element in a young 
 knight's education is *the maiden passion for a 
 
 1 See " Fresh Woods and Pastures New." Letter XV. "An 
 Evening with the Hornets.'* 
 
''LITTLE rivers:* i2t 
 
 maiden. ' Surely the safest form in which the course 
 may be taken is by falling in love with a girl in a book. " 
 And so these lovers three sailed among the Western 
 Islands. It was Sheila's dark blue dress and sailor 
 hat they looked for in the streets of Stornoway. It 
 was Sheila's soft sing-song Highland speech they 
 heard on the balcony of the little inn. It was Sheila's 
 low sweet brow, and long black eyelashes, and tender 
 blue eyes that they saw as they loitered over the 
 moorland. Were not these the peat cutters that Sheila 
 loved to help ? Was not this the spot where Sheila 
 picked the bunch of wild flowers and gave it to her 
 lover ? In fact, Sheila is the most prominent person in 
 this essay, and it is a pretty testimony to the charm of 
 ** A Princess of Thule " that it should have taken such 
 a hold upon the affections of these three staid Ameri- 
 can clergymen. 
 
 Here is a description of our author's first salmon : 
 ** The white water came singing down out of the 
 moorland into a rocky valley, and there was a merry 
 curl of air on the pools, and the silver fish were leap- 
 ing from the stream. The gillie handled the big rod 
 as if it had been a fairy's wand, but to me it was like 
 a giant's spear. It was a different affair from fishing 
 with five ounces of split bamboo on a Long Island 
 trout pond. The monstrous fly, like an awkward 
 bird, went fluttering everywhere but in the right 
 direction. It was the mercy of Providence that pre- 
 served the gillie's life ; but he was very patient and 
 forbearing, leading me on from one pool to another, 
 as I spoiled the water, and snatched the hook out of 
 the very mouth of rising fish, until at last we found a 
 
122 BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 salmon that knew even less about the niceties of 
 salmon fishing than I did. He seized the fly firmly 
 before I could pull it away ; and then in a moment I 
 found myself attached to a creature with the strength 
 of a whale and the agility of a flying fish. He led me 
 rushing up and down the bank like a madman. He 
 played on the surface like a whirlwind, and sulked at 
 the bottom like a stone. He meditated, with ominous 
 delay, in the middle of the deepest pool, and then, 
 darting across the river, flung himself clean out of the 
 water and landed far up on the green turf of the 
 opposite shore. My heart melted like a snowflake in 
 the sea, and I thought that I had lost him for ever. 
 But he rolled quietly back into the water, with the 
 hook still set in his nose. A few minutes afterwards 
 I brought him within reach of the gafl", and my first 
 salmon was glittering in the grass beside me. Then 
 I remembered that Wm. Black had described this 
 very fish in * The Princess of Thule. ' I pulled the 
 book from my pocket, and, lighting a pipe, sat down 
 to read that chapter over again. . . . His salmon, 
 after leaping across the strram, got away, whereas 
 mine was safe." 
 
 He spent a pleasant fortnight at Melvich, where 
 he found " comfortaible lodgin' wi' the Weedow 
 Macphairson." When the widow, by subtle cross- 
 examination, discovered that he was a minister, she 
 brought out the big Bible and a bottle of old Glenlivet, 
 and asked him to conduct evening worship, and to 
 ** tak a glass o' speerits to guard against takkin' cauld." 
 
 Now we come to a delightful chapter called * * The 
 Restigouche from a Horse-boat." The names of the 
 
''LITTLE rivers:* 123 
 
 chief tributaries of the Restigouche are curious ; there 
 is the headstrong Metapedia, the crooked Upsalquitch, 
 the Patapedia, and the Quatamakedgwick. These 
 are words at which the tongue balks, but you soon 
 get used to them. Space forbids my telling what a 
 Horse-boat is like, or to quote another splendid salmon 
 fight, but I must quote our author's views on the 
 subject oi cruelty. 
 
 His companion, Favonius, being ill one summer, 
 had been ordered by his physician to go into the woods, 
 but on no account to go without fresh meat ; so he 
 set out into the wild country north of Georgian Bay, 
 taking a live sheep with him, to be sure of fresh meat. 
 But the innocent little beast would follow him about 
 like a dog, it ate out of his hand, and rubbed its 
 woolly head against his leggings, and he carried it 
 in his arms over rough places. To his dismay he 
 found that he was beginning to love it for its own sake, 
 and not for the world would he have alluded to mutton 
 in its presence, and so the little animal continued to 
 lick the hand which was never *' raised to shed his 
 blood." On his return to civilization he parted with 
 the sheep with sincere regret, and the consciousness 
 that he had]^humoured his affection at the expense of 
 his digestion. 
 
 ** There is a great difference in animals in this 
 respect. I certainly never heard of anyone falling in 
 love with a salmon in such a way as to regard it as a 
 fond companion. And this may be one reason why 
 no sensible person who has tried fishing has ever been 
 able to see any cruelty in it. Suppose the fish is not 
 caught by an angler, what is his alternative fate ? He 
 
124 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 will either perish miserably in the struggles of the 
 crowded net or die of old age and starvation, like the 
 long, lean stragglers which are sometimes found in the 
 shallow pools, or be devoured by a larger fish, or torn 
 to pieces by a seal or an otter. Compared with any 
 of these miserable deaths, the fate of a salmon that is 
 hooked in a clear stream, and, after a glorious fight, 
 receives the happy despatch at the moment when he 
 touches the shore, is a sort of Euthanasia. And, since 
 fish was made to be man's food, the angler who brings 
 him to the table of destiny in the cleanest, quickest, 
 kindest way is, in fact, his benefactor. " 
 
 A specious bit of irony, which was evidently written 
 with his tongue in his cheek. 
 
 The next essay is called *'Apenrosen and Goat's 
 Milk," and is devoted mostly to mountain climbing. 
 I must refrain from large quotation — tempting though 
 it be — but here are a couple of the inscriptions which 
 he found on the heavy crosses with pointed roofs 
 which lined the road to the Gross- Venediger ; crosses 
 which mark the place where a human life has been 
 lost, or where some poor peasant has been delivered 
 from some great peril. They tell of the danger that 
 lurks on the steep slopes of grass, where the mowers 
 had to go down with ropes round their waists ; and in 
 the forests, where the great trees fall and crush men like 
 flies. Some of the inscriptions are humorous enough. 
 Here is one translated from the quaint German : 
 
 "Here lies Elias Queer, 
 
 Killed in his sixtieth year ; 
 
 Scarce had he seen the light of day 
 
 When a waggon wheel crushed his life away." 
 
*' LITTLE rivers:' 125 
 
 And there is another famous one, which says : 
 
 " Here perished the honoured and virtuous maiden, 
 
 G. V. 
 
 This tablet was erected by her only son." 
 
 ** Au Large " is the title of the next essay, a Cana- 
 dian idyll, as charming as any of its predecessors. 
 Then comes " Trout Fishing in the Traun," which I 
 must not touch. 
 
 The last is called " At the Sign of the Balsam 
 Bough," about either of which if the reader wants to 
 know anything let him buy the book. 
 
 The volume closes, as it begins, with a charming 
 little poem, entitled " The Woodnotes of the Veery." 
 
 I confess myself ignorant of this bird, but I gather 
 
 from the text that it is a native of New England. 
 
 **0n the top of a small sumach, not thirty feet away 
 
 from me, sat a veery. I could see the pointed spots 
 
 upon his breast, the swelling of his white throat, and 
 
 the sparkle of his eyes as he poured his whole heart 
 
 into a long liquid chant, the clear notes rising and 
 
 falling, echoing and interlacing in endless curves of 
 
 sound, 
 
 'Orb within orb, intricate, wonderful.* 
 
 Other bird songs can be translated into words — not 
 this. There is no interpretation." 
 Here is the last verse. 
 
 " O far away, and far away the tawny thrush is singing, 
 
 New England woods at close of day with that clear chant are 
 
 ringing ; 
 And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary, 
 I fain would hear, before I go, the woodnotes of the veery." 
 
126 BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 And so I bid adieu to one of the most delightful 
 books I have met with for many a day. A cheery, 
 breezy book by a "blue sky" philosopher, which I 
 trust many an angler, for his own delight, will possess 
 himself of. I will only add that it is very prettily 
 printed and bound, and illustrated with numerous 
 beautiful reproductions from the author's own lens, 
 for in his journey ings he always carried with him his 
 photographic apparatus. 
 
 Do American Hornets Bite? 
 
 In reply to this question {see ante, p. 120) the author 
 of " Little Rivers," Mr. Henry Van Dyke, of New 
 York, has most kindly sent me the following very 
 interesting remarks : 
 
 **Now, concerning the bite of the hornet, you must 
 know that it was an error — not typographical, but 
 autographical. It has disappeared in the third 
 edition, which is now printing. But this is the way 
 I came to make it. In this country we have a hornet 
 of uncommon size, and all dressed in black and white 
 like a clergyman. His attack is so fierce and 
 astounding that we boys used to say, and think, that 
 he executed it with both ends at once — biting like a 
 serpent and stinging like an adder. In the careless- 
 ness of writing, I suppose this tradition of boyhood 
 crept into my MS. 
 
 "This winged adversary is so much more terrible 
 than any other creature that flies, that the boys 
 invented a special name for him, and called him, by 
 way of distinction, the Homick, In England you 
 
''LITTLE RIVERS." 127 
 
 have nothing so ferocious, and just at present it is the 
 hope of all good Americans you never will. " 
 
 Most certainly we do not want that American 
 *' Hornick " here. Our own hornet is bad enough. 
 If he does not bite, he knows how to sting most 
 venomously ; but there is this to be said of him, that 
 nothing but the gravest provocation will induce him 
 to put forth the power that is in him. He knows 
 that the loss of his sting is the loss of his life — hence 
 he is sometimes regarded as a coward and a bully. 
 Many a time have I had him come right straight at 
 me with lightning flight, and, when within an inch of 
 my nose, divert his course. Was this magnanimity 
 or cowardice ? We used to think it was his way of 
 saying "Go away, and let us alone, or you will catch it 
 next time. " It was his way of barking without biting. 
 
 Here is another poser for our friend ! Do American 
 adders sting? Do American boys study their Bible ? 
 
 **Dan shall be a serpent by the way, an adder in 
 the path, that biteth the horse heels, so that his rider 
 shall fall backward. " — Genesis^ chap. xlix. v. 17. 
 
 Do American Adders Sting? 
 
 On this question that accomplished angler and 
 pleasant poet "Cotswold Isys" quotes Proverbs xxiii. 
 32 : "At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth 
 like an adder " — and so justifies Mr. Van Dyke and 
 proves my charge against American boys to be un- 
 founded. I blush in acknowledging my error. The 
 quotation from Proverbs is one of great poetic beauty ; 
 the fact remains, however, that adders do not sting, 
 but bite with their poison-conveying fangs. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FOUR MEN IN A BOAT. 
 
 A trip down the Wye— River unusually low — Seven hours to 
 do twenty miles — Difficulties overcome — A cow in the water — 
 A calf ditto — Lovely scenery — Election day at Hereford. 
 
 E were four men in a boat ; our dog Rover 
 was mad because we wouldn't have him 
 along — we knew his tricks of old ; he was 
 too fond of jumping out for a swim, and 
 then jumping in to shake himself, which was 
 inconvenient. 
 
 We had to go down the Wye for twenty miles, a 
 trip which seemed easy enough, and we expected to 
 do it easily in four hours. We started early, as one 
 of us had, but did not particularly wish, to catch a 
 train at Hereford for London, and we counted on an 
 hour or two to spare for a saunter about the old city 
 before the train left. We were disappointed— our 
 expectations were not realized. 
 
 It took us just seven hours of about the hardest 
 work we ever had in our lives to reach Hereford 
 Bridge — a mile from the station. I say we, but I did 
 
FOUR MEN IN A BOAT. 129 
 
 little more than encourage the young ones to work ; 
 I sat at mine ease on a cushioned seat and shouted. 
 The river was exceptionally low, and our boat very 
 heavy. At every bend in the river we came upon a 
 shallow, or a rapid and a fall — there must have been 
 forty of them — and at every one our youngsters had 
 to take off their boots and stockings, and, unprovided 
 with water shoes, go in with their naked feet on the 
 rocky bed of the river, to haul and crunch the boat 
 over the stones and sunken rocks. How they shouted 
 and screamed as they strained every nerve, and the 
 sharp stones grazed their feet ! Constantly they got 
 into a wrong current which led nowhere, or to fearful 
 rocks ahead ; then they had to hark back to find 
 another road, for neither of them knew anything 
 whatever of the treacherous ways of this lovely river ; 
 but they were all young and vigorous, and they had 
 to perform by sheer pluck and strength what could 
 have been performed far more easily by anyone well 
 acquainted with the trend of the currents. No serious 
 accident befell them, but they had many narrow 
 escapes from a ducking, as the boat shot suddenly off 
 a shallow into a ten or perhaps twenty feet pool. 
 Before starting we were cautioned to beware of certain 
 ticklish places, such as Monington Rocks. Here the 
 stream is divided by a small island. On the left the 
 main force of it rushes in a deep and narrow current 
 over a sheer fall of about six feet into a deep pool. 
 That side we were told to avoid, and follow the 
 milder currents on the right. Here the river was 
 wide, running over gravel in little rippling streams, 
 not one of which could carry the boat. So here we 
 K 
 
I30 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 were in a nice fix. We must either tackle the fall 
 and smash the boat to pieces, or get it somehow over 
 these dribbling shallows for a distance of fifty yards 
 at least ; and then there were innumerable rocks just 
 showing their points, or partly hidden by the water. 
 After getting over these fifty yards of gravel by terribly 
 hard work, my oarsmen had to look out for these 
 nasty rocks, and to steer the boat between them was 
 even more arduous than scraping her over the shal- 
 lows. It occupied quite an hour to get over this one 
 of our forty impediments. Then we floated along 
 merrily in deep water for a mile or two with few 
 obstacles. At a ford there were two men with a 
 team of horses and a cart. They offered us some 
 cider and the loan of a horse to pull the boat along, 
 but we did not take advantage of either offer. We 
 were told at the next ford, about eight miles from 
 Hereford, by the ferryman that we had only to keep 
 always to the right, close under the bank, and we 
 should have plain sailing all the way ; no more shal- 
 lows to trouble us. We did keep to the right — there 
 was no help for it — the strong current carried us 
 down irresistibly right under some overhanging wil- 
 lows, carrying away one of our sculls, and scratching 
 our skulls all round. We got out of this trouble in 
 time, caught up our floating scull — which was making 
 rapid way for Hereford — and on again. There was a 
 fellow lying lazily on the bank smoking; he had 
 fastened his boat, and was taking his ease. We asked 
 him if there were any more shallows between us and 
 Hereford. ** Lots of 'em " was the only reply we got 
 from him. 
 
FOUR MEN IN A BOAT. 131 
 
 We found his laconic reply quite true, but after 
 many a struggle we reached our port safely, with no 
 other mishap than a broken boat-hook and the points 
 of the sculls in splinters. 
 
 Our attention had been too completely taken up 
 by the management of our unruly boat to admit of 
 our taking much heed of the very lovely bits of 
 scenery through which we passed. What a lovely 
 picture a little yellow-painted cottage makes, nestling 
 in green foliage, and overshadowed by giant elms just 
 above the Scar Rocks ! These bare red rocks — pro- 
 bably a hundred feet high, and surmounted by masses 
 of green foliage — form a lovely boundary to the river, 
 which flows in a graceful bend below. 
 
 It was, after all, a very pleasant little trip. The 
 boatmaster at Hereford, who knows every stone in the 
 river, told us we ought to have gone to the left at 
 Monington, and shot that six feet fall ! A most easy 
 thing to do — so he said. I am rather glad we did not 
 make the attempt. It would, perhaps, have been 
 good for him, for we should have had a new boat to 
 pay for, and maybe a doctor's bill. Had there been 
 ten inches more water in the river, none of these 
 troubles would have befallen us. 
 
 The only little incident worth mention on the trip 
 was this; — ^Just as we were passing along a deep 
 stretch of water some cattle came helter-skelter down 
 a steep, slippery bank to drink. In their scramble 
 one of them — a cow — tumbled head foremost into the 
 stream, and disappeared for some time, but her horns 
 soon came up above water, then her head, and, 
 swimming round, she managed to scramble up the 
 
132 BV MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 slippery bank ; it was quite amusing to watch her 
 efforts, which were successful at last. Then a few 
 yards below an unlucky calf tumbled in under an 
 alder bush in a very deep hole. He, too, disappeared, 
 but came up, and struggled hard for some minutes, 
 repeatedly falling back into the deep water. At 
 length he managed to get up on the slippery clay bank, 
 and we thought he was safe, but his forefeet gave way, 
 and somehow he got twisted round, and he again fell 
 head foremost into the water — his hind feet still cling- 
 ing in some way to the bank, whilst his head and half 
 his body were under water. We thought he must 
 soon be drowned, and we turned the boat round, and 
 pulled up towards him in the hope of rendering him 
 some kind of help, though he was in an almost 
 unreachable place amongst the thick alder bushes ; 
 fortunately, after a last strong struggle, he sank wholly 
 into the water, and reappeared a little lower down, 
 swimming vigorously to a shallow bank, up which he 
 managed to climb with difficulty but with safety. 
 Such little incidents as these must be of daily occur- 
 rence on the banks of deep rivers, but it was novel and 
 interesting to us to witness, though perhaps scarcely 
 worth recording. 
 
 The Wye is, indeed, a most interesting river in its 
 whole length — from its rise in gloomy Plinlimmon to 
 the point where it swells the current of ** the Severn 
 Sea." Personally, I am only acquainted with the 
 twenty miles I have just so jauntily floated down. It 
 is a glorious river, passing' through rich lands and ever- 
 changing scenery. But there is no good fly-fishing in 
 it. We tried for trout, but we caught chub, that much- 
 
FOUR MEN IN A BOAT. 133 
 
 abused, disreputable fish ! Notwithstanding his bad 
 character, he is a comely fish, and a half pound chub 
 will fight pluckily, and give as much sport at times as 
 a gentlemanly trout. There are some grayling to be 
 had for the catching. The river swarms with what 
 they call last-springs, or fingerlings, or young salmon, 
 and there ought to be good salmon fishing in those 
 long, deep reaches. Occasionally one hears and sees 
 a big splash, and a lordly salmon throws a somersault 
 clear out of the water ; but the sight is rare, for the 
 river hereabouts is netted and poached in every con- 
 ceivable way — and there is no one to prevent it. 
 Even the riparian owners are constantly netting their 
 water, and keep all they catch, big or little. Round 
 about Hereford I suppose things are different, and 
 some respect is paid to the written and unwritten 
 laws of angling. Mr. Hatton, an occasional cor- 
 respondent of the "F. G.," I think, has been in luck 
 this season. I did not meet him, but I saw in his 
 shop the model of a 40 lb. salmon, caught by him, 
 with rod and line, some few miles below Hereford ; a 
 trophy of which he may well be proud. 
 
 We reached Hereford on Election Day. Our first 
 sight on crossing the bridge was a curious one. We 
 met a splendid carriage and pair, with a liveried 
 coachman and footman and gaily bespangled horses, 
 and inside, lolling with his head in one corner and his 
 dirty feet and legs stretched aslant on the opposite 
 delicate cushions, was a sweep with a black pipe 
 in his month, as drunk and as dignified as any lord 
 who ever rode in a carriage. He had been to the poll. 
 His colours were true blue — cornflowers and ribbons. 
 
134 ^y MEADOW AND STREAM. 
 
 Other specimens of the opposite colour in an equally 
 glorious state came under our notice as we hurried 
 through the town to seek refreshment after our seven 
 hours' toil on the river ; and as we all four drove out 
 of the town in an open carriage on our return home 
 (for our Londoner had missed his train), we were 
 taken for **free and independents " returning from the 
 poll, but we hoisted no colours, and, of course, were 
 as sober as judges. 
 
 CHISWICK PRESS r—CHARLKS WHITTINGHAM AND CO. 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANB, LONDON. 
 
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