Celtic Water 
 
 o 
 
 HOUDA V J A UN TS 
 
 WITH ROD CAMERA & PA 'Nl 
 
 1:. 
 
ALBERT R. MANN 
 LIBRARY 
 
 New York State Colleges 
 
 OF 
 
 Agriculture and Home Economics 
 
 AT 
 
 Cornell University 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 WILLARD A. KIGGINS, JR. 
 
 in memory of his father 
 
_. Cornell University Library 
 
 SH 439.K11 
 
 By Celtic waters; holiday jaunts with rod 
 
 3 1924 003 434 648 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924003434648 
 
PortsaloH Hotel, 
 
 CO. DONEGAL. 
 
 This excellent and commodious Hotel has been greatly 
 improved and extended for the coming Tourist Season. 
 
 T is situated amidst the most lovely scenery in 
 Ireland, with southern aspect, and within 50 
 
 . yards of shores of Lough Swilly. The Seven 
 Arches, the Black Lakes, the Great Arch, Doaghbeg, 
 and many other objects of interest and beauty, are 
 in the immediate neighbourhood. 
 
 THE PORTSALON GOLF LINKS, 
 
 (18 holes), which adjoin the Hotel, are reputed to be 
 among the finest and most sporting in the Country. 
 
 GOOD LAKE AND SEA FISHING, 
 
 ^Bathing- safe and excellent. 
 
 Route : Rail from Londonderry to Fahan, and 
 
 Steamer to Rathmullan and Portsalon. From Rath- 
 
 mullan by road 12 miles. Post and Telegraph Office 
 
 at Hotel. 
 
 Telegraphic Address : " HOTEL PORTSALON." 
 For Particulars apply. 
 
 Proprietor, 
 The Hotel, Portsalon, Co. Donegal. 
 
STEVENS' AUCTION ROOMS, 
 
 Established 1760. 
 
 38, KING STREET, COYEHT GARDEN, LONDON. 
 
 PERIODICAL 
 
 Sporting sales. 
 
 R. J. C. Stevens begs to announce 
 that he holds Sales of Sporting 
 Books, Engavings, Prints, Oil Paintings, 
 Guns, Revolvers, Swords, Sporting 
 Curiosities, Cricket, Tennis and Golf 
 Accessories, &c. at frequent intervals. 
 Catalogues may be had on application. 
 
 I^ochinvar Hotel, 
 
 DALB.Y, aALLOWAY. 
 
 NGLERS will find the above 
 Hotel replete with every comfort. 
 Good Trout and Salmon Fishing in 
 Loch and River. Splendid climate. 
 
 E. M. PEN WARDEN, Proprietress. 
 
J. Davy & Sons, Dry den Press, 137, Long Acre, London. 
 
 ' Only 350 copies 
 
 printed for the curioiis. '' 
 
 Anglers' Garland and Fishers' Delight for 1870. With 
 
 Wood Engravings by T. Bewick, &c. 4to. Hand-made Paper. Price 2s. 6d. 
 
 Anglers' Garland and Fishers' Delight for 1 871. 4to. 
 
 Hand-made Paper. Price 2s. 6d. 
 
 The Bibliography of Matthew Arnold : a Complete 
 
 Bibliography of Matthew Arnold. Compiled by Thos. B. Smart. Demy 
 8vo, cloth. Price 8s. 
 
 Complete in Five Vols, large %vo, half Roxburghe. 
 
 The Library Chronicle : a Journal of Bibliography and 
 
 Booh Lore. Price los each. Single numbers can be had, price 8d. 
 
 An Apology for Mahommed and the Koran. By JOHN 
 
 Davenport. Second edition, 8vo, cloth gilt. Price 5s. 
 
 An Aide-Memoire to the History of India. By JOHN 
 Davenport. Demy i2mo, cloth. Price 5s. 
 
 A Guide to the Roman Villa recently discovered at Brading, 
 Isle of Wight. By J. E. Price, F.S.A., and F. G. Hilton Price, F.G.S. 
 Post free 13 stamps. 
 
 With many Illustrations from Drawings by the Author, and an Etched 
 Frontispiece by J . D. Batten. Half morocco, crown folio. 
 
 Church of the Holy Trinity, Long Melford, Suffolk. By 
 
 E. L. CoNDER, Architect. Price £,\ lis. 6d. 
 
 By THE LATE T. J. GRAHAM, M.D., M.R.C.P. 
 
 "An admirable performance, and should find a place in every family establishment." 
 "Contains a mass of information indispensable to those for whom it is intended, 
 and surpasses in value any other book of its character," 
 
 " Popular works have been published by several medical practitioners, with the 
 purpose of guiding the judgment of the public in these vital questions — the principles 
 of the medical art — but none of them equal those of Dr. Graham." 
 
 Modern Domestic Medicine ; to which is added a Domes- 
 tic Materia Medica and a Copious Collection of Prescriptions. Fifteenth 
 Edition. In one thick vol., demy 8vo. Price los. 6d. 
 
 Diseases of Females. Eighth Edition, Engravings, Demy 
 
 8vo. Price 7s. 6d. 
 
 Diseases of Infancy and Childhood. Price 7s. 6d. 
 
C. FARLOW & CO. 
 
 LIMITED, 
 
 iltanitfacturira of JFirst-daaa Ho&a $t ^athU, 
 
 191, STRAND, LONDON, W.C. 
 
 C. F. & Co. have a large Assortment of 
 Hand made Split Cane Trout Rods in Stock. 
 They are made with cork handles, snake rings 
 and straight ferrules, which does away with 
 the necessity of tying the joints together. 
 
 The Rods are made in our own Factory, none 
 but the choicest cane being used. 
 
 THE "MAGNET" SPINNER. 
 
 The joint Invention of Messrs. Morrall and Starkey. 
 
 Most deadly for Trout and Perch ; they are made Gold and 
 
 Silver, and are with Red Tails, and Orange Silk Tag, all 
 
 have proved very deadly. 
 
 C. FARLO^HV & CO. Ltcl. 
 
 191, Strand, London, W.C. 
 
BY CELTIC WATERS. 
 

 '"7y7'>44^K^^v7- 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^ 1 
 
 1 
 
 "r:;:^.! ^z^j^msr^i.;^ ^^ '\'7. 
 
 ^j^^^Z" "" ~~-^- '^^^^H 
 
 • 
 
 LANDING A I^ LB. TROUT {p. 128). 
 
 
 
 
 
 -7^'l:^^;^K50^ ■ 
 
Celtic Waters 
 
 HO LI DA \ ' J A UNTS 
 
 WITH ROD CAMERA & PAINT BRUSH 
 
 By C. K. 
 
 DLLyiiri^ATriD 
 
 LONDON 
 J. DA VY 6- SONS DR YDEN PRESS 
 
 137, LOXG ACRE 
 1894 
 
360735 
 
 NO. 4 1.3 
 
 OV 500 COPIES PRINTED. 
 
 A// rights n'sen'ni. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 |0LiDAY Jaunts " in a 
 Radnorshire Arcadia," 
 and "In the Wilds ot 
 Donegal" first saw the 
 light of day in the 
 Fishing Gazette; and it 
 is due to the kindness and courtesy of the 
 Editor, R. B. Marston, Esq., that I am enabled 
 to incorporate them in " By Celtic Waters." 
 
 The Psalmist made the sweeping assertion • 
 that "all men are liars." St. Paul modified 
 this considerablj', and conferred the distinction 
 on the Cretans. A wrong-headed public opinion 
 
vJ Preface. 
 
 ot to-day has awarded the palm of mendacity 
 to the geiius fibherman. The following pages, 
 however, will be found utterly devoid of any 
 stretches of imagination as well as of any 
 literary merit; all they can lay claim to is 
 " truth," which is som.etimes stranger than 
 fiction. 
 
s 
 
 10 
 
 20 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A RADNORSHIRE ARCADIA. 
 
 Landing a I J lb. Trout Frontispiece. 
 
 The Ithon at Llandewy ((V/mj-^to^w/!) 
 
 The Alpine Bridge over the Ithon {illustration) 
 
 A Donkey Day 
 
 An Advertised Fishing Haunt 
 
 Our Favourite Stretch of Water on the Ithon {illustration) ... 35 
 
 Cefnllys Church (jWaj^z-aft'oK) ... ... ... .. ... 3- 
 
 Tale of a Black Laiib with no Relation to its 
 Caudal Appendage 41 
 
 IN THE WILDS OF DOXEGi^L. 
 
 Lough Dhu {illustration) ... ... ... ... ... ^g 
 
 Lough Swilly {illustration) ... ... ... ... ... 51 
 
 The Lennan 54 
 
 The Burn which ran through our Garden (zV^uj^z-a^iOK) ... do 
 
 Lough Keel 61 
 
 Laugh iCeel (illustration) ... ... ... ... ... 62 
 
 Lough Fern 69 
 
 'Lough Fern {illustration) ... ... ... ... ... 70 
 
 Port Salon and Lough Kindru.m 76 
 
 Port Ss,\oTi {illmtration) 78 
 
 Peculiar Rocks at the Seven Arches {illustration) ... ... 80 
 
 The Swilly , S3 
 
 Lough Sv/il\y {illustration) ... ... ... ... ... 84 
 
viii Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 HAUNTS OF MY YOUTH. 
 
 The Teme 90 
 
 The Teme at Ludlow (z7/«j<?-rz^i««) 91 
 
 On. ^i Ttra^ [illustration) 94 
 
 IjaAXovi Q,&%iit {illustration) ... ... ... ... ... 97 
 
 The Lugg 102 
 
 A.niong the Aymestry Woods {illustration) ... ... ... 104 
 
 Bodenham Bridge (z7/Mrf/-aft'o«) ... ... ... ... lob 
 
 Among the Shobden Woods (2V/«j/ra;fto«) ... ... ... loS 
 
 AyraestryWeiT [illustration) ... ... ... ... ... 112 
 
 ROUND ABOUT RHAYADER. 
 
 CviTa 'Ela.n'Bndge [illustration) ... ... ... ... ... 115 
 
 Confluence of the Martog and the Wye [illustration) ... 1 18 
 
 The JJpper Wye [illustration) ... ... ... ... ... 120 
 
 The Elan at Caban (t7/Mi-/?-az^io«) ... 1:4 
 
 Rocks at Pont-Hyll-faen (zV/wj^ra/ztfM) ... ... ... 134 
 
 Road, Rail, and River on the way to Builth {illustration) ... 135 
 
 The Wye below Rhayader (z7/«j?ra;/o«) ... ... ... i<ji 
 
 Junction of the Wye and the Elan (i/foj-^raftow) I^lj 
 
 MY FRIEND GINGER; or, A Novice's Exploits ... 145 
 
R t^adnorslpire .Arcadia. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Early one Monday morning in April I started for the 
 peaceful seclusion of a Radnorshire village, on the banks of 
 the Ithon, where, during the spring months, excellent trout- 
 ing may be had, combined with rest, peace, and exhilarating 
 breezes, determined to cast care to the four winds of heaven, 
 and to enjoy life among the bare \\^elsh hills, listening to 
 the eternal music of the softly ripphng stream. 
 
 I caught the mid-day train for Shrewsbury, and whirled 
 away through the Midland meads, where birds and flowers 
 seemed to rejoice in the vernal sunshine. Shrewsbury 
 reached, I met my old friend George B., who had arranged 
 to accompany me on this expedition, attended by two 
 porters, simply groaning beneath loads of wraps, fishing-rods, 
 creels, and other paraphernalia. Fishermen always seem 
 to cart about with them a superabundance of traps, and 
 George seems to out-do everyone in this respect. No one, 
 at any rate, could be ignorant of our occupation for the next 
 few weeks, and our fellow-passengers felt that there was one 
 topic of conversation which would interest us, so they broke 
 the ice by venturing a few remarks about the weather and 
 the water, and strove to impress one with the idea that they 
 were great authorities on this branch of sport. 
 
 Just before reaching Craven Arms, we crossed the Onny, 
 and were delighted to find the water in such good order. 
 Out of this stream I have often taken first-rate baskets. 
 
2 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 It runs down a lovely wooded country, little known to 
 excursionists, and I trust it will be long before they swoop 
 down upon this romantic spot. Doubtless the directors of 
 the little railroad that .runs up the valley for a distance of 
 eight miles, think otherwise, for they are sorely in need of 
 traffic. At present it is anything but a paying concern. 
 
 
 and some very comical scenes have been enacted on its 
 iron-way. 
 
 About eight p.m. we found ourselves snugly ensconced in 
 a cosy sitting-room of a country inn, There are few such 
 delightful places to be found now — the railway has long 
 since sounded their death-knell. 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 3 
 
 But this is a wayside inn of the old sort (situated wheire 
 you would least expect to find it) in the wilds of Radnor- 
 shire, its garden running down to the Ithon, which is 
 crossed by a rustic bridge. There is a feeling of repose and 
 seclusion about it which drives away all the shadows of life. 
 There is a comfort, too, which the most palatial and luxu- 
 rious of hotels fails to afford. One comes across people 
 now and then who seem to delight in what they call 
 " roughing it ; " who glory over every possible discomfort, 
 such as sleeping in a hay-loft, or back kitchen, or dirty bar 
 parlour. Others find even a cheaper method of obtaining this 
 discomfort by hiring a boat, rowing about during the day in 
 an aimless manner and mooring it up in some stagnant creek 
 at night to enjoy the attention of midges if the weather be 
 balmy, or the pleasure of a good soaking if the weather be 
 otherwise, and aching hmbs when the morning comes ; to 
 say nothing of other attendant joys or nuisances, as they 
 may choose to regard them, of cooking their own meals and 
 washing up their pots and pans. 
 
 Two friends once induced me to camp out among the 
 Welsh hills in a bell tent, in order to fish some little brooks. 
 I went; but I have not the slightest desire to go again. 
 Not a decent sleep did I obtain the whole time. The 
 last night it rained and blew hurricanes — in the midst of 
 which our canvas collapsed — oh, the misery of that night 
 is indelibly stamped upon my memory ! The collapse of 
 one's shelter on such a night would doubtless be regarded 
 by lovers of "roughing if"' as heightening the pleasure. 
 For my own part, I went home a sadder but a wiser man, 
 realising that " roughing it " is far nicer in theory than in 
 practice. 
 
 This country inn, which we made our headquarters for 
 fishing the Ithon and its tributaries, is a model in its way of 
 real comfort, cleanliness, and wholesome fare. Everything 
 
4 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 is done in a quiet homely fashion to make your sojourn as 
 pleasurable as possible. If you want a little unbroken rest, 
 seek out such a place as this — you will not be disappointed. 
 If you dread the busy idleness of chattering visitors and 
 excursionists, come down here with your rod, and book, 
 and pipe, and forget you are not a^ day's journey from the 
 gay metropolis. 
 
 Tuesday morning loomed dark and threatening, with a 
 nasty squally wind, which did not bode well for our day's 
 sport. However, we were up betimes, prepared to make 
 an early start, had the fair damsel who was deputed to 
 wait on us brought our sandwiches in decent time. As it 
 was, we both walked about like caged lions, not using the 
 most complimentary language, resigning ourselves to the 
 certain conviction that other fishermen would have fished 
 our best runs and spoilt our sport. Little did she guess the 
 confiicting emotions in our bosom of which she was the 
 innocent cause. 
 
 Who has not been dogged by that fiend — the worst of ail 
 fiends — the demon of jealousy? I suppose that of all men 
 the fisherman is the most familiar with him. The lover is 
 ever revolving the most unchristian thoughts, and a diseased 
 imagination is ever turning every one that approaches lur 
 into a hateful rival. No, he would not even be at peace 
 were he to keep the object of his affections under a glass 
 case ! \Vhen he goes forth into the pure fresh air to take 
 the birds and flowers into his confidence, and tries to free 
 himself of the awful incubus of this monster, it is all in vain. 
 The birds sing their notes of joy ; the flowers dry their tears 
 in the morning sun and lift up their radiant faces ; the lark 
 sings his innocent song at the gate of heaven ; there is beauty 
 in the world around ; a restful, peaceful happiness ; but, 
 alas ! not for him. The hateful shadow dogs his footsteps 
 and shuts out the sunlight. 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 5 
 
 So with a fisherman. Every comer becomes an object of 
 suspicion, every sound causes him to stand still and listen, 
 dreading with ghastly fear lest his eyes should fall upon some 
 other individual flogging his favourite stream — or he gazes 
 on some fresh footprints on the sands with much the same 
 horror as Robinson Crusoe gazed on cannibal tracks by the 
 sad sea waves, while the muddy margin of the river reminds 
 
 THE ITHON AT LLANDEWY. 
 
 him ever of the empty chamber that had its floor sprinkled 
 with flour to detect the traces of the mysterious visitant. 
 
 There is one fly which I never fail to have on my cast, 
 that is the Orange Partridge. It was not until lately that I 
 discovered its value, and how popular it is on the Ithon 
 during the spring months. I was fishing up north one very 
 
6 4- Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 inclement season, and sport had been of the poorest descrip- 
 tion, when I came across a doctor who was simply a drivell- 
 iijg enthusiast on angling. It was his one hobby, on which 
 he spent all his holiday; and I should say all his time, for 
 his profession appeared to be a very secondary consideration. 
 I have to thank this gentleman for drawing my attention to 
 the Partridge Orange. I discovered very, soon that for every 
 fish grassed with the March Brown or Blue Dun, ten were 
 grassed with the Orange, and I have found it, both in Scot- 
 land and Wales during the spring of the year, the most 
 deadly fly. 
 
 Not a trout was feeding in the sparkling stream, or at the 
 foot of clean gravel dubs, this cold, bleak day ; indeed, one 
 need hardly take the trouble to fish where the bottom is 
 gravelly on such a day as this, for the trout lie where there is 
 nice warm mud. So we confined our attention to the water 
 which ran slowly over muddy soil, and got fast in several 
 very nice ones in deep holes, usually the haunt of chub. 
 
 We came across a Welshman of the ultra type, who 
 owned one small farm on the river, and hated the sight of a 
 fisherman. He is the only gentleman in the Principality 
 that has had the honour of warning me off. This he did in 
 a torrent of invectives in the Anglo-AVelsh/n/m. We con- 
 sented to comply with his polite request, if he on his part 
 would undertake to show us the way off his estate, and as 
 this only entailed the opening of one ^ate, the surly dog 
 obliged us so far, and banged it after us, saying, " Noow yer 
 may feesh as long as yer loike, and bad luck to yer ! " How- 
 ever, in spite of the irascible farmer, of whose existence the 
 people at the inn had kept a discreet silence, we experienced 
 a very fair morning's sport, and when we sat down to discuss 
 our sandwiches, we felt on the best terms, with ourselves, six 
 of our trout weighing close upon a pound, while twenty-two 
 others ranged from \ lip. Lunch by the murmuring brook 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 7 
 
 on a balmy summer's day is one of the most delightful 
 meals I know of; but on a spring day, when the breeze is 
 not the most genial, there is a great temptation to hurry it 
 over, unless you happen to find some cosy shelter, where 
 you can enjoy the warmth of the tender sunbeam, without 
 the accompanying chilly . blast. Nature, however, is not 
 unkind ; she means us well, and hurries us over our meal, 
 that we may take time by the forelock, for in the spring- 
 time down here the trout do not rise after 4 p.m., and never 
 indulge in a late supper. 
 
 How often one's first day's fishing commences with intense 
 keenness and buoyant spirits, and ends so differently. It was 
 hard casting with that nasty squally wind blowing right 
 across the river, yet the bracing mountain air and our love 
 ■for the gentle art made us work away steadily until half-past 
 three ; then we got slack and began to feel weary in arms 
 and legs, a sure sign we had had enough of it. So our faces 
 were turned homewards — the walk back over the hills not 
 ' being remarkable for any engaging conversation, or display 
 of light-heartedness — indeed, I felt so played out and feeble 
 as I "shufHed down the hillside, that if one of those small 
 innocent faced lambs had bumped against me in its gambols, 
 I should inevitably have been knocked sprawling. 
 
 George followed painfully, dragging one leg after the other. 
 His waders and brogiies had managed to chafe his toes and 
 heel, so he said and indeed testified to the fact, by being in 
 . anything but a cheerful humour. 
 
 So we trudged back in single file and silence. Once I 
 
 ventured a joke of the very feeblest description, but my 
 
 companion glanced at me so fiercely that I hung my head, 
 
 iand ventured, upon no other until the inner man ha:d been 
 
 refreshed and invigorated by a well-earned dinner.' 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Excellent as the Ithon and its tributaries are for trout in 
 the spring months, yet these streams are not without their 
 drawbacks. They are infested with swarms of huge chub, 
 which, do what you will, contrive to hook themselves firm 
 and secure, and insist on being towed to land hke logs of 
 wood, in order to taste the balmy air of heaven. Here a 
 well-to-do chub does not consider his education complete 
 until he has gone on this pilgrimage, and has been hurled 
 back with many imprecations into his native stream, to 
 relate his adventures to an admiring audience of relations 
 and friends. George once tried to breakfast off an Ithon 
 chub, and he came to the conclusion that you require to be 
 on the verge of starvation before commencing a meal of this 
 description. It is about the most nauseous article of diet 
 extant. It is difficult to say what useful purpose these chub 
 fulfil, for they are useless as far as sport is concerned, and if 
 fate compels you to handle half-a-dozen of these brutes it 
 will be some days before your hands return to their original 
 sweetness, scrub how you may. It is possible that in the 
 distant future chub may be utilised for scientific purposes. 
 
 . In " Gulliver's Travels " we have an account of his visit to 
 the great Academy of Lagardo, and there Gulliver was 
 introduced to a professor, who for eight years had been 
 engaged upon the highly scientific project of extracting sun- 
 beams out of cucumbers, which were to be put in phials, 
 hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw 
 
 . inclement weather. He fancied in eight years he would be 
 able to supply the governor's garden with sunshine at a 
 reasonable rate. 
 
 Sir Robert Ball tells us " There is nothing absurd in this 
 scientific undertaking, and that it is quite certain the leaves 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 9 
 
 of the cucumber plant do lay hold of the sunbeams, extract 
 the heat, and lay up that heat in the fruit produced, and 
 that the heat of these sunbeams could be extracted again, 
 and could even be stored up in phials, hermetically sealed, 
 and be utilised when occasion might require." 
 
 Now, one cannot help remarking how on the hottest days 
 chub swim aimlessly about in the brilliant sunshine, 
 consciously or unconsciously collecting the sunbeams, which 
 their burnished scales seemed peculiarly adapted to attract. 
 Could not some simple expedient be devised to extract 
 these sunbeams at a non-prohibitive cost ? As it is, these 
 " loggerheads " appropriate the sunbeams without making 
 any appreciable return. Possibly these sunbeams may be 
 stored up against the winter months, when by some method 
 supplied by a kind and indulgent Nature the chub is able 
 to supply itself with sunshine and warmth " at a reasonable 
 rate," and to bask once more in a genial, though artificial 
 summer. Still, it would be well for the chubby reputation 
 if science would come to the rescue and remove the stigma 
 of selfishness by presenting them to a grateful humanity in 
 the light of " universal providers." Perhaps some Professor 
 Royal, writing a few years hence, may say that this is quite 
 within the range of practical science. 
 
 What a boon it would be to some shivering fisherman 
 upon a cold spring morning, if, having caught a loggerhead 
 chub instead of a trout, he could console himself by ex- 
 tracting the sumbeams and using them as required ! What 
 a delightful lunch he would have under some sheltered 
 bank, with sunbeams all around him ! 
 
 As it is, however, these chub in the Ithon are a perfect 
 nuisance. We use impolite language towards them, unhook 
 them without much ceremony, and fling them back with 
 imprecations, while on the bosom of the murmuring stream 
 is borne the monosyllable, " Brute." Some fishermen 
 
10 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 condemn them to lie and rot in the sunshine, of which one 
 is unpleasantly reminded at times. 
 
 But what quite ruins our amiable disposition in this 
 district are the samlets. Their name is legion. Some days 
 they are terribly en hidence, and whole hours are wasted in 
 picking them off one's line and returning them to their 
 
 THE ALPINE BRIDGE' OVER THE ITHON. THE HAUNT OF CHUB. 
 
 native element, and as a rule directly the trout begin to rise 
 these imps of iniquity become more sedulous in their 
 attentions. Not only do they ruin one's temper, but spoil 
 one's fishing also, for in our efforts to avoid striking them a 
 good trout is often let off. 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. ii 
 
 Our second day on the Ithon was pregnant with such 
 drawbacks. Chub after chub we caught and hurled back 
 again until our arms grew weary and our eyes simply 
 loathed the sight of them, and as for samlet, the river 
 seemed to boil with them. They rose in shoals and 
 appropriated every fly. If we determined not to strike, they 
 calmly hooked themselves, and danced and wriggled about 
 until they had weaved the cast into a fearful tangle — when 
 they seemed content, and assumed a self-satisfied air, as if 
 they were proud of their day's work. Then we would have 
 to sit down and patiently unravel our lines, and having done 
 so, begin to cast again, making desperate efforts to keep 
 calm ; then perhaps a big trout would rise and we would 
 strike tpo late, and in our mad fury swished the line back 
 again with such terrific force that every fish within a 
 hundred yards was scared. Then we would remove to 
 another run, vowing not to be put off by those " beastly 
 samlet," by striking too late again — and we would be true 
 to our vow when the next fish rose, and hook him well — 
 and oh, ye cruel fates ! it would turn out to be a loggerhead 
 chub. This was too much — we would sit down on the 
 bank utterly heart-broken, and feel that we could cry. 
 George seemed to gasp for breath and to be choking with 
 rage and indignation, and looked as if he wanted to kick 
 somebody or something very badly, to relieve the spasrn. 
 We quietly meditated why we were thus pursued by an 
 unrelenting fate, and wondered if either of us had forgotten 
 to say our prayers, or had trespassed in any other way. 
 
 Out came our pipes — we smoked in silent reverie, eject- 
 ing vast clouds, and so regained our usual equanimity. 
 Without that pipe we should have done som.ething tragic. 
 There is a limit to human patience and endurance, though 
 we know not what the limit is. ^\'e felt that it had been 
 reached, and that we were standing on the verge of a 
 
12 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 precipice, ready to fling ourselves down, or do anything 
 desperate. However, the pipe saved us. 
 
 I have scant regard for men that don't smoke ; they are 
 Uke unmusical people— "fit for treasons, stratagems, and 
 spoils ; the motions of their spirit are dull as night, and their 
 affections dark as Erebus." The nineteenth-century girls 
 have found out that smokers make the better husbands, and 
 several of my female acquaintances have declared that 
 nothing would induce them to take for their better-half a 
 non-smoker. These girls are wise in their generation. The 
 smoking husband is more confiding and more domesticated. 
 What cannot the wife worm out of him as he smokes the 
 evening pipe of peace ? In that sweet hour his heart is 
 bare and open to the object of his love, and the soft old 
 duffer becomes like clay in the hand of the potter. 
 
 No, girls are not fools ; they know too well which side 
 their bread is buttered ; and for a moral certainty, in the 
 years to come, non-smokers as husbands will be out of it, or 
 will have to be content to wed with the plainest and most 
 unattractive specimens of the weaker sex. 
 
 Well, we only caught a dozen trout between us, weighing 
 4^ lbs., and as we wended our way home, we tried to console 
 ourselves with the thought of the splendid sport we should 
 have had if all our geese had been swans — I mean, if all 
 our chub had been trout, for we calculated to have caught 
 about forty chub, and between one and two hundred 
 samlet. 
 
 The young woman who attended to our wants was a 
 perfect treasure to a fisherman in a strange land. She 
 reminded me vividly of a waiting-maid I once came across 
 in a Devonshire country inn, and- whose memory will ever 
 be green in my recollection. 
 
 This Devonshire lass was well versed in fishing lore, and 
 could tell you the most killing flies on particular days and 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 13 
 
 where the best fish lay. She seemed to take a personal 
 interest in me, and would assume a very melancholy air when 
 I had but a poor basket of fish to show. You had but to 
 state your wants, and she was ready at hand with the 
 required article, or to ask a question, and to have it answered 
 by this walking encyclopasdia, and therefore she cannot be 
 passed over without remark. I have composed several pieces 
 of poetry in her honour, but somehow or other, in reading 
 them over, none of them seemed adequately to express her 
 charms, so I am reduced to cribbing a bit of Calverley : — 
 
 "Oh, my rustic maid, still unforgotten, 
 
 With your downcast eyes of dreamy blue ; 
 Never, somehow, could I seem to cotton 
 To another as I did to you." 
 
 I think this will do — especially "the downcast eyes of 
 dreamy blue." George says, " That's her all over," which is 
 one of his wretched vulgarisms, as she is neither " eyes all 
 over " nor " blue all over." But she had a mysterious air 
 about her which I cannot account for or define. It is 
 not that she was neglectful of common duties or lacked 
 interest in mundane affairs. No, she threw herself into the 
 great enterprises of the day — I mean our dinner and comfort 
 — with great enthusiasm ; yet there was this mysterious some- 
 thing about her which arrested my attention. When you 
 addressed her, she put on a strange, vacant .stare, and 
 remained silent for some moments, then, with a start she 
 seemed to come to herself, and made reply ; but the voice 
 never seemed to proceed from her mouth ; the voice was 
 the honeyed voice of our handmaid, but invariably it came 
 from her boots or from under the table, or from the cupboard 
 or ceiling — in fact, from anywhere save that place which 
 Nature had distinctly pointed out as the proper exit. She 
 seemed to be a female Valentine Vox, and would certainly 
 
14 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 have made her fortune as a ventriloquist. O ye managers 
 of the Westminster Aquarium, there is a treasure lying hid in 
 this way-side inn ! Here is one living a humdrum existence 
 in her native wilds, unknown and unhonoured, because no 
 enterprising person has yet discovered her latent talents. If 
 the late Mr. Barnum had ever come across this girl, he would 
 not have been satisfied until she had been added to that 
 unique collection in his travelling menagerie. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "A Donkey Day." 
 
 A sharp north-easter was blowing as I tramped a mile or 
 so up-stream before commencing operations — the water was 
 fine and rather lower than I liked — and consequently from 
 the state of the elements I did not anticipate a very successful 
 day's sport. I fished several favourite pools without any 
 success, in fact, not a fish seemed to be stirring. So I took 
 off my flies and put on a Devon Minnow, and tried several 
 good runs without even moving a fish. 
 
 Visions of a worn-out figure tottering home to dinner with 
 an empty basket flitted across my mind. Of course, every- 
 one I encountered would ask what luck I had had, and 
 would insist on looking into my creel. 
 
 That's always the sort of thing when one has had no 
 sport. 
 
 I don't know how it is, but no one pays the slightest 
 attention when you happen to have a good show of fish ; 
 the people you meet seem absolutely devoid of curiosity 
 and inquisitiveness, although you may go out of your way 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 15 
 
 to arouse it. I go into the bar-parlour when my basket is 
 full of beauties, and give out I have had a real good day, 
 but nobody asks to see what I have caught. I open the lid 
 and invite anyone to come and see the result of my day's 
 sport, but no one responds to the invitation. On the other 
 hand, if I should be so unfortunate as to return with an 
 empty creel, the whole village runs after me to know 
 what I have done; and I am mobbed by anxious in- 
 quiries as I essay to slip into our sitting-room without 
 observation. 
 
 " That's just what will happen to me to-day," I muttered, 
 as I tried a likely run, "I shall catch two or three as long 
 as my finger, and then creep back home hoping to escape 
 notice ; but by some strange fatality I shall knock up 
 against everyone I know in the place, all of whom will 
 insist on button-holing and cross-questioning me with regard 
 to the day's sport." 
 
 At last, wearied and disgusted with my non-success, I 
 flung myself down upon the grass, intending to light up a 
 pipe, when down came a torrent of rain, hail, and sleet, 
 v/hich seemed to freeze up my spinal marrow, and cut my 
 face and neck till I almost howled with pain, and as to my 
 hands, all feeling appeared to have left them for ever. 
 Rendered almost frantic, m' sheer desperation I seized my 
 rod, and began spinning in some deep dead water of a 
 brooklet called the Cwmarron, which joined the Ithon at 
 the point where I had desisted for a while, my object solely 
 being to restore circulation to my frozen limbs. At the very 
 first draw three large trout darted out from goodness knows 
 where, and had a real good race for the possession of the 
 minnow. One of them seized it so savagely and deter- 
 minedly that there was little chance of losing him. Aftgr 
 a very short tussel he was grassed — a i\ lb. Irout within an 
 ounce. . ^ - ■ , '- 
 
1 6 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 Again I spun the minnow, with the same result, in a place 
 I should not have thought worth trying with a Devon in my 
 sane moments ; they absolutely jostled against one another 
 in their eagerness to get the bait. 
 
 This sudden onslaught, after my previous unsuccess, fairly 
 astonished me. The fish seemed literally to have gone mad 
 with hunger. I was obliged to pinch myself very hard before 
 I could be sure that the whole thing was not the baseless 
 fabric of a vision. It seemed unnatural and uncanny, for 
 in an hour, in less than four hundred yards of water, I had 
 crammed my basket full of real beauties. Having done 
 this, I gave up the slaughter of the innocents, and went 
 home in a joyful frame of mind to ruminate over the 
 phenomenon. 
 
 Of course I did not come across a single soul ; one would 
 suppose the whole village to be deserted. 
 
 But what on earth — or in the clouds — had affected the 
 trout in this strange manner? The storm continued for 
 about twenty minutes, and during that unpleasant period 
 they behaved like demons. ^Vhen the storm had passed off 
 they still went well, but not with the same mad ferocity and 
 determination. Something in that storm must have stimu- 
 lated their appetites. What was it? Possibly with the 
 storm there came some electric current which affected the 
 fish in much the same manner as a sherry and bitters is 
 popularly supposed to affect jaded humanity. But the 
 storm was experienced in other parts of the river, without 
 the extreme voracity on the part of the trout. It seemed 
 confined to the small brooklet where I was fishing. So my 
 electric current theory looks queer. 
 
 George, in his usual off-hand manner, attributed it to 
 " pure cussedness " on the part of the fish, which no theory 
 could explain ; that when the storm began a general day's 
 outing was agreed upon up the Cwmarron, and, indeed, a 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 17 
 
 day's outing, in a very prolonged sense, many of them 
 enjoyed. 
 
 My fishing companion was fairly astonished at my day's 
 catch on his return home. He had got a decent lot, and I 
 ■fancy had been calculating on his way back how he was 
 going to put my nose out of joint. He looked a bit flabber- 
 gasted when I produced my trout, all carefully laid out upon 
 a dish, the largest being arranged at the top, so as to catch 
 the eye. 
 
 I always notice how, in every basket or dish, the big 
 fish have a knack of getting uppermost ; of course it is all 
 pure chance, or, as some say, a law of Nature, not only with 
 fishj but with the biggest strawberries and marbles, &c. I 
 confess I purposely place the big fish uppermost. They are 
 impressive. At any rate, they made such an impression on 
 George, that he darkly hinted I had not come by these fish 
 fairly ; it required a good dinner and a cigar before he 
 would believe my tale. It is then we fight our battles over 
 again, for then there is peace and quiet. 
 
 Once we were located in the Land o' Cakes at an inn 
 where the son and daughter of the landlord selected this 
 evening hour to practice duets. A piano was in the room 
 adjoining our sitting-room, where these two were wont to 
 disport themselves, working up some songs and duets (I 
 imagine) against the annual village concert in the winter. 
 Their effusions appeared to be very plaintive ditties, and 
 full of sentiment, yet they did not recommend themselves 
 to us in the least. Possibly the monotonous repetition was 
 accountable for this, for the first night we rather fancied 
 them, afterwards they made us feel unhappy. The young 
 man sung a very dismal kind of bass : at one time he 
 appeared to be singing in his boots, at another time in a 
 tremulous quaver on the upper notes ; while the young lady 
 burst now and again into a fit of shrieks, sufficient to give 
 
1 8 A Radnor shii'e Arcadia. 
 
 any rightly-formed person lockjaw. We played the martyrs 
 as long as possible, and then, in sheer desperation, joined in 
 with the idea that we were improving, and giving tone and 
 body to the singing. One evening we were entirely dis- 
 abused of this notion by a stranger who happened to be 
 spending the night in the house. The young lady was just 
 in the act of shrieking herself into a fit ; her brother was 
 singing a lugubrious bass in his boots ; George was helping 
 with what he was pleased to call alto, but which was more 
 like the howl of some creature in mortal agony ; while I took 
 the tenor, which I flatter myself was decently rendered, when 
 we heard a commotion on the landing, and a stentorian voice 
 , calling for the landlady. It was only the stranger in his night- 
 shirt, shouting over the bannisters to ascertain if he had got 
 into Bedlam by mistake. 
 
 We refrained from any further participation after this insult, 
 and allowed the other two to have it all to themselves. 
 Nothing would deter them, I feel sure, bar the aforesaid 
 lockjaw. I trust they had a large and appreciative audience 
 when they appeared before the foot-lights to give the result 
 of their patient labour. 
 
 George caught two dozen nice little fish with the Orange 
 Partridge and March Brown, but the proportion was four 
 to one with the former. No less than three fishermen had 
 startled him with a "Hi!" in the act of landing a fish, to 
 know what fly he was hauling them out with. 
 
 LAMENT OF A FLY. 
 
 I often sorrow o'er ray fate, 
 
 And ask if Fate can tell me why — 
 (If in the day 'tis not too late 
 To aslc) why unrelenting hate 
 Has christened me, sad to relate, 
 A fly ! 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 19 
 
 A fly ! oh ! how I loathe that word— 
 
 But why ! a fly alone am I ? 
 'Tis neither fish, nor flesh, nor bird ; 
 Can anything be more absurd ? 
 When birds, and fish, and pigs, I've heard 
 Can fly ! 
 
 Ah ! yes — the best of spirits quail, 
 
 Leaps from its lair the deep-drawn sigh. 
 And limbs so lithe and active fail. 
 When spinsters raising up their veil, 
 And waving high the gingham, hail 
 A fly. 
 
 When wretches of another sort. 
 
 Startle each other with,a " Hi !" 
 Jleeldy inquire what kind of sport ; 
 The reason of their coming short, 
 And then — oh, heartless brutes, retort — 
 What fly ! 
 
 But why repine, when vengeance true 
 
 Is exercised by every fly ? 
 I'll tell you what I'll up and do — 
 Romantic death comes but to few — 
 Revenge is sweet — I'll drop into 
 Their eye. 
 
 Many a shock to my nervous system have I received 
 through inquisitive anglers suddenly yelling at me behind 
 my back, or from among bushes, to know "what fly they 
 were taking ? " It is positive cruelty to do so when a man 
 is playing a big fish, and his nerves are at a high state of 
 tension. However, I feel amply avenged when I tell them 
 the Orange Partridge, and learn they haven't got one, for the 
 natives down here never use this fly. 
 
20 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "An Advertised Fishing Haunt.'' 
 
 A letter arrived from a friend of George's, who rejoices in 
 the cognomen of " Birdie," to say that he (Birdie) intended 
 going down to the Dibbhng Arms Hotel for a week's 
 fishing, and begging us to join him there for a few days. 
 
 The Dibbling Arms is an advertised fishing haunt, a good 
 distance by rail from where we are located. Personally I 
 didn't smile upon the enterprise at all. I had not heard 
 good reports of the " eight miles of water well stocked with 
 trout and free visitors," while Birdie, although an excellent 
 companion, is not a first-rate specimen of a fisherman, sport 
 being with him sometimes a secondary consideration. 
 
 One season in Scotland I remarked how extraordinarily 
 keen he always was to fish a certain reach of water, wliich 
 was about the worst in the whole stream. I thought at first 
 it was pure unselfishness on his part, and that he selected it 
 in order to give me the best. 
 
 I found the true reason to be otherwise. 
 Just above this particular reach there was a celebrated 
 whisky distillery, well-known to fame, whither Birdie deligl.ted 
 to wend his way, on the pretext that he had been com- 
 missioned by friends to try samples. So every evening after 
 the cloth had been removed, the sly young dog used to 
 produce his sample bottle and discuss the merits of the 
 liquor it contained. And then he would wax eloquent and 
 dilate on the pleasures of fishing, and bang his fist down on 
 the table as he roundly asserted that it was par excellence 
 " the contemplative man's recreation." I managed to 
 suppress a smile in order not to injure the contemplative 
 man's feelings — I would not consciously hurt the feelings of 
 a contemplative spider. 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia, 21 
 
 However, as George seemed determined to go to the 
 Dibbling Arms, I ofifered no opposition, so we left the Ithon 
 and its game little trout. 
 
 At Dibbling Station we arrived late in the afternoon, and 
 were surprised to find no conveyance of any description, 
 although we had telegraphed requesting to be met. The 
 station-master, however, relieved our minds by saying that he 
 believed a wheel-barrow was in waiting to convey us to the 
 hotel, a distance of barely half a mile. This was news 
 indeed ! 
 
 We ran into the arms of a man with a cork leg, who was 
 the proud Jehu of the aforesaid wheel-barrow, and asked 
 him in a bantering tone which he would take first, us or our 
 luggage ; or could he manage both ? 
 
 He stared very hard at us, but never spoke. Evidently 
 he was not a man to be trifled with, so we went in search of 
 the solitary porter, and metaphorically fell on our knees, and 
 prayed that he would deign to help us convey our luggage 
 to the barrow. He said perhaps he would after he had 
 collected the tickets. We heartily thanked him for his 
 condescension. 
 
 The man with the cork-leg gave vent to many growls 
 because he could only take the one-half of our impedimenta, 
 and would have to make a second journey, and having 
 assumed a martyr-like demeanour, he got between the shafts 
 and set off, George and I bringing up the rear. On the way 
 everybody rushed out to scan the new arrivals. I thought 
 they pointed after us, and shouted out something, which 
 sounded like " catch all those that died last year." George 
 said "it was pure imagination," so I don't press the point. 
 
 Standing at the entrance of the Dibbling Arms was a 
 lordly-looking creature, some six feet high, gorgeously arrayed 
 in a coat and waistcoat of large check pattern, and breeches 
 andgaiters of faultless cut. ^Ve put him down for nothing 
 
2u A Radnorshire Arcadia. , 
 
 less than a duke. Birdie, who had arrived by an earlier 
 train, was conversing with him, and introduced us. He 
 turned out to be something more modest than a duke, simply 
 the landlord of the Dibbling Arms. He surveyed us super- 
 ciliously from head to foot, spoke a few patronising words of 
 welcome, and then rang the bell for the boots and chamber- • 
 maid. Afterwards he again deigned to address a few words 
 to us, but in such a manner as to impress us with our own 
 srhallness and his greatness. 
 
 We inquired if fishermen were experiencing good sport 
 just at present. 
 
 ' Excellent," replied the pompous one ; " but " — and here 
 he became very impressive — " the fish in this river require 
 a first-rate performer with the rod and line. Plenty of trout, 
 sirs, if you are men enough to catch them." 
 
 We felt we were in the presence of a past master of the 
 art, and having mumbled something about " trusting we 
 should render a good account of ourselves and the fish," we 
 slunk off. 
 
 George dubbed this- lordly creature "The Squire of 
 Dibbling.'' 
 
 On the morrow we found out what the Squire had said to 
 be only too true in one particular — it required a first-rate 
 fisherman and something more to catch the trout. If there 
 were any in the stream, I fancy they had long since learnf 
 to distinguish the difference between the artificial fly and the 
 natural. Haviag been brought into daily contact with the 
 artiiicial, its detection became an hereditary instinct, and 
 they not only refused to look at it, but fled from it as from- 
 the plague. 
 
 We met five or six rods on the water, and of each, of 
 course, we inquired what sport ! All in turn answered with- 
 a sickly smile, " Nothing ! " They seemed quite resigned to 
 their fate, and did not even ask 'us if we had fared better, 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 23 
 
 for they opined seemingly that such a question would be 
 merely waste of breath. 
 
 George settled down into a gloomy, morose, and melan- 
 choly man ; while I went about muttering to myself, " I 
 knew how it would be," and looking things unutterable at 
 the other two. Birdie alone seemed perfectly unconcerned 
 and quite happy. When he had flogged the stream for four 
 consecutive hours without getting a rise, it suddenly occurred 
 to him that he might better employ himself ; so he adjourned 
 to the bar parlour, where he smoked his pipe, and discoursed 
 to an admiring audience of the various sports on which he 
 considered himself an authority. 
 
 The Squire met us wending our way sorrowfully home. 
 In answer to his salutations, we returned very curt replies, 
 for we began to have our suspicions that he was a humbug 
 and impostor. To our surprise he became graciously con- 
 descending, and made no end of excuses for our ill-luck, 
 and, furthermore, promised to take us on the morrow up to 
 a lake amongst the hills, where he would guarantee sport: 
 We thanked him, and rather blamed ourselves for our evil' 
 thoughts concerning him. 
 
 On the morrow we started early for the happy fishing 
 ground aforesaid. We were light-hearted and smiling, for 
 we reckoned we were in for a good thing. The Squire was 
 confident and chatty, and graciously accepted "a leetle 
 segar," as he called it. The distance was about four miles, 
 uphill all the way, and over as bad a bit of- country as any- 
 one who went in for this sort of thing would wish to travel. 
 Birdie remarked to the Squire that it reminded him of 
 Scotland, and very innocently inquired if there was a whisky 
 distillery anywhere in the neighbourhood, as this seemed to 
 be the very place for one. 
 
 The Squire shook his head, and replied in the negative. 
 
 A look of unspeakable anguish overspread Bir4ie's face: 
 
24 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 He gave vent to a hollow groan, sank down upon the grass, 
 rested his weary head between his hands, and looked as if 
 he were going to cry. He said it really was too bad of the 
 Welsh people not to utilise their beautiful country, and 
 deprecated their lack of enterprise and " go," and compared 
 them very unfavourably with the Scotch. 
 
 At length, after much climbing, we gained the summit of 
 the hills, and lying in a hollow we descried a splendid stretch 
 of water. George took off his cap and waved it over his 
 head, yelling " Thalassa ! Thalassa ! " as certain Greek 
 heroes did of old, and broke into the regulation jog-trot 
 which historians never omit to mention when speaking of 
 those ancient veterans. 
 
 The Squire, who did not understand Greek, thought that 
 George had caught sight of a petticoat in the distance, and 
 was shouting " The lassie ! The lassie ! " for he turned to 
 me and said, " Sure your friend is a very gallant gentleman ; 
 maybe he is on the look-out for a Welsh lassie for a wife." 
 I explained to him the meaning of the exclamation, but he 
 cut me short with " Ah ! yes ; of course," &c., as if he was 
 well acquainted with the historical incident. 
 
 We were introduced with pride to what the Squire was 
 pleased to call a boat, but which seemed to us to be a 
 specimen of an antique coracle, built in the days when 
 Llewellyn had encamped on the neighbouring hills, and 
 supplied his valorous followers with the product of the lake 
 to ward off starvation. 
 
 Birdie declined altogether to risk his life in such a craft, 
 and consoled himself with the thought that possibly as good 
 fishing could be obtained by wading from the shore. He 
 commenced to tell a yarn of some friend who had had a 
 splendid day's sport on the bank of a loch, when he was 
 rudely interrupted by the Squire, who told him " to go and 
 teach his grandmother to suck eggs." 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 25 
 
 Birdie is of a very sensitive disposition, and, as he said 
 afterwards, if George or myself had offered this kind sug- 
 gestion he would have taken it in good part ; but to have 
 his ancient relative's name taken in vain by a vulgar hotel- 
 keeper was more than he could swallow. After darting 
 an angry glance at his interrupter he made off, without 
 another word, to the other side of the lake, meditating 
 revenge. 
 
 We three took to the boat, our slightest movement dis- 
 turbing its equilibrium in an alarming manner. The fish in 
 the lake ran from i oz. up to \ lb. ; they rose freely, and there 
 was little sport in catching them. 
 
 The Squire appeared to be enraptured. " Isn't it grand 
 fun ? " he said ; " I told you I'd guarantee sport up here." 
 
 " Yes," replied George, with a wink at me, " one doesn't 
 come in for this sort of thing every day. I suppose you keep 
 the good things until last ? Sly dog ! " 
 
 " Well, to tell you the truth," said the Squire, " I call this 
 my preserve, and keep it a bit dark, or else I should be 
 pestered to death for permission to fish." 
 
 We laughed uproariously at this, the Squire failing to see 
 the joke. 
 
 I ventured to inquire if he ever caught a fish over a 
 quarter of a pound. 
 
 " Not often ! Not often ! " he replied. " As a matter of 
 fact I consider the small ones gives better sport, and are 
 certainly nicer eating." 
 
 George pretended to agree in this, and said, " Hear ! 
 hear ! " and shook hands with the Squire, exchanging flasks 
 at the same time. 
 
 When the Squire had got the flask well between his lips 
 and was imbibing the contents, George shook his fist at him, 
 iniplying he would like to punch his head, which action 
 the Squire caught sight of and asked for an explanation. 
 
2 6 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 George got out of it by saying,' " My good sir, you mistake 
 my action altogether, I was merely intimating my anxiety 
 about my flask, for you seemed as if you were about to 
 swallow it." 
 
 I picked up a stiiall stickleback in the form of a trout, 
 which I had just caught, and aimed it at George's head by 
 way of reproof; but miscalculating my aim, hit the Squire 
 right in the mouth. Then he arose in wrath, and let us 
 have it in spite of my reiterated apologies. 
 
 He said, "You are just a parcel of bally-raggers, with 
 about as much notion, of fishing as the man in the moon.'' 
 
 I implored him not to be hard on that aged gentleman, 
 as it was well-known there was no water on the surface of 
 the orb over which he reigned ; and therefore it was quite 
 within the bounds of probability there were no fish. Such 
 being the case, I appealed to every generous feeling he 
 possessed not to taunt this far-away and long-respected gent, 
 for his lack- of proficiency in an art which he had had no 
 opportunity of pursuing. This appeal seemed to make him 
 grow madder. 
 
 " I tell you what it is my boy," he replied. " I'm too old 
 a bird to be caught by chaff. Just you shut it ; and go home 
 and sell that rod, and buy a bit of sugar-candy ! " 
 
 Then George up and offered to bet the Squire a dinner 
 that he and I would each of us catch a larger number 
 of these miserable tarn trout than he (the Squire) would. 
 The bet was acc.epted, and in silence' we entered upon the 
 contest. 
 
 At the first throw George's and the Squire's lines met — 
 embraced — and agreed never to part again.- 
 
 " Silly idiot ! " muttered George. 
 
 " Clumsy lout ! " soliloquised the Squire. 
 
 We had the luck to catch three fish each before the Squire 
 had caught one. This seemed to totally unsettle him, and 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 27 
 
 make him strike too hurriedly at the fish in his eagerness to 
 get on level terms. 
 
 Just at this moment we heard a tremendous floundering 
 in the water behind us, as if a herd of cattle was stampeding 
 out of the lake. It was only Birdie masquerading. He, 
 too, seemed to have tired of catching these diminutive trout ; 
 and so, having hooked one smaller than usual, he floundered 
 out of the water up the hillside, dragging the stickleback after 
 him, and there held it up sarcastically for the Squire's benefit. 
 This quite settled the Squire, and lost him his wager. He 
 whipped, and flogged, and struck, and missed, using choice 
 expressions in guttural '\\'elsh interspersed with English not 
 to be found in any regulation dictionary. At last, in his ire, 
 he stepped on the fish I had flung at George, slipped up, 
 and fell backwards clean out of the boat, nearly capsizing it 
 in his so doing. For a moment not a glimpse of his portly 
 figure was to be seen, then he rose to the surface spitting 
 and spluttering, and made for the boat as if to try and 
 clamber in. 
 
 George seized an oar, and yelled, " Hang on ! hang on, 
 you dunderhead ! None of that nonsense." The Squire, 
 who had evidently lost his head, spluttered, " For mercy's 
 sake, help us up ! " 
 
 George, looking very serious, replied, " Hang on, you silly 
 duffer. - If you try and get in I'll brain you with this oar." 
 
 Birdie, on- the shore, who had evidently been reading 
 Pickwick, and- knew exactly 'what to do in such an emer- 
 gency, threw his rod on the ground, and ran up and down 
 the hillside, shouting, "Fire, fire ! murder! thieves !" at the 
 top of his voice, making the welkin ring afar. 
 
 However, by dint of much shouting and yelling we got 
 the Squire into a reasonable 'frame of mind, and he allowed 
 us to tow him to shore. He appeared very crest-fallen, 
 elected to go straight home, and, report says, was never the 
 
28 A Radnorshire Arcadia^ 
 
 same man again. Of course we didn't go on with this fishing 
 farce any longer ; so after lunch we packed up our traps and 
 went on a journey of exploration. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 We bade the Squire adieu early in the morning. He 
 expressed the hope that we would come again and make a 
 longer stay. 
 
 " Recommend the place to your fishing friends," he said. 
 We replied, " Oh, certainly," mentally resolving that we 
 should strongly recommend them to avoid it. And then, with 
 the man of cork-leg fame and his barrow, we made off for 
 the station, with the intention of spending a few more days 
 on the banks of our beloved Ithon. 
 
 On some of these Welsh lines, when the trains get up 
 steam, they are apt to roll about in an alarming manner, 
 and shake one's internals into an utter jumble. To such as 
 daily propound the question, " Is life worth living ? " and 
 find a solution in the answer, " It depends upon the liver," 
 doubtless this rolling and shaking comes as a boon and a 
 blessing. Were I a doctor about to prescribe for a patient 
 with a liver, I should, without hesitation, advise him to take 
 a season ticket upon one of these lines. A philanthropic 
 Government might take the matter up and run an " express 
 liver train,'' allowing all retired Anglo-Indian officials to 
 travel half-price. This would be the first step of a paternal 
 Government which had the welfare of its people and 
 officials sincerely at heart. 
 
 We travelled in one of these " express liver trains," but 
 not being troubled with the complaint we decidedly objected 
 to be experimented upon. A nervous old lady in our carriage 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 29 
 
 opined that the driver must be drunk, and signified her 
 intention of giving him in charge at the next stop. 
 
 We arrived towards evening at our old quarters, and got, 
 as usual, a hearty welcome. It rained, unfortunately, the 
 whole night, so that in the morning we found the river too 
 much stained for our doing any execution with the fly. 
 Stewart tackle and a worm we decided to be the order of 
 the day, so we went off in search of our friend, the ostler, 
 to procure us the latter commodity. 
 
 I have always had a preference for small streams with 
 Stewart tackle ; you can lob your worm into each pool and 
 eddy, and if you fish it properly you are certain to have a 
 run with every fish on the feed. You have such perfect 
 command over a small stream, that although your fish may 
 be individually smaller than those caught in the main 
 stream, yet your take will probably be more numerous and 
 your basket heavier. George and Birdie set out to try the 
 lower stretch of the Ithon, while I drove to a streamlet (I 
 forget its name) some two and a-half miles away. 
 
 I give what I call my brook-rod an outing when I am 
 abroad with the worm up these murmuring brooks. It is a 
 small stiff bamboo, as light as a feather, made by Farlow. 
 It has a special top also for spinning. This is my lucky 
 rod, for I cannot call to mind a blank day when we two 
 have been together. Many a good basketful has it been 
 responsible for. 
 
 It was a lovely balmy morning, the sun having begun to 
 disperse the rain-clouds, as I set to work and dropped the 
 worm into a grand run. Almost immediately my line 
 began to twitch slightly, warning me that there was some- 
 thing after it ; then came a vigorous jerk, and I struck. 
 Away went a lusty trout up-stream. Checked in his flight, 
 he gave three or four brave leaps, and tried to make off 
 again for hidden stubs. But I could afford to be a bit 
 
30 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 rough with him; so I wound up and brought him without 
 ceremony in reach of my landing net — a half-pound fish, in 
 prime condition, and with such a golden shimmer on him. 
 
 " Not bad for the first throw in," I ejaculated, and at the 
 thought my spirits rose ten degrees. Another wriggling 
 worm was soon twisted round the hooks (this is the un- 
 pleasant part of fishing with a running worm — it always 
 seems so beastly cruel : but I try to convince myself that 
 their wriggles are caused by the instinct of self-preservation, 
 and not by pain), and then I had a try under a likely over- 
 hanging bank. The worm drops nicely on the shelving rock, 
 and glides off into the water with a flop. I was not dis- 
 appointed, for in a moment it was seized by a good fish, 
 who made with a tremendous rush for a hole in the bank. I 
 lugged him out iato mid-stream, and away he went splash- 
 ing and dashing towards some reeds. Too much law is 
 fatal in these brooks, so I handled him roughly and took my 
 chance. But fortunately he was well hooked, and was soon 
 safe enough in my landing-net — a well-fed fish, an ounce or 
 so heavier than the first. Then I tried a deep pool where 
 the water swirled and eddied under a precipitous cliff. 
 Surely I ought to get into a big fish here, I thought. But 
 no ! I tried it all ways, but not a run of any description. 
 A loggerhead chub followed it up, but saw me and made 
 off. The fish were evidently in the runs, on the look-out 
 for food. So I hurried on to try one just above the pool 
 where once before I caught a couple of good ones. Plop goes 
 the worm alongside some bushes, but not a sign of a fish. 
 I tried half-a-yard higher up, and in an instant a large fish 
 seized it, and made for his lair. Hold hard, my boy ! If 
 you get .there I'm done; and by main force I dragged him 
 out of danger across the stream on to some shingle, where 
 he lay and gasped in astonishment. It was all over in less 
 than sixty seconds, and a;s I placed him in my basket I 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 31 
 
 couldn't help humming the popular ditty, " Oh, what a 
 surprise ! " 
 
 So I went on picking up a fish here and there until a 
 voracious appetite compelled me to desist and discuss my 
 packet of sandwiches and sip the diluted water — while over 
 the meditative pipe I gazed with pride on the fourteen trout 
 which the united efforts of bamboo and myself had grassed. 
 Half-a-dozen Hereford steers, generally called in the ver- 
 nacular of the district " Yorefords," peered at me with their 
 pale faces from the opposite bank, while the ubiquitous 
 ouzel gazed at me inquiringly from a stone in mid-stream. 
 Two boys, who had been disturbing the stillness of the 
 spring morning by scaring crows, utilised their dinner-hour 
 by munching bread and cheese and sailing paper boats. 
 
 Some year soon I mean to try a Canadian canoe on the 
 Ithon. In the spring when there is plenty of water you 
 might get along well without having to carry your boat too 
 often. Once I had a peculiar experience of these crafts. 
 I and a friend (F. R- B.) thought we would buy one, and 
 -go on a voyage of exploration. As neither of us knew how 
 to handle them, we determined first of all to hire one, and 
 learn the business on Father Thames. We obtained what 
 purported to be a Canadian canoe in the neighbourhood of 
 Molesey, but which, all the same, was not built on the 
 usual lines. However, it was this, or nothing else. The 
 boatman arranged the seats in bow and stern — F. R. B., 
 who is some two stone heavier than I am, seating himself 
 in the bows, while I arranged myself comfortably in the 
 stern. The start was somewhat ludicrous. We essayed to 
 propel our craft up-stream, but this she unhesitatingly 
 declined to submit to, for she spun round and round in 
 mid-stream like a teetotum, usually concluding these evolu- 
 tions by dashing violently into the bank. ^Ve could hear 
 the whistles of steam launches blowing frantically, as we 
 
32 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 made terrific efforts to get out of the way, which were 
 vociferously cheered from the bank. It was an invidious 
 position to be placed in, yet it seemed to afford immense 
 amusement to a small crowd on the towpath. We gave 
 one another plenty of advice, intermingled with abuse, all 
 to no purpose. We were absolutely helpless to prevent 
 these evolutions, as round and round our boat careered like 
 a fractious steed. To add to the unpleasant situation, two 
 girls in a smart canoe paddled by with charming grace and 
 ease, laughing sarcastically as they watched us in the sweat 
 of our brow strive to coax our craft into keeping a straight 
 course. At last, utterly wearied and exhausted by our 
 fruitless exertions, we held a council of war, and came to 
 the conclusion that she was wrongly freighted. My heavy 
 friend betook himself to the centre of the boat, an arrange- 
 ment which seemed fairly satisfactory. I rather suspect 
 that boatman was having a lark with us ; if I knew this for 
 certain, I'd . 
 
 But to resume. 
 
 The pipe finished, I set to work again with the hope that 
 I might get ten more specklebacks to make up a couple of 
 dozen. The scenery grew wilder and wilder. Here and 
 there a farm nestled amid the hills, with a whitewashed 
 cottage attached, but not a human being was visible ; not 
 a sound disturbed the, noontide peace save the distant 
 bark of a sheep-dog, or the peewit's startled cry. After 
 having worked hard for upwards of an hour, and having 
 caught only four of the required number — and they but 
 small ones — I resolved to turn back and fish home. 
 Horror ! I found the fish were rising well to the fly, for the 
 water had rapidly fined down.. -Having no fly-rod with me, 
 I had no alternative but to resort to .what I call " daping," 
 but which George calls " snooking." A short stiff rod is 
 just the thing for daping, with a fly, artificial or real, just as 
 
A Rad7iorshire Arcadia. 33 
 
 you please. A live bluebottle is best if you can get one. 
 •It is not an edifying spectacle, for one is obliged to crawl 
 about on hands and knees, so as to keep one's carcase out 
 of sight, and yet be able to see the fly as it rests on the 
 top of the water. Here is some advice to a novice at this 
 art. When you see a fish making for your fly be calm. 
 When he opens his mouth, drop it politely in and then 
 strike. If you do this the fish is done ; if you forget this 
 act of politeness and strike, you are done to a certainty. 
 The following notes speak for themselves as to my success. 
 
 3.15 p.m. — Daping with a March Brown; caught one, 
 missed one ; very dry work. 3.30. — Caught two more ; 
 ought to have had three, but forgot to be polite in the 
 excitement of the moment ; struck too soon, and missed 
 the largest fish I've seen to-day. Just my luck ; must be 
 calm ! 4 p.m. — Still daping. Hurrah ! Caught two more ; 
 only require one more to make up two dozen. Nothing 
 like perseverance. Proud that the family motto is " Fer- 
 severantia et diligentia." 4.30. — Daping no longer ; have 
 done sufficient of this to last a considerable time. Saw 
 required fish approaching his doom ; just about to strike — 
 when overhanging bank gave way and landed me into three 
 feet of mud and water. Dabbled about some time after 
 hat and rod, and finally emerged cool and collected. 
 Paddle off home. Hope George won't chaff; never felt 
 less in the humour for it. 
 
 6 p.m. — Home at last, thank goodness ! Covered in 
 mud and slush — very disreputable object. Children out 
 of school, jeered as I passed, and sang something in native 
 patois, which sounded like " He's got 'em on." George, 
 Birdie, and several others standing outside the inn door 
 listening to a German band. Most unfortunate this. George 
 wanted to know what on earth I'd been doing. Natives 
 exclaim, " Oh, lorks ! " and snigger. Thought I heard 
 
 3 
 
34 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 someone say, " What a dirty creatur ! " " Caught any- 
 thing ? " they ask. "Two dozen," I reply, in a matter of 
 fact way, carefully forgetting I was one short of that 
 number. " Should have caught double as many but for an 
 accident," I proceeded to explain. " Hooked a very large 
 fish, played him for half-an-hour ; became exhausted from 
 heat and thirst ; banks greasy ; slipped into a deep hole ; 
 lost him; came home." Anecdote has great effect on 
 audience. Natives say, " Well, I never ! " No more chaff; 
 good fisherman ; will have 'em somehow. Retire chuckling. 
 ***** 
 Hot bath — good dinner— relate day's adventures, drawing 
 slightly on imagination — pipe — bed. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Our favourite stretch of the Ithon necessitates a long 
 three-mile walk across country, but when in good trim one 
 hails with delight such a tramp on a lovely spring morning 
 across the glistening fields, along the narrow path, through 
 the wood, over the bleak hills, finishing up with a good 
 scramble down over stone walls and hedges into the seques- 
 tered valley where winds the silvery stream. In cold blood, 
 brogues, waders, creel, fishing-rod, and sundries, would 
 prove serious impediments — but it is not so when one 
 strains with light heart towards the goal — 
 
 " Where the greedy trout doth lie 
 Ready for the ensnaring fly." 
 
 I have always found the best flies to use here in the 
 spring of the year are, the March Brown, Orange Partridge, 
 Claret-bodied Blue, Blue Dun, Red Spinner, and Jones' 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 35 
 
 Infallible. Later on— Yellow Partridge, Red Spinner, Red 
 Palmer, Marlow Buzz, Stone-fly, Black Gnat, Cow-dung, 
 and Coch-y-Bondhu. The fish seem to prefer plenty of 
 tinsel about the dressing of the flies. There is no neces- 
 sity to use very fine tackle, indeed in many respects it is a 
 positive drawback to do so, for the river is so full of stones, 
 
 B!fe»^-— 
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 m^^m^'\ 
 
 itfi 
 
 W^^m 
 
 HHh 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 ^^^.-.~'""'-:-^^-.-- '■•^^^ 
 
 OUR FAVOURITE STRETCH OF WATER ON THE ITHON. 
 
 rocks, and stubs, that fine tackle gives the iish every chance 
 cf escaping. Doubtless you would get more rises, but with 
 coarse tackle more fish would be grassed. 
 
 With plenty of water and a fine breezy morning, we 
 
.36 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 had a good day's sport by Cefnllys Church, several of our 
 fish being over a pound in weight. 
 
 The country-side were on the move, for was not the May 
 fair being held in a neighbouring village ? 
 
 These fairs are more religiously observed in the English 
 and Welsh border counties than anywhere else ; they are the 
 great red-letter days of their calendar. Nearly every town 
 and village of importance holds them. On these days 
 labourers and farmhouse domestics engage themselves for 
 the year. At the expiration of this period they are once 
 more free, and assemble again at some appointed hiring- 
 place on May fair day to be led into servitude for another 
 period. It reminds one of the slave market at Constanti- 
 nople. You may see masters and mistresses surveying with 
 a scrutinising gaze those to be hired ; there is no maudlin 
 sentiment about the business, strength and health being the 
 great requisites. Those showing the greatest capacity for 
 work, stalwart young men and rosy-faced girls have little 
 difficulty in selling their labour — while those who are puny 
 and weak have to make the best bargains they can for them- 
 selves. Some mistresses pinch and prod the girls like cattle 
 before engaging. This relic of the mediseval ages still 
 flourishes amid our nineteenth century civilisation, and it 
 will be long before this great Bank Holiday of rural life dies 
 out. There is no half-heartedness either, in the way John 
 and Mary observe it. 'Tis a sight for the gods — these 
 village fairs ! Johnny does not think he has done justice 
 to the day unless he is well drunk at the end of it — and, 
 what Avith the drink, the drums, the panpipes, and other in- 
 describable tootlings, together with the excitement of shaking 
 hands with the fat lady or skeleton dude, seeing "Siamese 
 twin babes " carefully preserved in spirits of wine, watching 
 a real Hottentot swallow red-hot coal, and being introduced 
 to lambs with two heads, horses with five legs, and other 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 37 
 
 like monstrosities, patronising shooting galleries, swings,, 
 roundabouts, &c., he soon loses all control over himself and. 
 runs amuck. 
 
 Possibly many of the readers of these lines know what it 
 is to go out the last day of a fishing expedition, with the sole 
 idea of catching fish to take home with you, having cast up. 
 
 GEFNLLYS CHURCH ON THE ITHON. 
 
 in your mind several friends and relations who would be 
 pleased with a brace or two of trout. Accordingly, you set 
 forth with the express object of fishing for the pot. Is there 
 anything more intensely irritating and exasperating than to 
 be unsuccessful when on such a quest ? George and Birdie 
 
38 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 had each a list of half-a-dozen people to whom they positively 
 must give some fish. We never contemplated a bad day. But 
 somehow, as luck would have it, scarcely a fish was stirring ; 
 not the choicest morsel in the shape of minnow or fly would 
 tempt them. How well I recall this day of fruitless efforts, 
 how I flogged and toiled on with empty basket, hoping 
 against hope, cheerful and uncomplaining. How I sat down 
 to luncheon, miserable and depressed, awaiting the advent 
 ■of George and Birdie, trusting that the Fates had net refused 
 to smile on them. 
 
 " Caught anything ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! " 
 
 " No more have I ! " 
 
 Birdie's rhouth twitched and worked convulsively. Evi- 
 dently he was thinking of his sisters, cousins and aunts who 
 would not dine, after all, on trout from Radnorshire. 
 
 It was showery during the afternoon, and in the showers 
 I managed to pick up four or five fish, one of them being a 
 nice fish of i lb. 2 oz., but what were these to feed so many ? 
 In a hole under a hollow bank there lies a large trout with a 
 history. In all weather, wet or fine, early in the morning or 
 late in the evening, this fish is to be seen motionless and 
 still in the same spot. Time after time has he been tempted 
 with the choicest flies, maggot, worm, paste and minnow, all 
 to no purpose. He has the reputation of being uncanny, 
 for it is said that he once was caught, but effected his escape 
 by jumping clean out of the fisherman's unfastened basket, 
 and that the irate angler invoked curses on the plucky 
 speckleback which duly took effect. 
 
 As I approached the spot where this legendary trout lay, I 
 
 . perceived a fat little gentleman sitting on the bank, just 
 
 above, violently mopping a rotund face and bald head. In 
 
 the usual fraternal manner I greeted him in passing. " Had 
 
 any sport ? " 
 
A Radnorshire Ai'cadta. 39 
 
 " Not exactly," he replied. " I have been trying all the 
 afternoon after a fine trout in this hole ; hut I suppose he 
 can't be on the feed, as he won't touch anything." 
 
 " My good sir," said I, "haven't you heard of the legen- 
 dary trout ? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " but for heaven's sake don't tell me 
 that this is the identical fish." 
 
 " It's one and the same," I said. He seemed struck all 
 of a heap on hearing this, and literally gasped for breath. 
 Having at last recovered a sufficient supply of that article, 
 he exclaimed, " Good heavens ! Here have I been wasting 
 a whole afternoon trying to catch a rascally phantom fish, 
 when I have got a wife and six children at home all expect- 
 ing a fish dinner to-morrow.'' 
 
 " How many have you caught? " I asked. 
 
 " Just three very small ones," he replied. 
 
 " Well, then, your wife and six children will have to 
 whistle for their dinner," I said. 
 
 " I tell you, I don't go back without them," he shrieked 
 out in despair. " I sent word to my wife to be sure not to 
 get any butcher's meat, as I would give them the treat of a 
 fish dinner of my own catching ; and she would go on just 
 awful if I didn't fulfil my promise. Besides, just think of 
 my hungry little ones," and the perspiration broke out afresh 
 upon his brow at the bare thought of his reception in the 
 bosom of his family. " Dash it," he said excitedly, grasping 
 his rod, " I'll fill my pockets with samlet, if everything else 
 fails me ; but go home without fish of some kind — no, that 
 I won't," and away the little man rushed with the vision of 
 seven open mouths strong upon him. 
 
 The result of our last day's sport was ten fish, and they 
 nearly all small, between three of us — not a promising out- 
 look for those who were calculating on a supply of trout on 
 our return. George appropriated the lot. He has a happy 
 
40 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 way of wriggling out of a difficulty in a manner eminently 
 satisfactory to himself. Birdie bribed a native fisherman to 
 get up at five o'clock the next morning and do a bit of fish- 
 ing on his (Birdie's) behalf. Not a bad stroke of business 
 was this, for a dozen really nice trout were handed over to 
 Birdie, which of course he palmed off as the result of his 
 own skill, and earned imperishable fame thereby. 
 
 After dinner we tried to reason the cause of our poor 
 sport — and who so fertile in the invention of excuses as the 
 fisherman ? "When we started, we voted it to be a perfect 
 fishing morning — now, of course, it was the reverse. But 
 with it all, George assured me that he ought to have brought 
 home several fish over a pound had it not been for some 
 horrible calamity which happened just as the fish were quite 
 played out and about to be captured by the landing-net. 
 There was one fish he hooked and played for half-an-hour, 
 which must have been near 5 lb., and which escaped 
 through some mental aberration occurring just at the critical 
 moment, causing him, so he declares, to turn his rod. I 
 notice, however, that some strange fatality always overtakes 
 George when he has hooked an especially fine trout. The 
 fish he loses are not only perfect beauties, but perfect mon- 
 sters as regards size. This must be particularly exasperat- 
 ing ; only very angelic dispositions could stand the strain of 
 such repeated ill-luck. His patience and control under very 
 trying circumstances are certainly to be admired, and I 
 must freely confess that if such demoniacal luck dogged my 
 footsteps, I should be tempted to give up the gentle art, and 
 seek for sport on some other field where the fickle goddess 
 would condescend to smile upon me. 
 
 Well, well, we all have our little failings ; but, withal, we 
 are happy in them. AVe walk out into the moonlight down 
 to the water's edge, smoking our pipes and gazing dreamily 
 into the rippling streanii ^Ve feel that a poor day's sport is 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 41 
 
 better than none at all. " My crown is in my heart, not on 
 my head — not set with diamonds and Indian stones : my 
 crown is called content, a crown it is which seldom kings 
 enjoy '' — and as we listen to the water's droning, the distant 
 laughter, and the soft melody of the village concertina that 
 comes floating down from some love-stricken swain, we cry 
 " content " and saunter back to the peace and restfulness of 
 bed. We stretch our weary limbs between the snow-white 
 sheets, and with the music of the murmuring brook still in 
 our ears, dream of other angling grounds where crystal streams 
 lave golden shores, or dreamily meander among the sunny 
 hills — and where, if heaven is to be heaven to us, one source 
 of pleasure amid the busy work of the Fatherland will inevit- 
 ably be a few off-days spent in casting our flies upon its pure 
 transparent waters. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Tale of a Black Lamb with no relatiox to its 
 Caudal Appendage. 
 
 George and his belongings are devotedly attached to 
 animals, and in their menagerie at the present time have 
 five dogs, four cats and two Manx ditto, a dozen rabbits of 
 various breeds and colours, two Belgian hares, parrots, 
 canaries, doves, pigeons, singing thrushes and goldfinches 
 (whose lives are not the happiest owing to the aforesaid 
 cats), pea fowl, guinea fowl, various breeds of poultry, ban- 
 tams, ornamental ducks, and a few blind mice ; in fact, at 
 this moment, I am unable to enumerate the different forms 
 of live stock which are looked upon as especial pets. 
 
 George awoke one morning with the brilliant idea that a 
 
42 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 black lamb of the pure \Velsh mountain breed would be a 
 welcome addition. 
 
 "But, my dear fellow," I remonstrated, "think of the 
 bother of lugging a black lamb all the way to Norfolk ! " 
 
 " Not a bit of trouble," he rejoined, "I should put a chain 
 round its neck and imagine it was a black Newfoundland. 
 It would travel as quiet as a; lamb." I don't think George 
 meant this for a joke. He had merely got confused between 
 the dog and the lamb, owing to the strength of his imagina- 
 tive faculties. So it was finally settled that we should 
 export one from its native wilds. 
 
 We had seen plenty of these coal-black specimens about, 
 and in our innocence imagined that the farmers, of whose 
 bad times we had heard so much, would tumble over one 
 another in their eagerness to sell us one, as we were pre- 
 pared to purchase at a price over the market value. 
 
 We accordingly consulted our factotum, the ostler, and 
 were about to give him a roving commission, when, to our 
 astonishment, he shook his head firmly but politely, and 
 absolutely declined to have anything to do with the matter. 
 ^Ve enquired the reason, but could extract nothing more 
 than a solemn shake of the head and " No, indeed, I would 
 rather not." 
 
 As we had been ever liberal in the way of tips, we felt 
 rather hurt. 
 
 Birdie said, " Well, you're a rum blade." 
 " Wery likely, sur," said the ostler, and disappeared. 
 Then George launched forth into invective and con- 
 demned the ingratitude of the lower orders. He said, 
 " This kind of thing makes one shut up one's pockets and 
 harden one's heart against the poor." George always will 
 rush to conclusions and draw morals. Birdie is far less 
 hasty, and wisely remarked that "There was something more 
 in the ostler's refusal than we wot of." 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia. 43 
 
 Several other rustics were approached on the subject, but 
 there was the same mysterious shaking of the head and 
 polite refusal to give any information. " No, indeed ; they 
 didn't know sure where we could get one." 
 
 We resolved to penetrate the mystery further, and after a 
 deal of badgering and cross questioning, discovered that in 
 the district it was universally considered most unlucky to 
 sell one of these black lambs, and that some horrible 
 calamity was certain to overtake the vendor. 
 
 Such a trifle as a ridiculous local superstition would not 
 deter George from obtaining the desire of his heart. He 
 prevailed upon Birdie and myself one evening to go into 
 the bar parlour where several farmers had assembled. For 
 brevity's sake I extract the result of our interview from my 
 note book : — 
 
 Tuesday, 9 p.m. Scene, bar parlour, enveloped in clouds 
 of tobacco and cigar smoke. Indescribable jangle of 
 guttural tongues. George clears his throat and h'ms loudly 
 to call attention to the fact that he wishes to make a remark. 
 Amid the lull Ulysses spoke in the most persuasive and 
 courteous tones he could command : — 
 
 "Would any of you gentlemen be kind enough to tell me 
 where I could purchase a black lamb ? " 
 
 His words seemed to fall like a bombshell among the 
 assembled farmers. All pipes removed from mouths and 
 all eyes turned upon us with a deeply-suspicious look. 
 Silence. The occupant of the cosy corner at length gives 
 tongue. " Sell a black lamb ! " he exclaims, staring fixedly 
 at George, " no, nor give one away." 
 
 His neighbour, sucking hard at a churchwarden pipe, 
 remarks, " I know one chap as selled one and afore the end 
 of the year he hadn't a blimy lamb left, for the maggits had 
 'em — aye, indeed, every one." 
 
 "Yes, sure," chimed in the company, sagely wagging 
 
44 A Radttorshire Arcadia. 
 
 their heads. Another gentleman expresses his fixed deter- 
 mination to sell his shirt first, which, to judge from the very 
 small portion that was visible, seemed so greasy and dirty 
 as to render it doubtful whether a purchaser at any price 
 could be found. A young farmer, with a well-oiled head of 
 hair, sitting next to Birdie, expressively puts it, "No, indeed 
 — scratch my head first if I would ! " The disgust on 
 Birdie's face implies that wild horses would not drag him to 
 undertake such a task as that. 
 
 Someone inclined to be quarrelsome inquires, " What do 
 you take us for ? " and looks round for approval, evidently 
 thinking he has said a sharp thing. 
 
 George shrugs his shoulders and is silent. 
 
 Birdie, on the other hand, anxious to have a say on the 
 subject, takes this opportunity to get a word in. He says he 
 deplores such nonsense about black lambs, and even in 
 benighted Wales is surprised to find these superstitions of 
 the mediaeval ages in full force. (Didn't know Birdie knew 
 so much about the dark ages.) He goes on in a lighter 
 vein and asks if they had entered into a compact with him 
 of the cloven hoof to reserve for his especial use all lambs 
 born into the world tarred with his own brush. 
 
 No one laughs save George. 
 
 In no wise disconcerted Birdie goes on to state that in 
 his county all honest shepherds look with special disfavour 
 upon these animals, and that serious damage is often done 
 to the ewes of the flocks by their appearance. In his 
 virtuous county men and animals shrink from them and are 
 thankful to be rid of them. 
 
 " Gentlemen," concludes Birdie, " I have a great admira- 
 tion for the sturdy yeomen of this principality ; but I grieve 
 to say this incident has somewhat disenchanted me and I 
 shall leave this place in a day or so a wiser but a sadder 
 man.'' 
 
.4 Radnorshire Arcadia. 45 
 
 After this very reflective speech we think it best to make 
 ourselves scarce. Amid hostile ejaculations we slink out 
 into the evening air, and walk up and down beside the 
 river, deep in thought. 
 
 George says we must bow before the inevitable, and 
 think no more of the black lamb. Presently I notice a 
 man dodging in and out of the bushes, apparently watching 
 us. It is startling after recent events, and makes me feel 
 creepy. Is it an emissary sent to wreak summary ven- 
 geance upon us? I communicate my suspicions to George. 
 George, with his bull-dog impetuosity, says, " Let me get 
 alongside the snivelling, drivelling idiot, that's all. I'll — " 
 
 The nature of his threat did not reach my ears, for at 
 that moment there glided out of the bushes a short, stumpy 
 figure, with bandy legs, dressed in very seedy garments, 
 and confronting George, whispered under his breath, " Sur, 
 will yer give me a few minutes talk.'' 
 
 George, a little nervous, replied, " Certainly, my man ; 
 but say what you've got to say as quickly as possible.'' 
 Birdie evidently thought that the man was a blind, and 
 that his confederates were lurking in the bushes, for he 
 peered uneasily every now and then behind him. 
 
 " It's about the black lambkin," whispered the man. " If 
 yer will say naught about it, and pay a good price, I'll sell 
 yer one.'' It was a queer sight, the short, bandy farmer and 
 the long-legged George in close confab. The price asked 
 for the lamb is jQ^,- George declines to give more than 
 ;^2. "Well, split the diff'erence," says the bandy-legged 
 one, and the bargain is concluded. The man agrees to 
 place the lamb ready packed in a crate on the morning of 
 our departure at daybreak, before anyone is stirring. "No 
 one will know how it came there," he added significantly. 
 Clever dodge this ! Packed and labelled — work of the old 
 gentleman — consternation of ostlers — tableau ! 
 
46 A Radnorshire Arcadia. 
 
 The man was as good as his word. On the morning of 
 our departure I was awakened about 7 a.m. by shouts 
 from George, whose window overlooked the inn-yard. 
 " The lamb's come, and there is such a lark going on." I 
 sprang out of bed to see the fun. There was the black 
 lamb in a crate, baaing piteously, surrounded by a ring of 
 men, women, and children, all gesticulating frantically, evi- 
 dently in a great state of excitement. The ostler, too, was 
 there, walking round and round it in great perturbation of 
 spirit, shaking and scratching his head, evidently utterly at 
 a loss to account for the apparition. 
 
 George, in high glee, gave vent to a loud and unearthly 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! — like the chuckling of some fiend so often 
 portrayed on the pages of the Lancashire Witches — and 
 then bolted from the window. 
 
 The cry had an electrical effect on the crowd. All gazed 
 intently towards the place whence the sound seemed to 
 proceed, but no human form being visible the women and 
 children sent up piteous shrieks and fled precipitately, all 
 save one old woman, who fell on her back promptly and 
 went off into hysterics, kicking her feet frantically into the 
 air as if applying shoe leather to spectral forms around her. 
 
 George's yells had unfortunately confirmed their sus- 
 picions. After breakfast the ostler came for our luggage. 
 " Well, ostler," I said, " we have got a black lamb after all." 
 "Yes, gentlemen, so I see — but, beg pardin, gentlemen, 
 there will no good come by it. _ How is it to go to the 
 station, gentlemen ? " 
 
 " Why, the way it came," sings out George, " whisked 
 away on a broom-handle ; there's no mode of conveyance 
 cheaper, quicker, or more comfortable than that." 
 
 The lamb was an unmitigated nuisance on our home- 
 ward journey. The crate in which it was packed was 
 ricketty and fragile, and threatened at every change to 
 
A Radnorshire Arcadia, 47 
 
 collapse. It required constant attention, and various 
 lengths of cord to keep it from falling to pieces. Never 
 once did that lamb cease its baaing, although George pur- 
 chased some cabbages and lettuces at Shrewsbury to soothe 
 its sorrow; but all in vain, for as we sped on our way 
 through murky Staffordshire and on through the Midland 
 meads, its incessant bleating came on our ears with dull 
 monotony, and seemed at each remove a piteous protest 
 at being torn from its mountain home. 
 
 It still lives and thrives, but resolutely refuses to have 
 anything to do with its Norfolk kinsmen. It roams solitary 
 and unfriended at its own sweet will. One day it nearly 
 brought about the death of old Charles, the gardener. He 
 was drilling peas, when there suddenly appeared between 
 his legs a cold, black demoniacal face, as he afterwards 
 related. He at once concluded it was the Devil. Why 
 he arrived at such a conclusion, I cannot say ; but the fact 
 remains that he did, and received such a shock to the 
 nervous system that he took to his bed and hovered for 
 long between life and death. He has, I am thankful to 
 say, recovered ; but the sight of that lamb revives unpleasant 
 memories and brings on the old pains. 
 
 And so ended a few days' fishing in Radnorshire — days 
 of unclouded happiness which one can look back upon with 
 joy and recognise that all was innocent, and thank God for 
 life which in such hours seems well worth the living. 
 
lip tipe Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 Where can I go for an inexpensive holiday with entire 
 change of scene, complete rest, good fishing, lovely scenery, 
 and not overrun by my fellow-countrymen ? This was the 
 question I meditated over the beginning of June, and 
 before the end of the month I had decided it should be 
 Donegal, in the Emerald Isle, provided I could get anyone 
 to accompany me. 
 
 "Go to Donegal I " said an old acquaintance, _ "no 
 thanks ; I've no desire to get a bullet through my gizzard ! " 
 
 " Why, the elections are just coming on ; you're sure to 
 be potted at," said another. 
 
 To stay at an hotel was far from my intention, but to 
 retire to a secluded spot among the wild Glen Alia hills, 
 where a small house had been placed at my disposal some 
 four or five miles from Ramelton and RathmuUan respec- 
 tively. Around me would lie Loughs Fern, Keel, Dhu, Salt, 
 and Kindrum, and the Lennan River, and thus I could 
 make acquaintance with the trout in these loughs, of the 
 fishing in which I could get no information, not even from 
 the great Hi Regan himself, save of the Lennan and Lough 
 Fern. As my motive was to explore and get off the beaten 
 tracks of Gweedore and Dunglow, some companions for the 
 lonely house among the wild, bare hills were a sine quA non. 
 A line to F. R. B. and his wife, who I knew were looking 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 49 
 
 out for a holiday resort, describing house, surroundings, and 
 motives, settled the question. 
 
 " We're game, if you really mean it," was the reply. 
 
 That's the answer I like — no shilly-shallying, no beating 
 about the bush. Beware of leaning on that broken reed 
 type of character, " first he would and then he wouldn't, 
 then he said he really couldn't," or else ten to one you will 
 have to go on your expedition alone. So, having procured 
 
 LOUGH DHH. 
 
 circular tourists' tickets for the North of Ireland, we set off 
 in high spirits the last Wednesday in breezy June for Fleet- 
 wood. 
 
 Having reserved a third-class compartment by taking the 
 extra seats, we expected to be unmolested, but an irascible 
 old lady, who objected to our appropriating a whole com- 
 partment, and to whom the label " Reserved " acted as a 
 
 4 
 
50 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 red rag to a bull, tugged at the handle of our carriage door 
 until she was blood-red in the face, shook her umbrella 
 threateningly on every available opportunity, and finally, as 
 a parting shot, informed the guard at the top of her voice 
 that she would take care to report such an iniquity to the 
 authorities. We were sorry to have irritated so venerable 
 and respectable a lady, but we were acting strictly within 
 our rights, and therefore undisturbed both in body and 
 mind. The bland and smiling countenance of F. R. B. is 
 peculiarly attractive to the feminine eye, and I imagine that 
 this accounts for the strenuous exertions of the aforesaid 
 lady to enter our compartment. 
 
 It was a lovely evening ; the sea as calm as the proverbial 
 mill pond as we paced the deck of one of those comfortable 
 boats on the Fleetwood and Belfast line, ordered our dinner, 
 secured our berths, and made ready to enjoy ten hours on 
 the briny. 
 
 " Don't miss Belfast Lough," were the captain's last words 
 to us, as after a pipe and a chat we sought our cabins for a 
 few hours' sleep. Before 6 a.m. we were on deck gazing 
 wistfully at the "poor distracted country " whose hills and 
 vales seemed to smile at us in the morning sun, and bid us 
 a loving welcome. " Oh, Erin, thou art a gay deceiver,'' 
 muttered F. R. B. under his breath with a sigh. 
 
 Barely two hours remained for us to obtain a peep of 
 Belfast, which the top of a tram-car afforded us ; then on 
 to famous Londonderry, five hours by rail, rendered some- 
 what tedious by stops at almost every station, but relieved 
 the latter part of the journey by some lovely scenery along 
 Lough Foyle and the coast. Two hours' stay at Derry was 
 scant time in which to look over this historic city, especially 
 when the inner man has to be refreshed ; we could but 
 stand and gaze at its massive walls, and recall the unfor- 
 gotten past, and wonder if the boys of Derry would ever 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 SI 
 
 man those walls again, and prove themselves worthy scions 
 of their illustrious forefathers. 
 
 But there was little space for dreaming, two cars were 
 awaiting us — one for ourselves, the other for our luggage, 
 and away we drove for the light railway which runs up to 
 Lough Swilly and along its shore as far as Buncrana. At 
 Fahan (pronounced Fawn) we alighted and got on board 
 
 LOUGH SWILLY. — VIEW FROM OUR HOUSF, SHOWING FERRY STEAMER 
 FROM FAHAN TO RATHMULLAN IN THE DISTANCE. 
 
 the steamer which plies to and fro between there and Rath- 
 muUan. Here you are in wild highland scenery, and as you 
 cross sweet Lough Swilly the mountains tower above you on 
 all sides — a rare good place, by the way, is this for wild- 
 fowl, and during our stay we saw plenty of wild duck, teal, 
 widgeon, curlew, plover, &c., while its waters seem to be 
 
 4* 
 
52 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 alive with salmon and white trout making for the Lennan 
 and Letterkenny rivers. 
 
 At Rathmullan two cars again were requisitioned, and 
 away we sped on the last stage of our journey along the 
 wooded shore, and then up, up, up among the wild Glen 
 Alia hills, with here and there a whitewashed cabin and a 
 vivid patch of potatoes, flax and corn nestling among them, 
 and alone relieving their rugged grandeur, while the Swilly's 
 waters we could see gleaming down below, as, having 
 arrived at our quarters, we washed away the dust and pre- 
 pared for the evening meal. 
 
 We had been commended to the care of Jimmy GraflSn, 
 the local fisherman, who duly presented himself the next 
 morning to await orders. Jimmy presents at first sight a 
 strange, weird appearance, with his scraggy grey locks 
 floating in the breeze and weather-beaten face adorned with 
 a red bottle nose, but he is a real treasure to a sportsman, 
 knows , every inch of the country, every lough, river, and 
 stream ; and seemingly everyone in the county of Donegal 
 knows " dear old Jimmy," as Mrs. B. delighted to call him, 
 to judge by the greetings accorded him wherever we went. 
 Never did time hang heavy on our hands, even when the 
 fish refused to sport, with Jimmy by our side — a true type 
 he was of the garrulous Irishman, and we would listen 
 with wrapt attention to his marvellous stories, and drink 
 them in like a parched and thirsty soil does the summer 
 rain. 
 
 Here is a specimen for which we make no extra charge. 
 
 Jimmy, armed with a duck gun, was shooting on the 
 banks of Lough Fern. He discharged the deadly weapon 
 into a flock of teal and killed nineteen, and in so doing the 
 ramrod flew out and gave a salmon its quietus; the recoil 
 was so great (and no wonder) that Jimmy was knocked on 
 to a furze bush under which two hares happened to be 
 
In the Wilis of Donegal. 53 
 
 sitting — both of these were killed. Thus Jimmy's one shot 
 accounted for nineteen teal, two hares, and a salmon — a 
 curiously mixed bag. 
 
 In answer to some inquiries Jimmy recommended us to 
 go up to Lough Dhu, twenty minutes' walk up " the hulls," 
 where we should get among "some grand Uttle trouts." 
 Provisions had to be obtained from Ramelton in the after- 
 noon, so we were only able to fish until 2 p.m. We learnt 
 by experience that an Irishman's mile may mean anything 
 up to five English miles, and " twenty minutes' walk over 
 the hulls " turned out to be forty, and a rare good tramp for 
 two out-of-condition Londoners. F. R. B., puffing and 
 blowing like a grampus, drew a smile from Jimmy, but that 
 smile cost Jimmy dearly, and the time came when the 
 smile appeared on the other face, and poor old Jimmy, with 
 faltering footsteps, dragged his slow length along. 
 
 Lough Dhu is a small sheet of water about half-amile 
 long and three hundred yards broad — the water being 
 intensely clear, for it is all spring. The trout are quite 
 pink, and the most delicately flavoured of any I have yet 
 come across ; but they are certainly bad risers, and you 
 will scarcely ever catch more than a dozen of them. A 
 half-pound fish will give you as much trouble as a pounder 
 in another lough — they are game to the last. They run 
 from 3 ozs. to 2^ lbs., but a fish of the latter weight is a great 
 exception. One was caught by a gentleman from Letter- 
 kenny, the only person who fished the lough during our 
 stay — and then only for a day — weighing 2 lbs. 3 ozs., and a 
 rare-shaped fish it was, too. 
 
 The large fish only on very occasional days rise to a fly, 
 and as weed in the bottom prevents trolling, you have little 
 chance of getting hold of the big ones. A dark claret, and 
 any fly with a wasp body, are the most killing, not forgetting 
 the universal Hare's Ear, without which no Irishman thinks 
 
54 ^n the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 your cast complete. It is his god of flies, which he swears 
 by in all weathers and waters. 
 
 Our fish this morning were all caught on a small fly with 
 a wasp body ; but the sky was clear and the water bright, 
 so, having caught enough for dinner, we adjourned early in 
 the forenoon. 
 
 We recommend anyone staying in the neighbourhood to 
 give Lough Dhu a trial, if only for the gameness and deli- 
 cate flavour of its trout, the latter caused, so Jimmy avers, 
 by their feeding on a peculiar snail at the bottom. There 
 is a private boat on the lough, the use of which can easily 
 be obtained for the asking. Ramelton, where there is a 
 good and clean hotel, is distant between three and four 
 miles. Take the finest tackle with you, choose a cloudy, 
 but not a cold day, with a gentle breeze, and you ■ will not 
 be disappointed. 
 
 In the evening, after our drive to Ramelton, we noticed 
 some fish rising in a large sheet of water where the little 
 burn which runs through our garden had been dammed up 
 for some purpose or other. From 7 to 8 p.m. we threw our 
 flies over them, and obtained several good fish. But it was 
 almost an impossibility to eat them after those from Lough 
 Dhu ; they were tough and flavourless, and yet, I suppose, 
 they had once been sweet burn trout. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Lennan. 
 
 Saturday, July 2nd, dawned amid pelting rain. There 
 was no need to get out of bed and peer through the window 
 to ascertain what kind of weather we were to be favoured 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 55 
 
 with, for the pitiless squalls of rain and wind rattled the 
 window frames with increasing energy and moaned dis- 
 mally round our gabled domicile. F. R. B. and his wife 
 heard the ominous sounds, chuckled at the thought of an 
 hour's respite, turned themselves over, and soon were sound 
 asleep again, to be rudely awakened by a hard-hearted 
 wretch shouting, " Get up, you sluggards ! Wet or fine, 
 we must be on the Lennan by ten o'clock ! " 
 
 So soporific was the Donegal air, that F. R. B. always 
 caught, with the despairing clutch of a drowning nian, at a 
 wet morning as an excuse for the extension of the hour of 
 sleep, while his partner in life would take a further extension 
 in the evening, after dinner, and would needlessly alarm 
 herself by dropping her book on the floor and then spring- 
 ing up with a terrified air, having dreamt that the ceiling 
 had fallen in. 
 
 It is certainly difficult to know how to spend the evening 
 in an out-of-the-way place fishing. The lightest and most 
 salutary form of literature does not do at all. I find myself 
 gradually lapsing into a comatose condition, however inter- 
 esting my book may be, and, while in this state, I have a 
 hazy idea that a particular spot in one leg is getting un- 
 pleasantly warm — gradually growing hotter and hotter — 
 until at last I jump with a yell from my chair to find I have 
 dropped ray cigar into my lap and burnt a hole in my 
 trousers. Of course, the others think this particularly 
 humorous, and take the opportunity of moralising on the 
 subject. 
 
 F. R. B. made a point of reading the papers — there is 
 no disguising the fact that he was in deadly earnest about 
 this, for was it not election time, and he a great politician ? 
 — but, alas ! well-meaning soul, I don't think he got much 
 beyond the leading article. He would begin to blink and 
 wink, and nod his head backwards and forwards, and make 
 
56 Li the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 bad shots at his mouth with his cigar, and then fitfully start 
 up to find out what was the matter — where his mouth had 
 got to. Then, having satisfied himself on this point, and 
 having contentedly drawn a whiff or two, his head would 
 slowly sink down on his chest, his eyes would finally close, 
 and, without an effort, he would transfer himself to the 
 mythical land of Nod, while his cigar, in high dudgeon at 
 his sleepy neglect, would drop out of his hand and roll 
 about on the carpet, evidently considering whether it 
 should set the house on fire by way of revenge. After a 
 time he would awaken to have another whiff, when, on 
 putting his fingers to his lips, and finding nothing there in 
 the shape of a weed, he would stare at his empty hand with 
 a look of indignation and surprise, and then adopt. a very 
 undignified position on his hands and knees, ferreting about 
 under his chair for the missing article. On another occa- 
 sion I have seen the cigar drop down the coat sleeve of a 
 slumbering fisherman. Ah, if you could only have seen 
 the expeditious manner in which that young man sprang up 
 and began shaking his arm about, using very unpleasant 
 expressions the while, how you would have shrieked with 
 laughter ! 
 
 Perhaps the prettiest picture is presented when F. R. B. 
 is smoking a pipe, and lapses into dreamland. The pipe 
 gradually drops from its horizontal position, until the stem 
 would be sticking up somewhere in the roof of his mouth, 
 and the bowl reclining gracefully on the edge of his chin,, 
 conveying to an outsider the idea that he was a thoroughly 
 dissipated reprobate. No; reading after dinner was a fraud 
 and delusion after a day's fishing in Donegal — a mild game 
 of cards, say halfpenny nap (this is not meant for a joke), 
 is more suitable to the climate, and to the fumes and com- 
 fort of a peat fire, which possibly acted as an opiate on 
 us all. 
 
//■; the Wilds of Donegal. 5 7 
 
 \Ve were not on the water till 1 1 o'clock. Our car was 
 round at 9 a.m., but it was half-an-hour later before we 
 finally set out for Ramelton, situated at the mouth of the' 
 Lennan, a distance of four miles and a half from Glen Alia. 
 Betsy, the mare, is not always in the humour to go, a wet. 
 morning having the same peculiar tendency on her as on 
 F. R. B. Wallace, our car driver, knows well the little peculi- 
 arities of his steed, and informed us that she always went best 
 to a wedding. She would fly along at a tremendous pace on 
 this errand, "Yes, surely she would," though how she 
 ascertained her destination was not revealed to us. Possibly 
 Wallace, who was always whispering soft nothings in her 
 ear, added, on harnessing her, " Arrah, pardee Betsy, it's a 
 wedding you're bound for, bedad ! " We were further- told 
 that Betsy was always supplied with "a wee drap of 
 whusky " on such occasions. At the last ceremony she 
 had been given as much as a noggin, which made her per- 
 fectly inebriated. Consequently, she indulged in several 
 equine evolutions, such as turning round in the shafts, put- 
 ting her feet on the driver's seat, and affectionately hugging 
 old AVallace — playfully skipping over a stone wall, and 
 finishing up by rolling into various ditches as " tapsy as a 
 doornail," her master facetiously added. With tears in our 
 eyes we begged to be allowed to accompany master and 
 steed to the next wedding. " Yes, surely," was the reply, 
 and hence we can guarantee that this effect of whisky on 
 Betsy is not overdrawn. 
 
 Wallace claims to be of royal descent, and without doubt 
 his title is sound enough — a scion of the illustrious Wallace 
 of Scotland — for when evil days came to the poor country, 
 his forefathers escaped from the land of their birth disguised 
 as a wandering troupe of nigger minstrels and settled • in 
 Ulster. Even now this descendant of illustrious forefathers 
 would make up as a very respectable Christy. At present he 
 
58 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 has not a particle of hair on that spot where the wool ought 
 to grow — we subjected his head to the microscope and 
 could not detect one solitary capillary adjunct. I must not 
 mislead the reader by making him imagine that being " bald 
 as a coot " is hereditary in this branch of royalty — it was 
 caused by a severe attack of influenza. We inquired par- 
 ticularly into the antecedents of this interesting case from 
 Jimmy, an unbiassed witness, as Wallace had told us that 
 originally he had "a graand crop of 'air and bushy 
 whuskers.'' 
 
 Will the Lancet kindly make a note of this effect of 
 influenza attested by many witnesses ? 
 
 Ah ! amid the gilded magnificence of this crowded city, 
 we sit and sigh for the companionship of Jimmy the 'cute, 
 and Wallace the bald. We have learnt a thing or two from 
 them. 
 
 Ramelton reached, we seek out Mr. Stewart, and readily 
 obtain permission to fish the Lennan during our stay from 
 above Carrick Bridge. Below the bridge there is a private 
 salmon fishery, barely a mile in extent. The Lennan rises 
 by Kilmacreen, and runs into Lough Fern — this part of it 
 being locally known as the Kilmacreen river — then it comes 
 out of Lough Fern again, and runs into the Swilly at 
 Ramelton, from Lough Fern to the Swilly being about six 
 miles. It has not a good reputation for brown trout, 
 although we caught one or two very nice fish. It is 
 excellent for white trout, but they had not come up during 
 our stay, and a good number of grilse and salmon are taken 
 from its waters. As an ideal stream it is far too sluggish, and 
 we should advise anyone fishing it to begin at Tulla Bridge 
 and fish to Lough Fern, or vice versa, where there is some 
 broken water, but to leave the stretch from Tulla Bridge to 
 Carrick Bridge alone, unless they have plenty of time on 
 hand. The Kilmacreen part of it we did not try. 
 
Iti the Wilds of Donegal. 5 9 
 
 How it did rain and blow this day ! I've fished in all 
 kinds of weather, but for squalls of wind and driving rain 
 three days' experience of Donegal beats the record. Only 
 by skilful manceuvring could one persuade the flies to rest 
 on the water for a second, the next moment they would be 
 embracing some overhanging branch or whirling round in 
 mid-air, while, with the water running down one's back and 
 the cape of the mackintosh blown up over one's head, our 
 first day on the Lennan was hardly one of unalloyed 
 pleasure. Even our bread and cheese was soaked and 
 uneatable, smoking was out of the question, a " wee drap " 
 now and then was our only solace. We managed to get a 
 few nice trout, but none over a pound, and these not 
 without much searching through our fly-book, for wasp and 
 claret bodies were not on the menu. Rather late in the day 
 we discovered that the fish were nuts on a fly with an 
 apple-green body — this and the Hare's Ear were the most 
 killing. 
 
 Sunday, July 3rd, was dismally wet and cold ; but, arrayed 
 in our best, we attended Glen Alia Church, a tiny place of 
 worship built by the owner of the soil, for the Church of 
 England has a strong colony here. The congregation, num- 
 bering from twenty to thirty, consisted of nearly all men at 
 both services, the fair sex being poorly represented, which 
 was a novelty to us. Nor was this attributable to the 
 weather, but to the fact that the women had to stay at home 
 to keep the cows and geese out of the corn. 
 
 We were rather alarmed at the end of the service, for 
 scarcely had "his Riverence" uttered the last words of the 
 blessing, than the congregation sprang to their feet and 
 fairly ran off. F. R. B. said he fully expected to see his 
 Riverence bolt after them, and was rather disappointed that 
 this did not take place, as it would have been a pretty 
 tableau. Mrs. B. had kindly undertaken to preside at the 
 
6o 
 
 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 organ, and had looked up a very sweet recessional volun- 
 tary, but, as the organ-blower had deserted his post and set 
 off at a hundred yards racing pace to catch up his retreating 
 confreres, Mrs. B. was left helpless and alone, staring round 
 in mute astonishment at so Irish a proceeding. 
 
 Monday, July 4th, was a wild day — not much rain, but 
 fearful gusts of wind. So we spent the day fishing the burn 
 which runs through our garden, emptying itself a mile and 
 a half down into the Swilly. Plenty of trout there were 
 here, and we could always catch a dish for breakfast and 
 
 THE BURN WHICH RAN THROUGH OUR GARDEN. 
 
 dinner, and what are more delicious than burn trout ? But 
 when the waters were rising rare good fish could be caught, 
 half-pounders by no means uncommon, while lower down, 
 where the burn widens out and joins the Swilly, a white 
 trout or two might be added to your basket. F. R. B. 
 distinguished himself this day by hooking and playing his 
 terrier for a good ten minutes. "Tip," delighted at seeing 
 her master landing the specklebacks, signified her- joy by 
 
Ill the Wilds of Donegal. 6i 
 
 jumping and barking around him, and got hung up in the 
 Stewart tackle, and then made off across the burn with yells 
 which echoed from hill to hill. Suffice it to say she was 
 liandled- as coolly and scientifically as a salmon, and 
 eventually landed. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Lough Keel. 
 
 It is true of Donegal that " it is ever showered upon." 
 Our first week's experience was not edifying, for it was a 
 week of rain and hurricanes. Jimmy said, " It's na use a 
 feeshing when it's pooffy," and we thought he was about 
 right, for the trout won't even rise in the mill dam now, and 
 our sport has been confined to the burn for some days. 
 But we call it something more than " pooffy " when every 
 five minutes the wind rises to a gale, accompanied by a 
 driving deluge of rain from the N.E. We have lapsed into 
 gloomy, morose; and melancholy men, and think things un- 
 utterable, as we look through the window and view the 
 leaden sky, and listen to the wind whistling round the house, 
 and groaning dismally in the chimney. The peat fire is 
 going all day, and thankful we are for its cheery blaze and 
 warmth. Nevertheless, we all turn- out and brave the 
 elements to spoil the burn of its specklebacks — even 
 ]Mrs. B. has got proficient in the art of worming, and takes 
 her share in keeping the house supplied with fish. Once, 
 owing to the fury of the wind and the slippery banks, she 
 landed in three feet of water, much to the astonishment of 
 a respectable trout, which had led a quiet, humdrum exist- 
 
62 
 
 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 ence for a number of years in this particular hole, and was 
 somewhat nonplussed at the sudden appearance of what it, 
 no doubt, conceived to be a mermaid. 
 
 Jimmy, who had seen the catastrophe, laughingly rejoined, 
 " Na, not a marmaid, but a banshee." 
 
 " Did you ever see a banshee, Jimmy ? " 
 
 " Yes, sure," he repUed. 
 
 LOUGH KEEL. 
 
 " Where was that ? " I inquired, thirsting Ifor information 
 on the subject, 
 
 " Stouffed in a musaum,'' replied the unabashed Celt. 
 
 Early one morning another local celebrity appeared on 
 the scene — a certain Pat Fisher by name — as garrulous an 
 Irishman as ever wore a pipe in his hat. Pat was born and 
 bred on the banks of the Lough Fern, and earned his liveli- 
 
/;/ the Wilds of Donegal. 63 
 
 hood by tying flies. Hearing of our arrival in the neigh- 
 bourhood he placed in his pocket the whole of his stock, 
 together with a bit of blarney, and made off for Glen Alia, 
 arriving there about breakfast time. 
 
 " Pat Fisher is waiting to see you, sur." 
 " Oh, tell him to come round to the hall door.'' 
 But Pat was wise in his generation, and knew that a 
 Saxon was a better man for business and of a more lamb- 
 like disposition on a full stomach than an empty one, so the 
 maid returned, saying, " Sure Pat will just bide a wee till 
 after breakfast, as he has a long sarmon on fishery to gie 
 yer." This was ominous, but after breakfast, having lighted 
 our pipes, we strolled into the kitchen to interview the afore- 
 said Pat — and, my word ! a sarmon we did have. The 
 moment we faced him, he lapsed into a " jabberation " at 
 the rate of fifty words a second. It appeared inconceivable 
 that the human tongue should so abuse its power without 
 some retribution overtaking it in the shape of paralysis. 
 
 It was well-nigh impossible to follow the eloquent and 
 impassioned Pat, but I gathered that he was tracing his 
 pedigree and giving historical reminiscences of the place, 
 year, month, day, and hour of his birth, with a sketch of his 
 career (and a very romantic one it was, to say the least of 
 it) up to the present moment. After a good forty minutes' 
 run on such topics he produced his flies, and his eloquence 
 grew more and more impassioned as he swore by all his 
 gods that these and these only would catch fish on Loughs 
 F'ern and Keel. 
 
 Well, in comparison with the beautifully dressed flies of 
 modern days to which we were accustomed, Pat Fisher's 
 appeared the very clumsiest productions, and set up, too, 
 on the very coarsest gut. We may be pardoned, when at 
 first sight our well-trained eyes pronounced them '^ piffle," 
 and we thought we had done our duty nobly in relieving 
 
64 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 Pat of four or five shillings' worth, for we never expected 
 them to be put to any use. Pat, however, was not satisfied 
 with our outlay, and we heard he went away abusing us, 
 doubtless resolving to put a bullet through those cursed 
 Saxons whenever he should fall in with them on the banks 
 of some secluded lough. 
 
 Now we own to have been absolutely mistaken in our 
 estimate of Pat's flies. Never again will we look down on 
 local productions ; we should not have done so in this in- 
 stance, for experience has taught us the folly of so doing, 
 but these were the roughest articles our eyes had ever gazed 
 upon. However, they, proved to be invaluable to us, as will 
 be hereafter related, and the garrulous Celt became our 
 esteemed mentor. 
 
 We had asked Jimmy to give us his opinion as to which 
 lough held the biggest trout, and he had replied, without a 
 moment's hesitation, " In Lough Keel there are some graand 
 troots.'' 
 
 Through the kindness of the Countess of Leitrim we had 
 permission to fish Loughs Keel and Kindrum whenever we 
 wished, so at the first lull of the elements Wallace popped 
 Betsy into the car, and under the guidance of Jimmy we set 
 off for Lough Keel, a distance of eight miles, amid wild 
 highland scenery, over a desperately bad road the latter 
 part of the way. As you descend from the Glen Alia hills 
 there is the lovely Mulroy Bay with its numerous islets and 
 creeks gleaming down below you. 
 
 " Are there many white trout in Mulroy, Jimmy ? " 
 
 " Sure ; " he rephed, " but for every one in Mulroy there 
 are a hundred in the Swilly." 
 
 We never passed Mulroy without Jimmy insisting on this 
 fact, but we had no opportunity of testing its correctness, 
 although I fancy that as Jimmy's livelihood was earned on 
 the Swilly he was not without prejudice in the matter. 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 65 
 
 We had to get out and walk up and down the hills, and 
 as one occurs every hundred yards or so, we were in a con- 
 stant whirl of acrobatic performances, jumping on and off 
 the car when in motion, so as to waste as little time as 
 possible. AV^allace, the bald, in spite of his years, from 
 previous training, was an expert in this branch of athletics, 
 while F. R. B., not to be outdone, after a little preliminary 
 practice, which tried the springs to their utmost, acquired 
 the activity of a kitten, and jeered at my feeble efforts to 
 assume the character of a running footman. 
 
 At Milford, Betsy had breathing time, while F. R. B. ran- 
 sacked the place for a Londonderry Sentinel, to see the latest 
 phase in the elections, and bought a huge box of matches 
 as a present for Jimmy. The latter smoked some kind of 
 twist which he ragged with his teeth in the first instance, 
 and as after this process it required re-lighting every half 
 -minute, and he had always carefully left his matches at 
 home on the dresser, and borrowed ours in turn, and 
 quickly used them all up, we seized the bull by the horns 
 and made it part of our business to keep him supplied with 
 lights. The Milfordites were in a state of excitement about 
 the coming elections ; in the town the Protestants were 
 easily in the ascendant, but they would be swamped by the 
 votes of the country people. 
 
 " What do you think ! " said an excited Presbyterian. 
 " Father So-and-so told Murphy if he didn't vote right, he'd 
 turn him into a mouse. 
 
 " Poor Murphy in a fearful state of agitation goes to bed, 
 and in his dreams keeps holloaing ' It's a moose ! — it's a 
 moose ! ' 
 
 " ' Bedad, Murphy,' says his wife, ' lave off a-moosing.' 
 
 " ' Sure, Bridget, an' I will, if yer'U go and lock the cat 
 up.' " 
 
 The road past Milford is a dangerous one to travel along 
 
 S 
 
66 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 on a dark night, as in many places there is nothing to pre- 
 vent your falling over one or two charming precipices. In 
 one spot a cabin is built under the road as you turn a sharp 
 angle, its thatched roof being just on a level with it. A be- 
 lated traveller driving home at midnight, mistook the thatch 
 for the road and drove his horse and car straight over it, 
 much to the alarm of the sleeping inmates, who thought that 
 the end of all things had at last arrived ; and so I should 
 think it had, as far as the driver and his horse and car were 
 concerned. 
 
 It was in this neighbourhood that Lord Leitrim met with 
 a violent death, of which we had a vivid description en route 
 as we toiled onwards to the trysting-place. Betsy got slower 
 and slower in spite of a variety of novel sounds in the way of 
 encouragement, but at last, after an hour and twenty minutes, 
 we sighted the lough lying in the hollow of the hills — a nice 
 stretch of water about two miles in length, with many pro- 
 jecting rocks dotted about. 
 
 After a short interview with Annie McGiddikie for the 
 loan of the boat, the only one here, we commenced opera- 
 tions. With regard to "the graand troots," I was a bit 
 sceptical, for native information is not always reliable, as I 
 found on several occasions to my cost ; but before we had 
 gone twenty yards all doubts were set at rest, and incon- 
 testable proof supplied that Jimmy was a valuable cicerone 
 and worthy of credence. As the latter leisurely propelled 
 us over some sunken rocks I got fast in something big, but 
 before I had time to speculate as to the size, a grand trout, 
 some 3 lb. or 4 lb. in weight, leapt into the air, and then, to 
 the accompaniment of the reel's sweet music, made off at a 
 terrific pace. Checked in his flight, he treated us to another 
 high jump performance, and then make back at the same 
 rate of speed for the boat. Now we had a rod out bow and 
 stern trolling with flies, and these, so sudden was the on- 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 67 
 
 slaught, we had been unable to get in. " Reel up ! reel 
 up ; " shouted Jimmy ; and so I did as fast as mortal man 
 could, but that trout was one too many for me, and was 
 under the boat and round the lines like a flash of lightning, 
 in spite of Jimmy's exertions to keep the boat away. Yet 
 once more I felt him, and then the line slackened, and I 
 knew the worst had happened. 
 
 Jimmy's sympathy was something, for, although he spoke 
 not, he looked unutterably sad, and chewed a quid for 
 solace. However, three or four nice half-pounders found 
 their way into the net before F. R. B. landed a nice con- 
 ditioned fish of i^ lb. 
 
 In the interval for lunch, a native, who might have been 
 related to the man " all tattered and torn," so ragged were 
 his garments, interviewed us, and gave an alarming report as 
 to the size of the fish, declaring there were plenty of ten and 
 twelve pounders. Seeing my rod on the bank, he picked it 
 up with a nonchalant air, and proceeded to give me a lesson 
 in catching Lough Keel trout. The temerity of my tattered 
 friend fairly made me gasp for breath. So I had travelled 
 all these miles to be schooled in the art of fly-fishing in the 
 wilds of Donegal by an Arcadian shepherd ; and there was 
 F. R. B. coiled up behind a rock, blood-red in the face with 
 suppressed laughter. After twenty minutes' instruction 
 without a semblance of a rise, he informed me that we 
 should do " na good, for the wind was wrong." I cour- 
 teously thanked him and withdrew. 
 
 My tattered mentor was out of his reckoning for once, if 
 he had never been so before. Immediately we had com- 
 menced again, I hooked and landed a splendid fish of 2flbs., 
 after fifteen minutes' excitement and rowing about the lough, 
 while F. R. B. got two half-pounders together on his trolling 
 flies, as we were chasing the big one. Lucky, indeed, were 
 we to secure them, all three, without mishap. Several 
 
 5* 
 
68 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 others we picked up in the course of the afternoon, between 
 one or two pounds, besides several smaller ones — and let us 
 give Pat Fisher his due, for his flies were accountable for 
 the majority, especially his hare's ears and wasp bodies. 
 
 The wind had got up and made a regular sea on the 
 lough, the wavfes sometimes breaking over the bows and 
 giving me a cold bath. So we decided to try a troll with 
 artificial minnows, I with a Devon, and F. R. B. with a 
 Phantom. At this we were decidedly out of luck, for 
 although we had from eight to ten runs with grand fish, we 
 only secured four. The Phantom attracted a beauty which 
 must have scaled over 4 lbs., and yet it managed to get free 
 up against the boat. Still, we had no reason to complain, 
 for eighteen fish, from 2flbs. to Jib. lay in our boat, and we 
 voted Lough Keel to be as good a trouting lough as we could 
 desire to fish, and that not many days should elapse before 
 we again essayed our luck upon its waters. Just before 
 landing a wild, weird figure came running down the hill- 
 side, gesticulating frantically, and shouting some unintel- 
 ligible gibberish ending in a "whirrhoo." It was the now 
 highly- esteemed Pat Fisher. On he came, yelling "Raats 
 baack ! raats baack ! " and thrusting a greasy fly book in 
 my face. We were at a loss to place any meaning to his 
 words, but it turned out that Pat's specialite for the lough 
 was a fly made of the hair of a rat's back. A^'e invested 
 largely and saved our hides, and then sought out AVallace 
 and his steed, to go through a second series of evolutions, 
 on and off the car, before we arrived, hungry and tired out, 
 at our mountain home. 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 69 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Lough Fern. 
 
 I have said that native information as regards the sporting 
 capabiUties of the various loughs in this neighbourhood was 
 not always reliable, and this was especially the case as far as 
 the minor ones were concerned. Startling were the accounts 
 given to us of the trout in some small loughs close at hand, 
 rejoicing in the names of Ballyboo and Colomb, and another 
 which shall remain unwritten, as I hardly like to venture on 
 its orthography ; and, as we had read in some guide book 
 that the numerous little loughs in this district were " simply 
 stuffed with fish,'' we did not fail to give them a trial. How- 
 ever, our efforts were absolutely fruitless, and, in each case, 
 natives, who frequented their banks, flatly contradicted the 
 former reports, and told us that what fish had formerly been 
 there, were long since driven away by the eels. 
 
 A veritable " bogie man " is the eel in this district. 
 
 When St. Patrick banished snakes from the distressful 
 country, he ought to have extended his edict to their cousins 
 of the water. As it is, the natives here are great on eel 
 stories, and one might collect enough material on the subject 
 to fill a very respectable and readable volume, certainly 
 startling enough to satisfy the most fastidious of modern 
 tastes. 
 
 Wallace told us of one that used to frequent the lough 
 with the unwritten name just above our house, which was 
 the terror of the neighbourhood, and whose body was as 
 large as that of a cart horse. Several times the men of 
 Glen Alia, like the heroes of old, had determined to rid the 
 neighbourhood of the monster, and had armed themselves 
 with every available weapon, and repaired to its lair, without, 
 however, effecting their purpose. One day the news was 
 brought that the creature had endeavoured to navigate the 
 
7° 
 
 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 burn in a flood, and was wedged in firmly between the 
 banks and quite unable to move. Once more the would-be 
 deliverers of their country buckled on their armour, deter- 
 mined on slaughter, and set forth on their patriotic mission, 
 but again were they foiled in their attempt. For the brute 
 no sooner caught sight of his would-be destroyers, than he 
 made one terrific effort to free himself from his unenviable 
 
 %et 
 
 '% 
 
 LOOGH FERN. 
 
 position, leapt into the air with a roar, and disappeared in 
 an adjoining bog, while the ground trembled and quaked for 
 miles around. 
 
 We heard, too, from another source that this same monster 
 had the audacity to pursue a man on horseback, so promis- 
 cuous and daring were its raids, and that the poor fellow 
 was only saved from a horrible death by the fleetness of his 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 71 
 
 steed. No wonder that unruly boys caved in at once at the 
 mere mention of such a "bogie man," or that it was 
 impossible to get the eels skinned and cooked, which we 
 happened to catch, when the burn was in a spate. 
 
 Ghosts and banshees were clean out of the running here. 
 
 Then we were shown another small lough which our guide 
 assured us was inhabited by several enormous eels which 
 barked like dogs, and could be seen of an evening swimming 
 about with big trout in their mouths — but there, I have said 
 enough to illustrate the native horror of the harmless water 
 snake — yet I should be interested to know if any of my 
 readers have come across like stories in other districts, or 
 whether they are confined to a corner of Donegal. 
 
 On July gth we started for Lough Fern — " Sweet Lough 
 Fern " as " Hi Regan " calls it. 
 
 The wind was high, but still the elements seemed to have 
 settled down a bit ; this was necessary before essaying a 
 lough which is very soon discoloured; accounted for 
 probably by the fact of the Lennan flowing through the 
 lower portion of it. ' The fishing is free, and includes salmon 
 and brown trout, with a few white trout late in the season. 
 It is about a mile and a-half in length and six hundred 
 yards broad in the widest place, situated about one mile 
 from Milford. 
 
 Here, of course, we have " an easy," to do some shopping 
 and have a chat with the Milfordites. We love now- a 
 gossip with our fellow creatures when we have a chance, as 
 we never did before. F. R. B., in the middle of a political 
 discussion, feels a hand laid on his back, while a soft, 
 melodious voice whispers in his ear, " Raat's baack." 
 
 It was the voice of the ubiquitous Pat Fisher, intent on 
 business. 
 
 " No, Pat, not Lough Keel to-day — it's Fern we're bound 
 for." 
 
72 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 " Begorra ! It's Fern is it, and hare's ears bedad ? " and 
 out came the well-worn fly-book, with an oration on its 
 contents. 
 
 Milford is not favoured with tourists, but to-day two 
 undoubted ones, with red guide-books in their hands, had 
 brought all the inhabitants to their doors — it takes less to 
 collect a crowd in an Irish country town than in London, 
 and this is saying a good deal — while a couple on their 
 honeymoon were pointed out to us — the bridegroom's third 
 experience. Happy man ! 
 
 -F. R. B. startled me by saying, " That man must be 
 bilious." 
 
 " Good gracious," I replied, "what on earth makes you 
 think so ? " 
 
 " Reminds me of a friend," he answered, '' who apologised 
 for entering the united state the third time, but the fact 
 was, he explained, that when a widower he always felt so 
 bilious." 
 
 On we go, along a really level bit of road, and finally 
 alight at the farm and grocery store of Mr. Chambers, who 
 also has boats on hire. Here one can find pleasant fishing 
 quarters, the house being prettily situated on the hillside, 
 overlooking the lough, and there is generally some fisher- 
 man in occupation. 
 
 I rigged up a medium salmon cast, with a Fiery Brown as 
 leader, and two trout flies as droppers. Thus equipped, I 
 fancied I should be in the way of catching anything I came 
 across. It was a mistake all the same, for the trout are 
 exceedingly shy, and require to be lured with the finest 
 tackle. No ; here I should say that it is best to settle in 
 your mind what you are going to fish for, salmon or trout, 
 but setting to work to catch anything will probably end in 
 your catching nothing. 
 
 At the outset let me say at once I was disappointed with 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 73 
 
 the lough, nor could I see anything in its surroundings to 
 earn such a title as " Sweet Lough Fern." It is now un- 
 doubtedly over-fished, and sharing the fate of all free water. , 
 There were always five or six boats out, indeed more on 
 favourable days. Jimmy, too, had no great opinion of it, it 
 was not to be mentioned in the same breath with Lough 
 Keel, although he could remember the day when both 
 salmon and trout were fairly plentiful, and good baskets, as 
 regards quantity, were taken. But he is emphatic in his 
 declaration that he has never seen a trout over a pound 
 taken out of the lough. Our experience certainly confirms 
 this, for although the trout we caught were nice sizable ones, 
 half-pounders or so, yet we never got hold of anything over 
 a pound, nor did we see any in the baskets of other anglers. 
 As regards. the salmon, they were particularly wary, doubt- 
 less from the fact that every likely spot was haunted by 
 native sportsmen, casting their flies over them day after day 
 with very varying luck. Old habituds who reside near and 
 seize every opportunity, consider themselves very fortunate 
 if they catch eight or ten in a season. One was caught 
 during our stay weighing 19 lbs., and, by the way it was 
 talked of in the neighbourhood, we were led to believe that 
 fish of that size were few and far between. On Jimmy's 
 advice we confined ourselves chiefly to the trout, both 
 casting and trolling our flies, and we obtained a nice basket 
 of level fish. 
 
 Towards evening of our first day we saw a salmon rise on 
 the edge of some rushes and reeds, and I threw over him 
 with a Fiery Brown, which is, I believe, the most killing fly. 
 At the fourth essay I was into him, and a pretty dance he 
 gave us. F. R. B., who had relieved Jimmy at the oars, in 
 the excitement of the chase caught a delightful crab, his 
 head disappearing among the trout at the bottom of the 
 boat, while his feet were kicking frantically in mid air. 
 
74 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 Jimmy cast a reproachful look at the topsy-turvy figure, and 
 helped to right him, but shook his head very sorrowfully, for 
 he looked on the catastrophe as an omen of failure. And 
 so it was — for the salmon made for the head of the Lennan 
 and got inextricably hung up in the weeds, which all those 
 who have fished that spot know too well abound there. 
 Jimmy never failed to mention the loss, and glanced sorrow- 
 fully and reproachfully at the author of that redoubtable 
 crab. 
 
 Whether the other fishermen had binoculars with them I 
 know not, but they crowded down upon us from all parts, 
 some to condole, others to give sage advice as to what we 
 ought to have done under the circumstances, while one 
 gentleman delivered a short lesson on " How to play a 
 salmon," evidently learnt up from some text-book. 
 
 The shooting on the lough is also free ; and to judge by 
 the number of wild duck and teal we saw, good sport ought 
 to be had, but doubtless they are pretty well harassed by 
 gunners during the season, and become as wary and shy as 
 the trout and salmon. Jimmy promised to show us good 
 sport, both here and on the Swilly, if we would come over 
 later ; and his tales on the subject have made us eager to 
 ascertain whether Lough Fern would afford us more sport 
 with the duck gun than the rod. 
 
 Jimmy told us of an incident m duck shooting which only 
 happens once in the lifetime of a chosen few. The scene 
 was his cabin at the close of day — he was boiling something 
 in a pot on the fire, when down the chimney came a whirring 
 noise as of wild duck flying over. A glance up the wide 
 and smoky aperture confirmed this, and, seizing his loaded 
 gun, which stood close at hand, he fired, and was un- 
 expectedly rewarded by seeing two plump ducks fall grace- 
 fully down the chimney into the boiling water. 
 
 " And I suppose," said F. R. B., with an innocent face 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 75 
 
 but a twinkle in his eye, " I suppose that the flame of the 
 fire sizzled their feathers off as they came down ? " 
 
 " Indaad you're just roight there," said our friend and 
 mentor, and from the bows of the boat there came an 
 incredulous chuckle, which Jimmy pretended not to hear. 
 
 Anyone who has an eye for the ridiculous has plenty to 
 attract his attention in the wilds of Donegal. Our long and 
 dreary drives home were often enlivened, I confess, at the 
 expense of the natives and their agricultural methods. The 
 vision of a long train of tattered figures slowly crawling on 
 all fours up the side of a hill, thinning root crops with their 
 hands, has somewhat of the ludicrous in it. I should like 
 to transplant a Norfolk labourer there and hear his loud 
 guffaw, for he would, I am sure, to use his own vernacular, 
 " split his soides a-larfin'.' Still, there is something to be 
 said for their crocodile method, for undoubtedly the best 
 plants are left. Then we come to a four acre field of clover 
 just cut, and there espy a maiden, without a pitchfork or any 
 implement of that kind, essaying to turn the crop and dry it 
 by naively taking up handfuUs and scattering it in the breeze. 
 A very long and tedious process to the uninitiated, but then 
 time is not of as much value here as with us. It was curious, 
 too, to meet an array of the common or garden duck, with 
 feathers inserted through their nostrils for the purpose of 
 keeping them out of the corn — effective enough doubtless, 
 but with an element of cruelty about it. Wallace, however, 
 assured us that the insertion of the feather was a painless 
 process — " to be sure, it made them a wee bit frusky at first, 
 but that was all ; " and therefore we had nothing more to 
 say on the subject. " A wee bit frusky ; " oh, how expres- 
 sively these transplanted Highlanders do put it ! 
 
76 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Port Salon and Lough Kindrum. 
 
 A warm balmy morning greeted us as we arose from our 
 slumbers on July 14th, and, as we had heard great things 
 were to be done on Lough Keel in the evening, we deter- 
 mined to start at noon. This would give us a chance of 
 being present at an Irish wedding which was to take place 
 this day, and which we were particularly anxious to witness. 
 However, it did not differ very much from the ordinary 
 village festival in England, save that instead of the usual 
 showers of rice, the happy pair were saluted with a salvo of 
 artillery. All work, of course, had been suspended for the 
 occasion — it is indeed noticeable what trifles cause this 
 suspension, the smallest pretexts being eagerly seized upon. 
 When we Saxons walked abroad, many a precious half-hour 
 was wasted, and the hay crops in the neighbourhood suffered 
 accordingly, for the hill-men would give over their agricul- 
 tural pursuits, and leave off making the hay, and stand in 
 groups to gaze at us until we were lost to sight, as if we were 
 inhabitants of another world, and had just landed from the 
 planet Mars. To-day all the male inhabitants had armed 
 themselves with guns of different patterns, from the ancient 
 blunderbuss to a pin-fire breechloader of complicated action. 
 As the bride and bridegroom emerged from the church 
 porch, the rattle of artillery commenced, and continued at 
 short intervals, the greater part of the morning. The bride 
 was a nice looking girl ; but we were rather shocked to learn 
 that neither of the happy pair could read or write, although 
 they were quite young ; and consequently " Bill Stumps, his 
 mark,'' was affixed to the parish register. It doesn't say 
 much for the activity of the Irish Education Board in the 
 district. 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 77 
 
 AVe arrived at Lough Keel at 1.30 p.m., and immediately 
 got into two nice fish, the first in the identical spot where, 
 on my former visit, I got hold of the lively one and lost 
 him, just over a bar of sunken rocks. Jimmy declared it 
 was the same fish, and christened him the " harbour- 
 master," for I played him on some three or four occasions, 
 but never got him in the net. The second was a 2 lb. 
 fish of a silvery hue instead of golden. I notice that the 
 silvery fish are not half such good fighters as the yellow 
 ones ; their flesh, too, is white, while the latter is as pink as 
 salmon. Are they distinct species, or is the difference 
 attributable to condition or feeding ? 
 
 As luck would have it, about 3.30 p.m. the sun became 
 obscured with dark clouds, the wind veered clean round to 
 the north, and the atmosphere became bitterly cold — a bad 
 look-out indeed for the evening fishing, for here, as in most 
 places, a warm evening is a sine qua non for successful sport 
 in the twilight. Directly the wind changed the fish came 
 very short, and as to a minnow, well, they would not look 
 either at the real or artificial. Even the weather-beaten 
 Jimmy did not at all relish the icy cold blast that came in 
 gusts from the north, and although he is a particularly 
 abstemious man, on this occasion he played havoc with 
 F. R. B.'s flask — and what particularly attracted my atten- 
 tion was the fact that Jimmy gulped down the whisky neat 
 in the first instance, following it up with a dose of water. 
 
 Now, I can understand a man preferring his whisky 
 either neat or diluted, but the object of mixing the two 
 internally was not clear and apparent, unless it was a tender 
 regard for the lining of the stomach. 
 
 It certainly is not all beer and skittles for three men 
 cramped up in a little craft, with a piercing wind playing 
 upon them, and to me there is never one-half the pleasure 
 in fishing from a boat which there is in wading or strolling 
 
78 
 
 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 along the banks of some murmuring stream. There is 
 nothing to beat the latter for real enjoyment. F. R. B.'s 
 face and hands assumed a deep purple colour, and as he 
 says singing is a capital thing to aid circulation when facing 
 a wintry wind in a cockle-shell boat, pooh-poohing the idea 
 that fish can hear, we are treated to a few selections from 
 
 PORT SALON. 
 
 the operas, interspersed with ditties such as the following, 
 wholly of his own composition : — • 
 
 " With the wonderful tale of Jonah 
 'Tis little that can vie — 
 The only thing to touch it is 
 Three fat men in a fly ! " 
 
 We managed to secure ten' fish, the largest 2 lb., but we set 
 off for home very much earlier than we had intended, and 
 were only too glad to slide into our armchairs and rejoice in 
 the warmth of our cheery peat fire. 
 
 Lough Kindrum we made up our minds to essay next, the 
 only question being how to get there. 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 79 
 
 It was a good fifteen miles from us, and the road a real 
 bad one, much too bad for poor old Betsy. So we settled 
 to take the steamer which plies between Ramelton and Port 
 Salon every Tuesday and Friday, provided the weather is 
 favourable, and during the summer months is much affected 
 by excursionists and others to view the seven arches, the 
 show place of the district. A lovely trip it was — don't miss 
 it for all the world if you find yourself in these parts. We 
 joined the steamer at Fahan, and found it crowded with 
 natives and others from Londonderry, going for a day's 
 outing. 
 
 The scenery up the Swilly is grand and enchanting, and 
 yet at times the desolation chills one. There are so few 
 signs of animal or vegetable life among the bare hills and 
 bleak rocks. Even the little forts, which are dotted about 
 here and there, are now dismantled and deserted. 
 
 Four or five young men had come up from Derry with 
 their golf implements, for there are some fair links at Port 
 Salon, but rather a long journey to take for a couple of 
 hours' play. To these, of course, the scenery was a very 
 secondary consideration, a game of nap having greater 
 charms. They formed an amusing study for others besides 
 ourselves ; indeed, at all times there is to me a fascination 
 in watching card-players. Up at Cambridge nothing gave 
 me greater pleasure than to scan the faces of winners and 
 losers. I remember one fellow who used to whine in the 
 most dolorous fashion when luck went against him. His 
 face would assume the most cadaverous and melancholy 
 expression ever seen on human countenance, while at every 
 fresh stroke of misfortune he would, burst into a sort of 
 lamentation, just like that which poor Spottie of sacred 
 memory used to emit when he was disturbed in his doggy 
 mind. Directly his luck changed, then the most extra- 
 ordinary metamorphosis would take place, the whine being 
 
8o 
 
 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 exchanged for some gleeful whistle or the humming of some 
 favourite ballad, and his demeanour would become sprightly 
 and cheerful, and he would even venture upon a joke or 
 two. There was another fellow who lapsed into a dogged, 
 hopeless, silent despair, and who would reiterate again and 
 again, "Just my luck," "just my awful luck," and then would 
 look round in an appealing manner for compassion and 
 
 PORT SALON PECULIAR ROCKS AT THE SEVEN ARCHES. 
 
 sympathy, though I don't think he found much of the re- 
 quired article in his stony-hearted companions — so at last, 
 by way of consolation, he would reflect on the old adage, 
 " Unlucky at cards, lucky in love," and cheer up a trifle. 
 Another youth of my acquaintance, when fortune refused 
 to favour him with her smiles, would mutter things unutter- 
 able under his breath, and smoke very fiercely and desper- 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 8i 
 
 ately, and light a fresh pipe about every four minutes, and 
 take frequent swigs of whisky and water, the consequence 
 being that, if fortune persistently refused to bestow her 
 favours, he would imbibe rather more liquor than was good 
 for him, when he became rash and unreasonable. The tale 
 goes that this gentleman, coming home from one of these 
 parties a bad loser and in rather an elevated or stupefied 
 condition on the eve of St. Valentine, went to his rooms 
 and directed an ordinary label with his sweetheart's address 
 upon it. He then went round to the porter's lodge, tied 
 the label securely round his neck, placed a penny postage 
 stamp upon his forehead, and made frantic efforts to get 
 into the letter-box. Why this particular mania seized him 
 no one has been able accurately to determine ; but possibly 
 that miserable delusion of " unlucky at cards, lucky in love," 
 played an important part. The porter eventually persuaded 
 the would-be valentine to return to his rooms and think the 
 matter well over before he thus threw himself away. Un- 
 fortunately, at this period the parcel-post had not come 
 into existence, otherwise her Majesty's post-office might 
 have accepted him over the counter, provided he had given 
 an undertaking to find himself in food and drink. 
 
 Port Salon is situated at the entrance of the Swilly. It 
 consists of an hotel, and nothing more, built by the enter- 
 prise and at the expense of Colonel Barton, and is placed in 
 a lovely bay decked with golden sands, amid scenery which 
 is a dream. If this hotel were in England it would swarm 
 with visitors ; but, alas ! being in an out-of-the-way corner 
 of Donegal, I fear Colonel Barton's enterprise is not as well 
 rewarded as it deserves to be. The hotel is excellently 
 managed ; indeed, we only wished we could have spent a 
 month instead of a couple of days in this sweet Arcadia. 
 
 Lough Kindrum is three miles distant. As we only spent 
 a short day on its waters, and not under favourable circum 
 
82 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 stances, we are not able to speak much from experience. 
 The fish run large, though not so large as at Lough Keel, 
 and we were told there were plenty of them. In a short 
 interview with the keepers, we learnt that capital baskets 
 were often made, and that fish of 2 lb. and 3 lb. are fairly 
 plentiful. It is a romantic spot, and even if your sport is 
 poor you are well repaid by the lovely scenery and soft 
 Atlantic breezes which fan your brow and invigorate one 
 with fresh life and spirits. 
 
 We paid a visit to the seven arches, the lions of the 
 neighbourhood, scooped out of the rocks by the action of 
 the water. Wonderfully wrought by Nature's handiwork, 
 they appeared more like a succession of cavernous vaults, 
 and, doubtless, had served as safe retreats for the smugglers 
 of yore. 
 
 The whole of the coast just here abounds in caves, echo- 
 ing with the dull splash of restless waves and seabirds' cries. 
 The storms are terribly severe, and the hotel is often cut 
 off from all communication with Ramelfcon and Derry for 
 weeks together. However, the wolf is kept from the door 
 by provisions conveyed over a precipitous road from Rath- 
 mullan. 
 
 I could wish for no better holiday than to locate myself 
 with a friend at Port Salon for a month, fish Lough Kin- 
 drum, play golf on the cliffs, bathe in those blue, transparent 
 waters facing the hotel, sprawl at full length on those golden 
 sands, or watch the seals through the open window disport- 
 ing themselves in the bay below as I refreshed the inner 
 man, and inhaled the life-giving Atlantic breeze. 
 
 May it be ours some day to enjoy to the full what we 
 have written of in this sweet Arcadia. 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 83 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Swilly. 
 
 A sail on the Swilly in Jimmy's boat had long been 
 talked of, but deferred until Jimmy had ascertained from 
 his nets that the white trout were coming up, so that we 
 might have optical proof of his assertions concerning their 
 abundance in the lough. 
 
 So one brilliant morning, as the lovely estuary sparkled 
 in the glorious sunshine, we picked our way amid heaps of 
 reeking seaweed, and stowed ourselves away in his capacious 
 fishing craft. Business was to be combined with pleasure, 
 for Mrs. B. was short of provisions and household necessities. 
 So we hoisted the sail, and steered first for Rathmullan, and 
 there laded our boat with food supplies sufficient to last a 
 fortnight, one would have thought, to judge by the suc- 
 cession of bare-legged urchins who tottered down to the 
 beach with huge paper parcels, which Jimmy was at his 
 wits' end to know where to pack away. 
 
 I sympathise with anyone who has to cater for fishermen. 
 It is a gigantic task, to say the least, and Mrs. B. began to 
 look quite worn out with the worry and anxiety attending 
 it. She said the proverbial hunter was not in t e running 
 with us, and the soft impeachment, I think, applies to all 
 fishermen alike. The old saying, " As hungry as a hunter," 
 to denote the heartiest of appetites, or the maximum of 
 greediness, is simply a myth and a delusion. It is one of 
 those sayings now exploded and no longer applicable, "Nous 
 avons change tout cela," since Isaac Walton died. The run 
 of a lusty salmon and bonny trout in the bracing air of 
 mountain, moorland, and stream, is more conducive to a 
 great appetite than that supplied by old brer fox on the 
 midland meads. To make the best use of a knife and fork 
 
84 
 
 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 commend me to the hungry fisherman ! I've seen them 
 " a-swellin' wisibly " under the operation, to be candid and 
 Pickwickian. 
 
 Several white trout were rising round us as we pushed off 
 from Rathmullan, and set sail for Inch Island, where we 
 landed for lunch, and to dig up sand-eels, which Jimmy told 
 us abounded here, and which the white trout were par- 
 ticularly partial to. ^Ve could have obtained a hundred- 
 weight in a very short space of time, for at every turn of the 
 
 LOUGH SWILLY, WITH RATHMULLAN IN THE DISTANCE. — SAILING UP IN 
 JIMMY'S BOAT FOB. PROVISIONS. 
 
 sand a dozen silvery wrigglers danced about in the sunlight, 
 until a pat on the head with a stick stayed their capers for 
 ever. 
 
 Lunch over, we trolled in all the likely places round the 
 coast, but never a run did we get, although we saw several 
 trout sporting. Unfortunately, this part of the Swilly is 
 infested with weed, which is rather detrimental to trolUng ; 
 but a fly as a bait led to no better result. 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 85 
 
 Inch Castle, once the stronghold of the Donegal kinglets, 
 but now a crumbling ruin, occupies a commanding position 
 at the southern end of the island, and here we landed for a 
 ramble, since nothing would inveigle the white trout. 
 
 Hither, too, had come a noisy party, of the style of 'Arry 
 and 'Arriet out for an 'oliday, disturbing the peaceful spot with 
 their piercing shrieks and laughter. Among them was a girl 
 so prodigiously fat that it was a matter of some wonder how 
 her friends had the temerity to convey her here in the frail 
 crafts lying on the shingle. She had not attempted to scale 
 the cliff on which the castle rested, but wisely remained 
 below, and waddled about puffing and panting in search of 
 shells. Save for this trifling characteristic there is no excuse 
 for my mentioning her here, but F. R. B. was so struck with 
 her remarkable charms that he careered round her as a 
 satellite of inferior magnitude, and appeared to be annoyed 
 when we inquired what space of time his revolutions 
 occupied. 
 
 In my native village there used to be an exceedingly 
 plump girl, whom all the boys at the village school delighted 
 to pinch and call " Fatty." No one ever dreamt that a great 
 future was in store for this girl, and that for a mere peep at 
 this village lass sober Englishmen would plank down their 
 last copper with a cheerful smile. Yet so it turned out. 
 One day there passed through this village a travelling show- 
 man, who no sooner had cast his mercenary gaze upon the 
 buxom maiden than he repaired to her parents and offered 
 board, lodging, and liberal pocket-money, with a rise the 
 second year conditionally on an increase in her weight 
 taking place, if she would travel with his show and exhibit 
 her remarkable charms. The offer was accepted, and the 
 girl awoke to find herself famous. By means of a liberal 
 diet, and with little exercise beyond holding receptions, 
 shaking hands and smiling- sweetly on Johnnies and Marys 
 
86 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 at May festivals and such gatherings, she soon increased in 
 girth, much to the delight of that travelling showman, who 
 day after day expanded his lungs shouting, " Walk up, ladies 
 and gentlemen, walk up and see Madamemoiselle Duval, the 
 fattest lady in the whole wide world, whose dinner consists 
 of a roasted sheep and six pounds of plum pudding, washed 
 down with a gallon of ale — breakfast and tea to correspond. 
 Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, and see for yourselves this 
 fair beauty, for whose possession the Shah of Persia has 
 offered half his kingdom.'' The girl afterwards married one 
 of the artists in this travelling show, a diminutive gentleman 
 who acted the part of "Tom Thumb's rival," and they 
 eventually set up for themselves in the show line. Doubtless 
 by this time they have a son and heir. If my surmise 
 should prove correct, I find myself led on to speculate as to 
 whether this scion of illustrious parentage will, in the distant 
 future, be exhibited to an awe-struck world as positively the 
 fattest man on earth, or something more than a rival to the 
 ever-illustrious Tom Thumb. It is a problem which time 
 alone will solve. 
 
 We had a rough journey back, for tne wind had got up, 
 and when it does blow down the Swilly your experience is a 
 lively one. Jimmy's boat, however, rode gallantly over the 
 tempestuous waters, and we reached land without falling 
 victims to the land-lubber's complaint. Our procession 
 home, laden with provisions and fishing gear, vastly tickled 
 the natives, who followed us up, curious to learn the latest 
 pranks of those peculiar Saxons. 
 
 Jimmy undertook to pickle the sand-eels for the benefit 
 of Lough Keel trout, and a day or two afterwards we 
 introduced the former to the latter's notice. 
 
 F. R. B. expressed the result in correct and forcible 
 language when he said, "these trout are nuts on sand-eels." 
 Yes — that is our experience in a nutshell, for we obtained a 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 87 
 
 beautiful basket of fish, and most of them attracted by the 
 silvery eel. We gave the remainder of the bait into the 
 keeping of Annie McGiddikie, with strict injunctions to take 
 care of it. Imagine our horror, on returning a few days 
 after, to be told by the smiling custodian of the cherished 
 morsels, that the cat had eaten "them pickled things." 
 F. R. B. was inconsolable, and vowed vengeance on the 
 whole feline race, and wanted to have the McGiddikie cat 
 out there and then and lynch it. But the wiser counsels of 
 Jimmy and myself prevailed. 
 
 Another day we sailed across the Swilly and up the tidal 
 portion of the Lennan to Ramelton. Just at the mouth 
 of the river the salmon were leaping about in numbers. A 
 pretty sight it was — the flash of their silvery scales in mid 
 air and the streaks of foam on the placid waters, marking 
 their whereabouts long after they had disappeared from 
 sight. We threw over them with our flies, and then F. R. B. 
 slyly drew a bottle of pickled prawns out of his pocket and 
 we rigged them up on some up-to-date prawn tackle. Some- 
 where I had imbibed the notion that a luscious prawn was 
 a fatal snare and certain to be successful when everything 
 else had failed, but only to be resorted to as a last expedient. 
 Although we must have trolled our prawns across many a 
 salmon's nose, we could not induce one to have anything to 
 do with it. Clearly we understood not the art of fishing in 
 brackish water. Yet it was curious that Jimmy, who haunted 
 the estuary day after day in the pursuit of his profession, 
 had never come across anyone fishing it with a rod and 
 line, save on one solitary occasion off the landing stage at 
 Rathmullan, when he had seen a white trout or two taken 
 with a fly. 
 
 The time for our departure was now close at hand. There 
 was only one lough in the neighbourhood we had not 
 visited, and that was Lough Salt, iii an inaccessible region 
 
88 In the Wilds of Donegal. 
 
 some miles beyond Lough Keel. We could gain little 
 information with regard to it, and were in doubt as to 
 whether a boat could be obtained. Jimmy knew little of it. 
 Once or twice in his life he had passed by it when out grouse 
 shooting, and had seen, he said, plenty of small trout rising. 
 So, taking everything into consideration, especially the 
 distance and badness of the road, we resolved not to risk 
 Betsy's life in an attempt to reach it. Already our frequent 
 journeys over precipitous mountain defiles had begun to teh 
 their tale upon her, and she was beginning to hang out 
 signals of distress. We were requested to get out and walk 
 more often than usual, while Wallace resorted to more and 
 more novel sounds of encouragement. 
 
 A poor old widow, a neighbour of ours, in a lonely cabin, 
 had died suddenly, and was to be buried in a burying 
 ground some ten miles away over the hills. We would have 
 wished to have paid our respects by following the cortege; 
 but, alas ! Betsy had done her best for us, and could do no 
 more. Possibly it turned out for the best, for we learnt that 
 those who followed the remains were expected to dig the 
 grave, as there was no resident sexton in this mountain 
 cemetery, and of this operation we were as inexperienced as 
 a baby in arms. Even F. R. B., who is a handy man at 
 most things, would have been a long way off figuring as a 
 respectable sexton. 
 
 With a heavy heart we wrung the hands of the hillmen, 
 among whom we had spent such a happy month. In that 
 time we had mastered their names, and much of their history, 
 and had been singularly drawn towards them. A hard 
 struggle for existence they must have among those barren 
 hills ! How they manage to exist at all on the sale of their 
 poultry, and the produce of their little patches of potatoes, 
 flax, and oats, I know not ; but they do somehow, and smile 
 and joke withal, and consider life well worth the living. 
 
In the Wilds of Donegal. 89 
 
 Faults they have, no doubt, but forgotten and effaced by 
 their pre-eminent virtues of kindliness, though tfulness, and 
 generosity. " Conae again next year," they said ; " we shall be 
 right glad to see yer," while Pat Fisher exhibited his grief in 
 tears, and produced amid his sobs the well-known fly-book, 
 saying, " Take some raats' baacks and hare's ears : maybe 
 they'll sarve yer weel in England." 
 
 As for Jimmy, our hearts are still with him ; he was one 
 of nature's noblemen, if there ever was one, and we thought 
 he deserved to be many rungs higher on the social ladder 
 than that of a poor fisherman of the Swilly ; and we yet re- 
 member the tall, gaunt figure standing in the morning mist, 
 kindliness glowing in his face, and his long, grey hair float- 
 ing in the breeze, waving his adieus as we drove past to 
 catch the steamer at Rathmullan, and sadly set our faces 
 homewards, via Enniskillen, Dublin, and Holyhead. 
 
 The greetings of our friends were not such as we should 
 have expected. " How did you enjoy yourselves ? " " Did 
 you have good sport ? " 
 
 But strange to say, they exclaimed, " Well, did you have 
 any poteen ? " 
 
 And we answered, "We enjoyed ourselves immensely.'' 
 
 " Did you have any poteen?" they shouted. 
 
 " Ah ! talking of poteen," we replied, " a good story was 
 told us of a raid being made on a still, and the wily distillers 
 hid the implements and produce in the vault of a neigh- 
 bouring church, which the resident landlord heard of, 
 chuckled over, and lay low. How the natives did worship 
 that man, to be sure." 
 
 " But did you taste the poteen, we want to know ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said F. R. B., blinking his eyes, " poteen cold 
 tastes like varnish, but with hot water, lemon, and sugar, 'tis 
 a thing to be desired." 
 
f4aar;)ts of npg Yoattp. 
 
 THE TEME. 
 
 Most grayling fishermen have enjoyed, at some time or 
 other, a few days' sport on the Teme, and probably the 
 club water at Leintwardine has been the scene of their 
 labours, for without doubt this stretch of water will compare 
 favourably with any other stream, both in the quantity and 
 quality of the fish. Angling writers have again and again 
 recorded red-letter days in this favourite haunt ; indeed, no 
 handbook on grayling streams would be complete without a 
 reference to silvery Teme. I may be prejudiced, but in 
 my estimation the Leintwardine Club water is the equal 
 ■of any stretch on the much-vaunted Derbyshire streams. 
 
 I was born and bred on the banks of the Teme, for my 
 father was vicar of two parishes in its vicinity. All my 
 ■earliest recollections cluster round its sandstone waterway, 
 the buttercup-spangled meads and wooded dells through 
 which it wends its way, now splashing and dashing over 
 pebbled fords and red-veined rocks, now slowly flowing in 
 stately grandeur between steep banks over a deep and rocky 
 
 bed. 
 
 " Haunt of my youth, O Teme beloved, 
 
 How smooth thy brow, how cool ; 
 
 In slanting rays the moonbeams pierce 
 
 And prove each lurking pool. 
 The green turf guards thine onward course, 
 
 The hills of Wales thy fount ; 
 Here will I muse ere yet the sun 
 His chariot remount." 
 
Haunts of my Youth. 
 
 91 
 
 My angling reminiscences dale from the tender age of 
 nine, when a suitable rod and outfit were procured for me, 
 and I was entrusted to our clerk and sexton for instruction 
 in the gentle art. The eccentricities of the old parish 
 clerks are world-renowned, and still afford food for jest and 
 laughter. 
 
 Old Pugh, for such was our clerk's name, was no excep- 
 
 IHE TEME AT LUDLOW. 
 
 tion. He regarded himself quite as part and parcel of our 
 establishment, and the births of the parson's children were 
 faithfully recorded in the Bible, which was his peculiar 
 property, in the lowermost seat of the venerable three- 
 decker. When the worries and cares of office were laid 
 aside, he affected a short black clay, and many an hour 
 have I spent by his hearth listening to his amusing tales 
 
92 Haunts of my Youth. 
 
 of the country side, and watching the rings of smoke which 
 circled from the blackest shag. The serenity and equa- 
 nimity of his mind were ever unruffled, due in some measure 
 to his constant companion, the aforesaid pipe. Only once 
 in an eventful career was he " put about,'' as he called it. 
 
 In my earliest days we had a barrel-organ, old and 
 decrepid, and constantly getting out of gear. When in this- 
 state it could only be induced to play the "Old Hundredth.'" 
 Morning and afternoon, for months, we were regaled with 
 this with hopeless monotony. Our squire, who was a 
 choleric and irritable old gentleman, gave Pugh strict 
 injunctions to have the instrument repaired before the 
 following Sunday. 
 
 Pugh promised that the matter should be seen to, but 
 whether he neglected to do so, or whether the instrument 
 was totally irreclaimable, alas ! Sunday came, and the 
 Organ still in the same pitiable plight. Old Pugh turned 
 the handle, and forthwith the well-known strains were 
 wafted down the church, and then in a voice tremulous 
 with emotion he read out the first line of the hymn, " All 
 people that on earth do dwell." The blood rushed to the 
 squire's face, he stamped angrily in his roomy pew, and 
 springing to his feet shook his fist threateningly at poor 
 Pugh, and hissed forth, " Hang all people that on earth do 
 dwell ! " 
 
 As old Pugh said to me confidentially years afterwards, 
 " he was regularly skeered and put about at such a very 
 large order." The incident, however, was the means of our 
 having a harmonium, an improvement, certainly, on its 
 predecessor, although Pugh never took to it kindly, for he 
 despised "them new-fangled musics." 
 
 My first venture was on the Hucks Barn Farm water, about 
 a mile and a half out of Ludlow, on the Herefordshire side, 
 known to fame as the place where George Barnwell 
 
Haunts of my Yoicth. 93 
 
 murdered his uncle. Here, in a wooded dell, "where 
 silent waters lave," the haunt of kingfisher, dabchick, and 
 moorhen, I first wetted a line, baited with a wasp grub. 
 
 Possibly one's first experience moulds the tenour of our 
 after lives. If unsuccess had attended my youthful efforts, 
 I might not have been so keen to have followed up the 
 sport. As it turned out, I was intoxicated with success. 
 Ten minutes had barely elapsed before I became aware that 
 my float had totally disappeared. I communicated the 
 intelligence to old Pugh, who, to my astonishment, sprang 
 wildly to his feet, stowed away his clay in his waistcoat 
 pocket, and shouted, " Pull, pull ! " I did so, grasping my 
 rod with both hands, and whirled over my head into some 
 nettles behind what seemed to me a monster fish. It 
 turned out to be a trout over i^ lb., fat, and well fed. 
 
 How it was that either my line or my rod was not broken 
 I cannot say. Providence is wondrous kind to little boys. 
 If there happens to be an exceptionally large trout in some 
 brook it usually falls a prey to a little boy fishing with a 
 stick, a piece of string, and a bent pin. If all one hears is 
 true, the expert angler is not in it with the small boy and 
 his proverbial tackle. He is my bete noir. Often when 
 staying with some non-angling friends, I have been taken 
 down to a brook where trout are reputed to be, and 
 reproached for my unsuccess with " Oh, I've seen Httle 
 boys hoist out fish as long as my arm with a bent pin and 
 a string." At such times I feel tempted to exclaim, " Hang 
 all little boys that on earth do dwell." However, from this 
 day onward, my footsteps were often along the river's 
 margin, and many a good basket of fish has been my proud 
 possession. 
 
 From Knighton to Tenbury — a distance of, well, by road, 
 from twenty-seven to thirty miles — I have at one time or 
 other fished in all the best water. As I have commenced 
 
94 
 
 Haunts of my Youth. 
 
 with the Teme on the southern or Herefordshire side of 
 Ludlow, I will go on to speak of the water between there 
 and Tenbury. At Ludlow four weirs hold the water up, 
 and occasionally under these some large trout are captured, 
 especially in the deeper water at Ludford ; but here and all 
 down the Steventon and Hucks Barn water the river is not 
 
 A DEAD STSETCH OF WATER ON THE TEMK. 
 
 much cared for, and suffers from a plethora of anglers, and, 
 I fear, poachers also. My experience is that from Ludford 
 to Ashford Bridge the water is far better for trout than 
 grayling — in fact, in these reaches I have never had much 
 sport with the latter. There is a great deal of dead water, 
 the abode of chub and rough fish. At Ashford, below the 
 
Haunts of my Youth. 95 
 
 weir, matters are different. The weir here is semi-circular 
 in shape, very high, and quite perpendicular, and how the 
 salmon managed to surmount this obstacle was always a 
 matter of wonder to me, seeing that there was no salmon 
 ladder. That they did so was evident from the swarms of 
 samlet in the reaches above. In my young days I flatly 
 refused to believe that these samlet were the offspring of 
 the sSlmon, and pointed to Ashford weir as an impediment 
 which no salmon without wings could negotiate. My ideas- 
 have considerably enlarged since then. 
 
 One day I was fishing with two companions here, when^ 
 in some shallow water, we saw a ghastly monstrosity in the 
 fish line, which paid no attention whatever to our move- 
 ments, although we tried to scare it with a stone or two. 
 What could it be? The youngest of my friends naively- 
 suggested a codfish in the last- stage of consumption. We 
 plunged into the water and circumvented the queer object 
 with our landing nets, and it proved to be a salmon, unable 
 for some reason or other to get down to the sea. A more 
 horrible sight I have rarely seen. It was completely covered 
 with a white fungus, its head was out of all proportion, 
 water-lice swarmed all over its body, which was scarred with 
 wounds from rocks and stones. The smell made us all 
 heave — evidently the last stage of mortification was at 
 hand. We honoured the poor, long-suffering wretch with 
 burial beneath the sod of a fair orchard. 
 
 Many a good grayling have I caught just below the weir,, 
 and further down in the deeper water there used to be a 
 chub swim which would have delighted the heart of a chub 
 fisherman. In my boyhood I spied these fat monsters 
 sailing lazily about in a particular spot, much overgrown 
 with scrub and trees, and where the stream was just too 
 deep to wade. For long I meditated how to get at them, 
 and at last decided on a plan. Having obtained a good 
 
■96 Hawits of my Youth. 
 
 supply of bluebottles, I swarmed an overhanging tree, drew 
 up my rod after me, and dangled one of these tempting 
 morsels before a passing chub's nose. My 6rst attempts, 
 however, were practically failures, for the largest chub 
 invariably broke my tackle — the first two or three rushes 
 of a big chub are by no means to be despised. Some 
 stronger gut settled them, and I often crammed my basket 
 with "loggerheads," some being over 3 lb., which "were 
 distributed to the villagers, after several ineffectual attempts 
 on the part of my brothers and sisters to make a meal off 
 this cotton-wool. 
 
 However large the chub, they would give up the combat 
 after three or four rushes, and lie placid and still on the 
 top of the water, allowing me to descend from my perch 
 and tow them to land like logs of wood. They have even 
 become unhooked in so doing, but with wonderful con- 
 sideration, made no attempt at escape, allowing me in some 
 instances to capture them in my hands. No wonder fly- 
 fishermen despise them after trout and grayling, so game 
 to the last. Once I had a terrific fight with a 2 lb. trout 
 from an overhanging tree. 
 
 I marked him sailing majestically towards me, and 
 offered him a nice fat bluebottle which he did not think 
 twice about accepting. The battle waxed hot and furious. 
 It was quite half an hour before I judged him sufficiently 
 played out to venture out of the tree. But my friend was 
 not to be caught that' way, and while I was climbing down 
 he took the opportunity of making off, and wound himself 
 round and round a stub, luckily near the surface of the 
 water. The tackle, being about the strongest obtainable, 
 held him, and I got him safely in the landing net at last. 
 I was as proud of that trotit as of any I have ever caught. 
 
 The Ashford Court and ]\Ioor Park water hold capital 
 grayling and trout, and then comes, a mile or two above, 
 
Haunts of my Youth. 
 
 97 
 
 little Hereford Bridge (not to be confused with the county 
 town, twenty-five miles away), where I have never done 
 much good, although there are some tempting-looking 
 streams. Below the bridge, in the Eastern Court water, 
 the river runs very deep for some distance over a rocky bed. 
 Here I have taken some very nice fish, but beware of 
 the wading, for you may slip off the ledge of rocks into 
 ten or twelve feet of water if the greatest care is not 
 
 LUDLOW CASTLE, WITH THE RIVER TEME BELOW. 
 
 exercised. All the way from here, through Burford to 
 Tenbury, is some very nice trout and grayling water, all 
 strictly preserved. The Swan Hotel at Tenbury has the 
 privilege, I believe, of giving visitors leave to fish, but I 
 fancy their water runs below Tenbury, and of the fishing 
 beyond I have not had much experience. Mineral springs 
 in the neighbourhood have earned for the little town the 
 
 7 
 
98 Haunts of my Yotdh. 
 
 title of Tenbury Wells, though as a watering-place it is- not 
 in the first rank. 
 
 The picturesque; town of Ludlow is the most convenient 
 centre to fish the Teme and its tributaries. By train and 
 road the best water is easily accessible, and, moreover, the 
 fisherman, who is an antiquarian, will find much to occupy 
 his attention and delight his soul in his off days from pisca- 
 toriajl pursuit. Ludlow and its environs may be said to be 
 the happy hunting ground of all antiquarians. Border 
 castles, castellated country houses, British and Roman camps 
 and battlefields abound, and every inch of ground has at 
 some time or other resounded with the battle cries of the 
 ancient British and their Roman foe, Welsh and English, 
 Yorkists and Lancastrians, Royalists and Roundheads, 
 while silvery Teme, which winds round the ancient castle 
 of Ludlow, now shorn of its glory, but still proudly rearing 
 aloft its moss-grdwn towers and venerable walls, has many 
 a time run red with the blood of the slain. In the music 
 of the stream one seems to catch the strains of the old 
 minstrel lays which, in the days gone by, so often floated on 
 the bosom of its waters, telling of brave knights and lovely 
 damsels, and of the fierce border fights between the wild 
 Welshmen and their hereditary foe. 
 
 A romantic spot indeed — for from the days when Caractacus 
 made his last desperate stand against the Romans on Caer 
 Caradoc in the distance, until a Dutchman, in the person of 
 "William of Orange, came to reign over us, Ludlow was 
 scarcely ever free from the tramp of armed men. The 
 Welsh were troublesome neighbours, and gave the inhabi- 
 tants of the border counties but little rest. That " Taffy " 
 was ever a thief is, unfortunately, only too plainly writ large 
 in the annals of the past. In 1472, Edward IV. created his 
 eldest son Prince Edward, a mere infant, Prince of Wales, 
 and sent him with his younger brother to the castle of 
 
Haunts of t?ty Youth. 99 
 
 Ludlow, " for justice to be doen in the Marches of Wales, 
 to the end that by the authoritie of hys presence the wild 
 Welshemenne and euill disposed personnes should refrain 
 from their accustomed murthers and outrages." 
 
 Some evil destiny, however, pursued royalty reared at 
 Ludlow ; the poor young princes, after their removal, were 
 murdered in the Tower ; Prince Arthur, eldest son of 
 Henry VIL, died young, and Ludlow was shunned hence- 
 forth as the cradle of future kings. 
 
 On the northern or Shropshire side of Ludlow, the 
 Corve, a capital trouting stream, joins the Teme. Above 
 this commences the Oakley Park water full of both 
 trout and grayling. After this the Downton Castle 
 water is reached, perhaps the prettiest portion of the 
 river, with its background of the wooded slopes of 
 the Whitcliffe woods, the Vennals, and Brindgewood. 
 The castle is not a relic of the baronial age, but a modern 
 production, built by Mr. Payne Knight in 1776, the elder 
 brother of Mr. Thomas Andrew Knight, the celebrated 
 pomologist and first president of the Royal Horticultural 
 Society, who succeeded to the estates on the death of his 
 brother. The angler will find that the pears and apples at 
 Downton bear ample testimony to Mr. Knight's successful 
 experiments, research and skill. Would that he had been 
 a disciple of Izaak Walton, for doubtless he would have 
 tried his hand on the improvement of the finny tribe that 
 sported beneath his windows. However, you will find plenty 
 of good fish if you can get the necessary permission to 
 catch them. 
 
 Then comes the Leintwardine Club water, so called from 
 
 the pretty village formerly a Roman settlement which 
 
 nestles on its banks. I can add little to what has already 
 
 been written by scores of anglers about this celebrated 
 
 stretch of water. A real good day here is something to be 
 
 7* 
 
100 Hamits of my Youth. 
 
 remembered, and for grayling it has but few equals. I 
 remember the day when the river here seemed to be almost 
 overstocked ; but the soil is good and rich, and is able to 
 supply sufficient food for any amount of fish. Having 
 traversed the club water, the neat little village of Brampton 
 Brian is reached, celebrated in the neighbourhood for its 
 annual horsefair. Hither comes every old screw from the 
 country round, patched and doctored up with an eye to a 
 purchaser. The river here begins to narrow down, and is 
 called the Little Tame. From here to the source the trout 
 fishing excels the grayhng, although plenty of the latter can 
 still be caught as far as Knighton. Brampton Brian Park, 
 a wild mountain enclosure filled with fallow deer, comes 
 down to the water's edge, and is well worth an hour's 
 ramble if the fish should not be sporting. Many years ago, 
 I remember we boys discovered a badger's earth, and many 
 were the visits we used to pay it in the hope of getting a 
 view of the old chap. Late one evening, we got on his 
 track with a terrier or two, and, thankful for small mercies, 
 considered we had had a grand run, but we never got 
 alongside Mr. Badger. Shortly afterwards he was caught in 
 a trap, which ended our sport. 
 
 The badger, poor wretch, will soon be extinct — more's the 
 pity, for he is a harmless beast, with many good qualities 
 Somehow or other he has got a bad name — " smells like a 
 badger," or "dirty as a badger" — such are the libels upon 
 the poor animal. A cleaner creature is not met with every 
 day, nor is there anything offensive to the most sensitive 
 olfactory nerves if you don't interfere with him ; yet I grant 
 that, if you hustle him along with terriers, Mr. Badger has 
 the power, like his kinsman the stoat, of making himself 
 particularly unpleasant to his pursuers. 
 
 " As grey as an ould badger," is a Herefordshire saying 
 which has some particle of sense in it, for a cunning old 
 
Haunts of my Youth. loi 
 
 badger is grey all over, the brownish black of his lower 
 extremities being tipped with this colour when he arrives at 
 a ripe old age. 
 
 My thoughts revert to the good old Cambridge days, and 
 the dog fancier's up Chesterton way, where we used to take 
 our Tyke, and Spot, and Trap, to have a bout with the 
 badger, and pay half-a-crown for the " divarsion." 
 
 That badger was either a fool or a knave — he was either a 
 very degraded specimen of the breed, or else a very astute cus- 
 tomer. He did not require much drawing. If the terrier 
 had sufficient pluck to go in and tackle him, Mr. Badger 
 offered the very feeblest resistance. He came out looking 
 very meek and mild, with an injured expression on his 
 countenance, as if to say "all right, old chappie, don't be 
 Tough on me, and don't distress yourself, for I know a game 
 worth two of fighting with you." And then Spottie would 
 walk jauntily about with the stump of his tail haughtily erect, 
 and would condescendingly accept our plaudits and caresses, 
 and imagine that he had done a big thing. Ah ! dear 
 Spottie, methinks you would tell a different tale if you came 
 face to face with old badger in his native wilds, where he has 
 not learnt how to be drawn for half-a-crown without any fuss 
 or nonsense. 
 
 Skirting Bucknell, the fisherman finds himself in a pretty 
 vale dotted all over with the famous Hereford cattle, with 
 towering woods and hills on either side. The Central Wales 
 Railway runs along the river, crossing and recrossing it 
 several times before Knighton is reached. 
 
 Knighton is one of the chief towns of Radnorshire, its 
 rows of white-washed cottages in the midst of typical Welsh 
 scenery, reminding one that the border has been crossed 
 and that you have entered gallant little Wales. 
 
Haunts of my Youth. 
 
 THE LUGG. 
 
 " Tell me of a real good grayling stream where I can get 
 a few days' fishing ? " said a mutual acquaintance, button- 
 holing me in Victoria Station the first week in September. 
 
 " Try the Lugg," I said. 
 
 " The what ! " 
 
 "The Lugg, my boy, and you may go a long way and 
 fare very much worse- than on that stream." 
 
 " Great Scott ! Where's the Lugg ? " 
 
 " In Herefordshire. This is your route. Go to Paddingtoi^, 
 book for Leominster via Hereford. Change at Leominster, 
 and take a ticket for Kingsland, on the Kington line. On 
 your arrival at Kingsland, get a conveyance and drive to 
 Mortimer's Cross, where there is an excellent inn on the 
 banks of the river. I can get you put on some of the best 
 water, so take my advice and go — and here, I say, a word 
 more — don't forget to send me a few grayling to grace my 
 breakfast table in return for the information," etc. 
 
 He went, flogged my favourite grayling stream, and 
 returned in triumph. 
 
 " It's just grand," he said. " Never enjoyed a week's 
 grayling fishing so much in my life ; and as to the lovely 
 village of Aymestry — well, I long just to setde down and 
 drone away the rest of my time in that sweet auburn of 
 rural life." 
 
 The Lugg ! What memories the name recalls. Part of 
 my schooldays was spent at Lucton, close on the river, and 
 many a day's fishing and good baskets of trout and grayHng 
 have fallen to my lot. It is a typical border stream ; its 
 upper waters flowing swiftly down among wooded hills, while 
 hop yards and buttercup-spangled meads grace its onward 
 course through Kingsland and the Bodenham district until 
 
Haunts of my Youth. 103 
 
 its tributary wave is delivered to mother Wye. Ah ! there 
 are some bonny fish at Shobden, Aymestry, and all down 
 the Croft Castle and Kingland water. The May fly comes 
 on this river in swarms. Directly it is off the trout are 
 black and sluggish, and quite out of season with their annual 
 gorge. I give unhesitatingly the award of honour to the 
 grayling. There are some grand fish between Shobden and 
 Kingsland, and they afford excellent sport. A red tag is the 
 fly they are partial to, and often have I had three or four 
 of these flies pulled to pieces in a day from their zealous 
 attentions. 
 
 Mortimer's Cross is the name of a hamlet and an inn, on 
 the scene of the great battle of the same name. Opposite 
 the inn there is some capital grayling water. About a mile 
 and a half of the water on this side has been formed into 
 a club. There is many a spot here I could point out 
 where I have captured fish not far off a couple of pound 
 weight. 
 
 A summer or two ago I was down in the old haunt at 
 the commencement of the May fly season, would that it 
 had been the grayling time instead ; however, better sport 
 with the trout I could not have wished for. There was 
 more than fish to attract one's attention, especially me, 
 whose boyhood was principally spent here. The Aymestry 
 woods which come down to the river's margin are a natural 
 paradise for birds. What a splendid collection of eggs we 
 boys used to make ! I commend this, spot not only to the 
 angler, but also to the entymologist. Herefordshire is 
 celebrated for its birds, but this spot in particular. 
 
 Strolling along the banks oi the Lugg on that lovely 
 June morning, every stream, every over-hanging bank and 
 bush and tree seemed to be historical. Here, I re- 
 membered a tremendous tussle with a 2 lb. trout, and how, 
 being without a landing net, for boys don't affect landing 
 
104 
 
 Haunts of my Youth. 
 
 nets, I had been obliged to hoist him up on the bank, and 
 had broken my rod in consequence. There I had played 
 and lost a splendid grayling, the like of which I have 
 never got hold of before or since. Under that over- 
 hanging bank was an ouzel's nest ; down by that silent pool 
 a kingfisher was ever wont to build his palace of fish 
 bones. 
 
 The birds that frequent the water-side have always had 
 
 THE LUGG. — A PARADISE OF BIRDS AND FISII AJtONG THE 
 AYMESTRY WOODS. 
 
 a fascination for me. Their eggs were always of greater 
 value in my eyes than any others, possibly because they 
 were the most difficult to find, and too often inaccessible to 
 all save those prepared to wade about in the water and 
 peer under overhanging banks and among the stones of 
 dilapidated bridges or in old walls at the foot of weirs 
 where the current rushes down impetuously. 
 
 An old tree overhanging the water below the bridge at 
 
Haufits of my Youth. 105 
 
 Mortimer's Cross arrested my attention. What incident in 
 my schooldays did it remind me of? I rested my rod 
 against it, lay down beneath its shade, and ruminated. 
 Soon the whole scene returned to me. I had climbed this 
 tree in search of a nest one Sunday morning, and as I was 
 considering how best to get down, the bell commenced to 
 ring for service and I realised I had just ten minutes in 
 which to get back, or else . . . . ! But somehow I 
 could not negotiate that tree. I felt sure I must tumble 
 into the water and be drowned, or miss my footing on the 
 other side and be dashed to pieces on the ground. What 
 an awful three minutes I spent ! At last, in sheer despera- 
 tion to either do or die, I made a last convulsive effort 
 and alighted on terra firma, but unfortunately made a 
 gaping rent in my best Sunday bags. Hot, out of breath, 
 and somewhat like a criminal, I joined the others as they 
 were being marshalled for church, and of course they added 
 to my misery by inquiring if I had lodgings to let, and 
 whether I was airing the rooms, and sang softly such 
 
 ditties as — 
 
 " Giddy, giddy gout. 
 Your shirt's hanging out." 
 
 I was in disgrace that day, and felt truly miserable, and 
 resolved never, never again to go birds'-nesting on Sunday. 
 
 Somehow boys always choose Sunday to get into mischief. 
 When they intend to do anything especially wicked, Sunday 
 is always selected as an appropriate day. I first began to 
 smoke on Sunday. I was gleefully told that my face looked 
 very long and pallid, and bore a tallow candle hue. 1 
 know my feelings were too awful to describe. My stomach 
 seemed to have got into a wrong place altogether. I had 
 to retire with speed in the middle of the afternoon service. 
 Ah ! these days that are dead will never come back to me. 
 It is this fact, possibly, which makes their memory so 
 
io6 
 
 Haunts of my Youth, 
 
 especially delightful. "To the philosopher 'a day that is 
 dead ' has no value but for the lesson it affords ; to the rest 
 of mankind it is inestimably precious for the unaccountable 
 reason that it can never come again." I don't quite know 
 in which category to place myself — among the philosophers 
 or the rest of mankind. Some parts of my body had a very 
 uncomfortable and painful experience in the days of long 
 
 THE LDGG.^— B0DENHA5I BRIDGE. 
 
 ago ; so perhaps the flesh sets little value on these days 
 but. for the lesson they afford ; and as regards the spiritual 
 part of myself, .if it does recall the past with joy, I fancy 
 it must ,be through the illusion of distance. I am forcibly 
 reminded of this, when I see some wretched little boy on 
 the platform, awaiting the train which is to convey him 
 back to school, . surrounded by his mother and sisters. 
 
Haunts of my Youth. J07 
 
 I know too well that little boy's feelings. He tries to 
 assume a don't-care and nonchalant air, but it is a sorry 
 failure. There is a tremulous movement of the lips, a 
 watery look about the eye, a cleaving of a parched tongue 
 to the roof of the mouth, which betray his real feelings. 
 No ; don't prate to me about the good old days at school. 
 To the generality of men they are only so awfully precious 
 because they will never go to school again this side the grave. 
 
 But I am fond of recalling the hours spent in birds'- 
 nesting beside the Lugg. There is no delusion here. They 
 are among the most delightful of my life. I never fail to 
 live them over again when down here. What a triumph it 
 was to have found a kingfisher's nest, generally placed deep 
 down in some hole on the river bank ! It wanted some 
 finding. When we had an idea that a kingfisher had built 
 somewhere in the vicinity, we adopted a novel expedient to 
 find its nest. We applied our nose to every hole in the 
 locality, and when we obtained an overpowering whiff of 
 high fish, there was our kingfisher's nest to a certainty. 
 
 This to me is the one blot on the escutcheon of the king 
 of English birds : it is regardless of all cleanhness, and his 
 sanitary measures are of such a nature that it is a marvel 
 he does not fall a victim to a virulent attack of typhoid. 
 There was a legend amongst us boys that the British 
 Museum would give ^100 for a complete nest. How 
 often have I appropriated that little sum all to myself, and 
 settled to my own satisfaction how 1 would spend it ! 
 AVhat a jubilee the old lady at the shop would have had ! 
 'However, I never came across what the British Museum 
 was in need of. The idea that the nest is a delicately 
 woven structure of fishbones, and consequently a difficult 
 thing to dig up whole and undisturbed, is a countryside 
 myth. As a matter of fact, the poor kingfisher is absolutely 
 innocent of any attempt to form a nest, but simply utilises 
 
io8 
 
 Haunts of my Youth. 
 
 the bleached bones of its victims, which lie scattered about 
 its accustomed haunt. 
 
 Although so very careless of its domestic duties, and 
 unsanitary in his habits, the kingiisher cannot be called an 
 idler. Like the typical business Englishman, he is always 
 in a hurry — darting up and down the river with terrific speed, 
 
 
 •r.ifc 
 
 3€ 
 
 ^: 
 
 THE LUGG. — AMONG THE SHOBDEN WOODS. 
 
 as if every moment were worth its weight in gold, his regal 
 colours flashing like streaks of glory in the gleaming sunshine. 
 The water ouzel, on the other hand, seems always to 
 have plenty of time at its disposal, taking long spells of rest 
 on some projecting rock in mid-stream, and curtseying to 
 you as demurely as a schoolgirl. " Fine morning, young 
 
Haunts of my Youth. 109 
 
 man," he. seems to say. "I trust you are enjoying this 
 bright sunshine as much as I am. Take my advice, and 
 have a bath with me in this hmpid stream. Here goes ! " 
 and forthwith he takes a series of headers, returning now 
 and again to shake his feathers, and to drop more curtseys 
 with almost painful pohteness. 
 
 With his white choker and sombre habiliments, he 
 reminds me of a certain young country curate who, wishing 
 to ingratiate himself with his flock, made it a rule never to 
 pass anyone without some salutation and a few words, 
 generally in reference to the weather. Passing through the 
 fields one morning he espied a son of toil ploughing with 
 his team of horses. 
 
 " Good morning, young man ! " said the youthful cleric ; 
 but no answer was returned. 
 
 " Good morning, young man ! " again ventured the curate, 
 in a slightly louder voice. Still no attention was paid to 
 his greeting. 
 
 '• Fine mooorning, young maaan ! " at last roared the 
 curate, determined to have some answer. 
 
 Hodge stayed his steeds, and, slowly turning round, 
 exclaimed with an indignant air, in a natural, rhythmical 
 strain — "Foine morning, eh ! and did I ever say it wunner? 
 Do yer want to hargify aboot it ? 'cause I dunner ! " Utter 
 collapse of curate, who was never again the same man in 
 the art of politeness. 
 
 The water ouzel, or dipper as he is more often called, loves 
 only those streams which flow down through wild, mountain- 
 ous districts ; little cares he for those rivers which lazily 
 meander through midland meads, " which dream along toying 
 with their forget-me-nots, too idle even to make love to their 
 flowers vigorously," though the streams be bright and clear, 
 and the trout in them lusty and fat. I seem to understand 
 the ouzel in his love for those mountain streams which 
 
no Haunts of my Youth. 
 
 splash and dash over boulders a,nd stones, seeming to enjoy 
 their life so well as they sparkle and laugh in the sunshine. 
 These sequestered spots would be my haunt had fate decreed 
 that I should be a bird ; where the waters leap and play in 
 unbounded freedom, or swirl and eddy under some grim 
 precipice to gather strength and vigour for the rapids further 
 on, I could eke out a tolerably contented existence. An 
 eye for the beautiful in Nature has my young friend the 
 dipper, for he and his mate ever construct their nest in the 
 most picturesque spot they can find — beside some weir or 
 waterfall, where they can watch the foaming water, and 
 listen, to its eternal music from behind a screen of ferns 
 growing out of some crannied wall. 
 
 And the yellow water wagtails, too, are here, so graceful 
 and sylph-like in their motions ; now hovering in mid-air as 
 they espy some treasured morsel in insect form ; now running 
 with wonderful speed along the water's edge ; now standing 
 in mid-stream on some projecting stone, displaying their 
 rich colour, and expanding their wagging tails. The male 
 is essentially the peacock of the brook. In one of the 
 crannies of yonder bridge, a mother ijsed to sit, year after 
 year, in stately pomp in her snug little nest, such a contrast 
 to the kingfisher's fever-breedmg den, and the rough and 
 tumble edifice of the ouzel. She was not often disturbed 
 in her maternal duties under the arch of that old bridge, 
 where the water runs deep and fast, for boys feared the im- 
 petuous current and its hollow moaning as it swept under. 
 There she used to sit, safe from all intrusion, happy in the 
 tender solicitude of her faithful mate, and in the anticipation 
 of a young family growing up around her to cheer the soli- 
 tude of her streamlet home. 
 
 Follow the current down until the stream for awhile 
 ceases its impetuous progress, and gently Lives the moss- 
 grown banks of a quiet woodland glen. This spot is loved 
 
Haunts of my Youth. 1 1 1 
 
 of dabchick, coot, and moorhen. Most boys have robbed 
 the moorhen's clumsy nest, built on some decayed stubs at 
 the water's edge or out in the stream on some overhanging 
 bough, with scarce an attempt at concealment, but almost 
 inviting the passer-by to help himself. 
 
 The dabchick, or lesser grebe, has little of the moorhen's 
 confiding nature, for, on the contrary, there is a display of 
 much cunning. A rude nest of mud and weeds built on 
 the very surface of the water, held and supported by weeds 
 or boughs, without any effort at decorative taste, to the 
 untutored eye looks nothing more than a floating mass of 
 corruption. No conscious effort at concealment could de- 
 vise a better method than is pursued by the dabchick. 
 When occasion requires that the nest with its dirty white 
 eggs should be left, it is carefully covered up with mud, and 
 a few weeds are often added to further deceive human eyes. 
 The result certainly justifies the means. I can still remem- 
 ber my astonishment when a friend of mine, scraping off a 
 lot of black mud from what appeared to me some floating 
 corruption, revealed the unhatched progeny of a dabchick, 
 then as warm as when the mother had left them, perhaps 
 some hours back. 
 
 Almost immediately the young birds have broken through 
 the shell they bubble over into the water, commencing all 
 too early the struggle for existence. Why the mother trusts 
 her offspring thus early to the tender mercies of a cruel 
 world I am at a loss to conceive, for they fall the very 
 easiest prey to rats and pike ; and even trout will pull them 
 down, either to feast on them or merely for mere amusement. 
 Instinct is clearly at fault here, since the dabchick has not 
 learnt to be more fully equipped before the perils of the 
 deep are faced — the marvel being that any ever survive 
 their infantine precocity. 
 
 And here, in these quiet waters, the mad, bald coot keeps 
 
112 Haunts of my Youth. 
 
 watch and guard, and sounds the warning note of danger — 
 no "witless ass," dear Mr. Drayton, but sharp and wary 
 beyond conception, from having held from generation to 
 generation the post of sentinel on the silent waters. 
 
 Here, too, the water-rail has its headquarters, which from 
 time immemorial has studied the problem how " to make 
 itself as scarce as possible"; the best methods of "getting 
 out of the light, and lying low." It has now nearly reached 
 
 THE LUGG. — AYME.STRY WEIR. 
 
 perfection in the art of concealment. \\'ould that we all 
 had some definite purpose in view — even how to be retiring 
 and modest would be a worthy object for attainment in many. 
 Beyond the woodland glen where the stream flows 
 wreathed in smiles amid stones, pebbles and sand, the little 
 sand-piper flits about uttering his shrill piping notes. In the 
 sparse tufts of grass by the water's edge, like little oases in 
 the desert, he and his mate construct a neat and compact 
 
Haunts of ?tiy Youth. -113 
 
 nest, but so tiny as to seem quite out of proportion to the 
 bird, and especially her eggs. Dear little sandjack ! I envy 
 thee not thy sandy wastes, which the soft, cool shadows never 
 reach, where no trees invite one to shelter from the midday 
 heat, naught but the rippling water tempting one to linger 
 near thy arid home. Yet I sympathise with thee in thy pre- 
 ference for these desert wastes rather than the hedgerows 
 and gardens, where children are ever on the alert, full of 
 mischief and boisterous laughter ; where the dust of the 
 country roads is ever being swept in whirlwinds to await 
 some kindly shower to restore it to mother earth again. 
 
 I fondly thought I was alone in my meditations and that 
 no prying eyes were fixed upon me, but I was mistaken. 
 Half-a-dozen little warblers were peering out of some reeds 
 with their gimlet eyes, gazing disdainfully down upon me. 
 I know what they are saying — " Oh, you great, lazy brute, 
 get up, will you ? and leave us to ourselves." 
 
 So I sauntered off to pick up a trout or two in favourite 
 runs which I had whipped so often in the days gone by, and 
 then for a ramble across country to see the old school once 
 more, and to gaze on the cold stone steps where so many 
 of the past and present generations had sought to cool the 
 burning anguish of the cane. Mr. Jones, in his holiday 
 papers, relates how an uncle of his, under Dr. Valpy, at 
 Reading, used to say that half-a-dozen boys were to be seen 
 any morning outside the Doctor's study, sitting on a large 
 stone which had the credit of being exceptionally cold, in 
 order to go into the presence numb. I confess to being 
 ignorant of this dodge, since it was always after the operation 
 we used to bring ourselves into contact with the delicious 
 coolness of the stone steps — but since reading Mr. Jones's 
 book it has occurred to me that if the part were brought 
 into contact before and after, it would, indeed, be a blessed 
 mitigation of pain. 
 
f^ound about P^I^agader. 
 
 I. 
 
 It was the Mayor and Corporation of Birmingham who 
 were the means of directing my footsteps to Rhayader, in 
 Radnorshire, for a three weeks' holiday, although if ques- 
 tioned on the subject these civic dignitaries might deny the 
 soft impeachment and totally disclaim any knowledge of the 
 writer. 
 
 It came about in this way. On an overpoweringly warm 
 evening in June I and F. R. B. were smoking the fragrant 
 weed, and trying to feel cool and comfortable by babbling 
 of the rippling streams we had fished, and making plans for 
 future exploits on those we had not. 
 
 " Have you ever been to Rhayader, in ^Vales ? " said 
 F. R. B. as he meditatively drew a whiff from a choice 
 Havannah, and sent forth a dozen rings in quick suc- 
 cession towards the ceiling, " My geography doesn't run 
 to the county." 
 
 "Yes," I replied, "I know it well. It's in Radnorshire, 
 on the ^Vye, among some of the prettiest scenery in the 
 Principality. I went over there once when fishing the 
 Ithon, and made a note of it as a fishing resort, for the Wye, 
 Elan and Clearwen are likely looking trout streams, and 
 below Rhayader they unite, and the aspect of the "Wye is 
 changed from a mountain torrent into a respectable salmon 
 river." 
 
Round about Rhayader. 
 
 "5 
 
 "Well, my boy," ejaculated F. R. B., with a knowing nod 
 of the head, " if that's your intention you had better look 
 sharp and carry it out, for the Birmingham Corporation are 
 about to utilise the Elan and the Clearwen for their water 
 supply, and are commencing to make two or three huge 
 
 RHAYADER. — CWM ELAN BRIDGE AND FALLS. 
 
 lakes, and there is a rumour afloat that the waters of the 
 
 Wye are also to be stored up to supply ourlittle village." 
 
 " A monstrous sacrilege, and ought not to be allowed!" 
 
 I exclaimed. " There ought to be an antivandalism society 
 
 to protect these fairy vales." 
 
 8* 
 
ii6 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 "Yes, but as there isn't, let us spend a week or two of our 
 holiday down there," 
 
 " Happy thought ! so we will, and you shall photograph 
 every spot about to be submerged ; and in years to come 
 we will take our grandchildren down there, and row them 
 about on the lakes, and produce photos of the country 
 before the flood. They will look upon us as Shem and 
 Japhet, and will cross-question us as to the whereabouts of 
 Ham." 
 
 "It was Brummagen did it," said F. R. B., as, one 
 Monday morning, we settled ourselves comfortably in the 
 morning train for Shrewsbury. Smaller things than water- 
 works change the current of our lives, and make them flow 
 in very different channels to what we had mapped out for 
 them. However, Rhayader had no effect on mine as far as 
 I know, nor directly on any of the rest of our party (for 
 F. R. B. always tak^s his family, to keep house and supply 
 his wants. He says, not without truth, that half the 
 pleasure of a holiday is being well looked after). But, 
 alas ! it did cut short one little life that crept into our 
 compartment, and curled itself up in sleep, quite oblivious 
 of the fate it was hastening along to meet at the rate of 
 fifty miles an hour. As Cowper says : 
 
 " The man recovered of his bite ; 
 It was the dog that died." 
 
 After we had shaken ourselves down in a pretty house on 
 the outskirts of the village, we made inquiries after a local 
 fisherman to guide our footsteps, experience having taught 
 us that " an old hand " for advice and guidance is half the 
 battle. 
 
 "Indeed, they are all fishermen in Rhayader," was a 
 pretty general answer. " There's many here as gets their 
 living by catching trooties," said another. " Eh, sure ; but 
 
Round about Rhayader. 117 
 
 they net the trout and spear the sahnon, and it's a poor hand 
 you gents from Lonnon will make of it," said another. 
 
 At last, when they had almost crushed all hope of sport 
 out of us, we meekly supplicated them to inform us who 
 out of this galaxy of fishermen was most likely to be of 
 use to us. 
 
 "Ah ! Evans Evans is the best indeed. He will just fill 
 his basket with troots while the others are putting their 
 rods together." 
 
 After such a recommendation we went off and inter- 
 viewed Evans Evans, who was a shoemaker by trade, a 
 nice, civil young fellow, who gave us a far more cheerful 
 description of the fishing, and by way of encouragement 
 told us he had brought home 141b. of trout the week before 
 out of the Wye. F. R. B. caught on at this. He was 
 eager to emulate the prowess of Evans Evans, so we 
 arranged to fish the Upper Wye, commencing at the 
 fifth milestone on the Aberystwith road. 
 
 Most people have seen or read of the Wye and its 
 charming scenery between Hereford, Ross, and Tintern, 
 but few are acquainted with it as it flows down from its 
 source a wonderfully clear mountain streamlet, wending its 
 way amid bare bleak hills, now rushing round massive 
 boulders and rocks which it has dislodged in its wrath and 
 still seems to quarrel with ; now amid tangled brakes over a 
 rocky bed until it rests awhile in some deep shady pool 
 beloved of salmon, to gather strength for the rapids down 
 below. One of the most picturesque spots we passed on 
 the Aberystwith road was where a little stream, called the 
 Martog, runs down from the hills and joins the Wye in a 
 deep valley. 
 
 When we commenced operations the water was as clear 
 as crystal and very low, with a hot sun shining full upon it. 
 I thought, under these circumstances, it was not a bad 
 
ii8 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 performance to pick up seven or eight fish ; but Evans 
 Evans knocked the conceit out of me altogether. He 
 averaged three to my one, and F. R. B. was just as much 
 out of the running. A shortish line and a dry fly (an alder) 
 seemed to be his modus operandi. Imitation is the sincerest 
 
 THE WYE ABOVE RHAYADER. — CONFLUENCE OF THE MARTOG AND 
 THE WYE. 
 
 form of flattery ; and since we had nothing but admiration 
 for Evans Evans's skill, we adopted similar tactics. But 
 Evans Evans walked round us anyhow, while F. R. B. 
 glared darkly, blistered his hands, and muttered to himself 
 something about " tailors '' and " duffers," presumably 
 
Round about Rhayader. iig 
 
 alluding to his own inability to emulate Evans Evans with 
 the dry fly, and concluded by slipping upon a rock and 
 sitting down in three feet of water. It was an edifying 
 spectacle to see him very meekly emptying the water out 
 of his waders, and pondering over the moral lessons which 
 piscatorial pursuits bring so forcibly home. 
 
 In the true angling writer's style, I was about to add that 
 our first experience on the infant Wye was not an unhappy 
 one — but stay ! I will be honest, and say candidly that it 
 was not all beer and skittles and unchequered bliss. Wasps 
 to the right of us, wasps to the left of us, and horseflies all 
 round us, stung and worried us to desperation. I don't 
 think either of us could have got up a laugh even to save 
 our lives ; and as to humour — well, Sidney Smith or Swift 
 would have failed to make us appreciate their best joke or 
 repartee. As F. R. B. very logically pointed out, one is 
 practically helpless to resist the attacks of these venomous 
 insects with a fishing-rod in one hand and a landing-net in 
 the other. The latter must be sacrificed if you want to 
 give yourself a chance. A horsefly has two points of 
 attack — the back of your hand and your neck. The 
 cowardly villain ! It doesn't matter which hand he attacks 
 when one holds the fishing-rod and the other the landing- 
 net, he knows he's quite safe. Well, sacrifice your landing- 
 net, and see if he doesn't come and nip your unoccupied 
 hand, because he knows you can't hit him on the head with 
 the other. A wasp flies round and round your head with 
 angry imprecations, and, having frightened the life out of 
 you, flies away chuckling, or else alights on your neck and 
 drops down your back. Oh ! my dear young reader, may 
 you live long and grow old without such an awful fatality 
 overtaking you. Should it happen, I promise you one 
 thing — it will live long in your memory — as long as you 
 have a conscious existence in this world and the next you 
 
I20 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 will remember the celerity with which you whipped off your 
 clothes to relieve yourself of that thorn in the flesh. Neither 
 F. R. B. or myself are given to the using of unparliamentary 
 expressions ; but, on this occasion, driven to desperation, 
 we found it consoling and refreshing, and a relief to our 
 
 
 ^M^ -. 
 
 "^ 
 
 RHAYADER, — THE UPPER WYE INFESTED WITH HORSEFLIES 
 AND WASPS. 
 
 nervous system, to let our tormentors know what we thought 
 of them. 
 
 Worn out with their constant attacks, I sat down on the 
 bank and smoked, placidly watching F. R. B. and Evans 
 ' Evans. It was an amusing sight. Their arms were being 
 
Round about Rhayader. 121 
 
 waved frantically about in mid air, their casting was 
 jerky and spasmodic. When they threw over a rising fish 
 a horsefly would viciously remind them of his presence 
 and make them jump and strike and yowl all at the same 
 time. At times I could only catch an indistinct glimpse of 
 F. R. B.'s burly form through a halo of tobacco smoke and 
 a swarm of insects which relentlessly followed him. His 
 patience was at last rewarded. I saw him strike and hook 
 a good trout ; with the greatest care he played it into the 
 shallow water by the bank, stepped out on terra firma to 
 pick up his landing-net, which in a moment of agony he 
 had fiung there, and was just in the act of getting the net 
 under when he dropped the whole bag of tricks and ran 
 away like a lamplighter. 
 
 I quite remember that the thought which flashed across 
 my mind was the whereabouts of the best private lunatic 
 asylum. Why the thought came to me I cannot tell, 
 unless it was due to an amusing incident which once 
 happened when playing cricket against an eleven of a 
 private asylum — and a very good eleven, too, they could 
 put in the field. Two of our men were batting, one of 
 whom made a rare good hit to long leg. The ball was well 
 fielded, but to our astonishment the fieldsman instead of 
 returning the ball calmly put it into his breeches' pocket 
 and decamped in an opposite direction at a hundred yards' 
 pace. The keepers who were always on the look-out for the 
 appearance of these moments of mental aberration on the 
 part of their wards, at once gave chase, which after, an 
 exciting hue and cry, resulted in the capture of the erratic 
 fieldsman. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the batsmen had been making hay 
 while the sun shone, and I hesitate to say how many runs 
 they scored. I know that a very moot point had to be 
 decided. Was it lost ball ? and yet how could it be lost 
 
122 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 ball when all the time the ball was in the fieldsman's 
 breeches',, pocket ? However, we generously conceded the 
 point and scored only a boundary hit. 
 
 F. R. B.'s stampede was owing to his inadvertently 
 stepping on a wasps' nest. In agraphia account afterwards, 
 he said they swarmed round him in such clouds as to 
 obscure the light of the sun, causing him for the moment to 
 suppose that an eclipse had taken place, but the illusion 
 was but transitory and very unpleasantly dispelled. 
 
 As we drove home Evans Evans pointed out to us the pro- 
 posed site of the lakes where the waters of the Wye were to be 
 stored up to supply London. I doubted very much whether 
 the contemplated plan would ever take effect, although the 
 Birmingham plan was an accomplished fact, for it seemed 
 improbable that the enormous demand would be equal to 
 the supply of this little mountain stream, which, in hot, 
 dry weather, runs very low. The quality of the water is 
 excellent, far better, I should say, than what the Elan and 
 the Clearwen will supply Birmingham with. But judging- 
 from the result of the report of the Royal Commission,' 
 London will seek for water nearer home. 
 
 "Out of the water into the frying-pan," and to accomplish 
 this as speedily as possible Mrs. B. is ever on the qui vive 
 to relieve us of our spoil. Bitter was our disappointment 
 to find that the trout were not worth eating, woolly and 
 tasteless to a degree. We afterwards found the reason 
 to be the long, dry summer, and insufficiency of food. An 
 old keeper assured us that there was not a firm fish in the 
 river, a fact we had no reason to doubt long before our 
 holiday terminated. The driest sherry was ineffectual in 
 making them at all palatable. 
 
Round about Rhayader. 123 
 
 II. 
 
 Punctually at 9.30 a.m. the pony trap was at the door in 
 readiness to convey us as far as Caban, to fish the Elan. 
 Gipsy, the pony, is not exactly a stepper, but she gets along 
 at a comfortable pace, especially when I am driving. F. R. B. 
 thinks she goes best when he handles the ribbons, a 
 delusion entirely of his own fertile imagination. When he 
 is driving I always remark to him, " Gipsy seems tired to- 
 day," or, ''we are getting over the ground at a very slow 
 pace — can't you get her to go a bit faster — here, let me have 
 the reins,'' etc., etc.; but such remarks seem only to confirm 
 him, in his opinion, that he never saw Gipsy go at such a 
 terrific pace in his life. So I generally await the arrival of 
 the trap, jump in as it draws up at the door, and appropriate 
 the reins. F. R. B. is not to be found, luckily, at this critical 
 moment. He is generally engaged in a game of hide and 
 seek after some article he has mislaid, and after he and Mrs. 
 B. and the maids have searched the house high and low for 
 twenty minutes, he suddenly discovers that he has been 
 carrying it about in his pocket. He treats this aberration of 
 mind quite calmly and coolly — neither surprise nor sorrow 
 is depicted on his countenance. He simply gives the article 
 a glance of scorn and indignation, presumably for having 
 the cheek to be in his pocket, gets into the trap and says, 
 "All right, drive on." 
 
 The road from Rhayader to Nantgwilt runs beside the 
 Elan. Caban, about four miles up stream was the point we 
 made for — a wild, bleak, mountain gorge, where the stream 
 rushes precipitately down over boulders and stones. In a 
 jiarrow defile the dam for the largest of the contemplated 
 lakes had been marked out, and the track for the railway to 
 be brought up here from Rhayader was traced out with posts. 
 
124 
 
 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 The inhabitants of the few scattered cabins wore a 
 dejected and melancholy air owing to the near approach of 
 the flood which was to hide the homes of their childhood 
 from mortal ken. 
 
 A decrepit old native undertook to house Gipsy in a par- 
 ticularly high smelling outhouse, which I don't think had 
 
 RHAYADER. — THE ELAN AT CABAN. 
 
 been cleaned out for the last century. I was sorry for Gipsy, 
 but a better lodging could not be procured. Feeling amiably 
 disposed, we began to condole with the poor old native at 
 the approaching termination of his tenancy. We broached 
 the subject sympathisingly, and spoke of it in a subdued 
 
Round about Rhayader. 125 
 
 and feeling voice. I went so far as to wipe away a tear, but 
 it was only caused by a fly, bent on suicide, getting into my 
 eye, yet it had such an effect on the old man that he burst 
 into a paroxysm of grief, and would not be comforted. Be- 
 fore it had finished, F. R. B. took me by the arm and led 
 me off down to the river, censuring me for wiping away a tear. 
 
 I said, " My dear boy, it was a fly. " 
 
 "A fly or not," he returned, "your expression was enough 
 to make a sphinx shed tears." 
 
 This is not the first time I have got into a trouble over a 
 fly. I ran over a dog once, when driving, because a fly 
 dropped into my eye, and stung like a wasp. I had to pay 
 the Vet.'s bill. Another time I ran into an Italian vendor 
 of marble statuettes from the same cause, and had a long 
 account to settle. I fancy there must be something par- 
 ticularly attractive about my eyes, for if there is a fly in the 
 neighbourhood, it always makes for one or the other. I 
 should not like to say how many suicides have taken place 
 in them, but it can't be far short of a million. I have men- 
 tioned the matter to several oculists, but they have offered 
 no intelligent solution of the mystery. Consequently I have 
 got into the unhappy knack of exclaiming, " Oh, my eye ! " 
 if anything astonishes me, which my friends consider vulgar. 
 They, say, " Great Scott," or " By Jupiter," is more fashion- 
 able afid up to date. 
 
 The Elan and the Clear wen unite just above Caban, at 
 Nantgwilt. The trout fishing up to Caban has hitherto 
 been free, the upper water only being reserved. Of course 
 the salmon fishing is entirely in private hands, and some 
 very good fish are taken in the water. About a mile out of 
 Rhayader there is a noted spawning bed, and at the right 
 season scores of salmon may be seen passing over it. If it 
 were not for the depredations of the Rebeccaites, salmon 
 would be far more numerous than they are. 
 
126 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 The unchecked depredations of these Rebeccaites are a 
 disgrace to our civilisation. They are a gang of desperate 
 poachers, whose leader dons the garb of a respectable old 
 lady of the Mother Hubbard type, and his followers 
 assume a more juvenile feminine garb and pose as her 
 daughters. Doubtless the feminine garb was assumed as a 
 means of putting the watchers and bailiffs off the scent — ■ 
 at any rate, I understand that under the shelter of petticoats 
 they enjoy a tolerable amount of success. That they should 
 disguise their manhood when mercilessly traversing all the 
 laws of common humanity shows that possibly there may 
 be a flickering spark of shame in Taffy's bosom ; but that 
 they should cover their nefarious practices with petticoats is 
 rough luck on the gentle sex. 
 
 The pseudo old lady and her evil brood prowl about at 
 night with torches and lanterns, and mercilessly spear the 
 poor salmon on their spawning beds. They are aided and 
 abetted by their psalm-singing brethren, who purchase the 
 unwholesome food. If there was no demand there would 
 be no supply, and this brutal slaughter would soon cease. 
 But there is a ready sale for the fish, among the lower class, 
 at 2d. per pound, to their shame. One could understand 
 the people claiming the river to be open and free for all to 
 fish; but to spear the salmon when propagating their species 
 is a monstrous iniquity, and ought to be put down at all 
 cost. However, the authorities appear to be helpless, and 
 one determined man is still needed to bring down the 
 strong arm of the law with the utmost severity upon this 
 brutal gang. 
 
 The free fishing at Caban is not good, although occasion- 
 ally some nice fish are taken by the local men who know 
 the water. It was on the preserved portion above that we 
 looked for sport, and for this we were awaiting the necessary 
 permission. 
 
Round about Rhayader. 127 
 
 Hbwever, the free water yielded us enough for dinner, 
 and we unearthed Gipsy from her unsavoury den and drove 
 home, not quite settled in our minds whether to be angry 
 with Birmingham for transforming this lovely valley, or to be 
 pleased at the prospect of a grand lake and bonny trout. 
 Another Vrynwy would soon be here and an hotel full of 
 ardent anglers. Sic transit gloria mundi ! 
 
 F. R. B. has been gifted with a faculty for picking out 
 the chief features of a place at a mere glance. Driving 
 back through Rhayader, I heard him mumbling something 
 about " pubs " and " chapels." I ventured to inquire his 
 thoughts. He said : " Why, look ! every other shanty is a 
 pub or a chapel." He was not far out, for Rhayader, with 
 only 800 inhabitants, can boast of eighteen public-houses 
 and beershops and two grocers holding licences, along with 
 five chapels. According to a modern historian, Queen 
 Elizabeth was nuts on pubs, and therefore I opine that she 
 would have been rayder gone on this place ; and Oliver 
 Cromwell, who had a sneaking fancy for whitewash and 
 chapels, might have lived and died here a happy and 
 contented man. However, both Bess and Oliver seemed 
 to have overlooked this plum in their Welsh domain, for I 
 can find no authentic record of any visit, which is strange. 
 In England there are few pubs of any antiquity or 
 respectability where good Queen Bess did not drop in at, 
 or churches or chapels which Oliver did not exercise his 
 artistic taste upon with a coat of whitewash. 
 
 On the following day we were the holders of a permit to 
 fish the preserved portions of the Clearwen and the Elan. 
 But it was an impossible day for fishing, for there was a 
 blazing san, and the water low and fine. A\'e decided on 
 a picnic and the exploration of the Clearwen, above 
 Nantgwilt. So we started with the whole household in our 
 charge. At Nantgwilt Manor-house the road abruptly ends. 
 
128 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 and there is nothing but a rough cart track, full of ruts and 
 holes along by the riverside. The little Clearwen flows down 
 a fairy vale, clothed at the water's edge with lovely foliage, 
 while up above tower lofty hills, clothed with stag's-horn 
 moss and the whinberry plant. At the lower end of the 
 vale stands Nantgwilt House, an old-fashioned stone 
 structure, in a beautiful situation. It makes one's heart 
 ache to think that the old place will soon be razed to 
 the ground, together with the tiny barn-like church, a 
 hundred and fifty yards away, all moss-grown with age. 
 
 There was no riding over the rough cart track which led 
 up to Dol Mynach, the jolting was terrible and threatened 
 destruction to the springs. So we alighted and led Gipsy 
 carefully along. A tumbril with a couple of horses coming 
 in an opposite direction sent up a wail of terror from 
 Mrs. B. and the maids. How should we pass ? Below ran 
 the river, above was a steep wooded declivity. Even 
 F. R. B., usually so stolid, blinked his eyes and looked 
 puzzled. The man in charge of the tumbril shouted 
 wildly and pointed back. 
 
 "The monster is ordering us back," excitedly exclaimed 
 Mrs. B. 
 
 "Oh, lorks ! mum, let's go back," cried the maids, "or 
 else we shall all be tilted over into the river," and they 
 picked up their dresses preparatory to flight. 
 
 He was only pointing us to a slight excavation in the 
 bank into which we backed Gipsy, and the tumbril just 
 squeezed past. Mrs. B. and party perched themselves on 
 the bank and watched the process with clasped hands and 
 bated breath. I have asked F. R. B. several times why the 
 dickens he did not photograph this scene. It would have 
 been worth having. He says Mrs. B. would not have liked 
 it. I suppose family men understand this. Further on we 
 had to leave the cart track and take to an even fainter track. 
 
Round about Rhayader. 129 
 
 which led up to the old farmhouse of Del Mynach, where 
 Gipsy was placed in a loose box and well looked after. 
 
 Nothing can be wilder than the scenery as the Clearwen 
 is followed up to its source, now and again tumbling among 
 rugged rocks, over a steep cascade, into some deep silent 
 pool, where lurks many a fine trout ; a whitewashed home- 
 stead, at rare intervals, alone reminding one of human life. 
 A happy day we spent roaming about in Nature's solitude, 
 far from the busy hum of men. 
 
 There was one little bit of excitement this day among 
 the hills. It was a funeral. There are not often furierals 
 up here — they can't get people to die : but when there 
 happens to be one, the day is observed as a general holi- 
 day. 
 
 A long serpentine form was seen wending its way along 
 the hill side. I suggested some antediluvian monster or 
 something in the sea-serpent line. The faces of the females 
 began to pale. They huddled together for protection, and 
 looked round to find some means of escape. There was 
 none, save an almost inaccessible cliff and the river, so they 
 elected very wisely to stay where they were. A superstitious 
 shudder ran through them when a coffin hove in sight, 
 carried by six men, followed by an array of horsemen, 
 ramshackle gigs, and a crowd of men and boys two and two. 
 They were carrying the corpse all the way to Rhayader. 
 The road is so rough that they consider this better than 
 trusting it to a conveyance. Once there was a catastrophe, 
 and the corpse was deposited in the road. The pigs in the 
 vicinity were all visited with swine fever, so now the coffin 
 is carried these six miles by relays of men. As we drove 
 back through Rhayader, the funeral party were refreshing 
 themselves at the pubs, or, as F. R. B. suggested, holding 
 an Irish wake on Welsh lines. 
 
 Some rain fell in the night, so early next day we sought 
 
 9 
 
13° Round about Rhayader. 
 
 out Evans Evans, inveigled him into our trap, and set off 
 to fish the water we had explored the day previously. 
 
 We alighted just above Nantgwilt, and sent Evans Evans 
 on with the trap to Dol Mynach, with instructions to fish 
 up above Dol Mynach, and leave the lower water to us. 
 
 We caught a few nice trout, but the river is by no means 
 easy to fish just here. One moment you are in water just 
 over your ankles, and the next step lands ybu over your 
 waders ; and the innumerable slippery rocks and stones are 
 conducive to your showing your heels and sprawling at full 
 length in the stream. This sort of thing is not calculated 
 to improve one's temper, but F. R. B. came to the rescue 
 with an amusing conversation with a native. A local 
 fisherman met us, and F. R. B. never allows anyone to 
 pass without engaging him in ten minutes' confab. 
 
 This was possibly the only chance he would have all day, 
 and the most must be made of it. So he stood in mid- 
 stream, and yelled to the man on the bank : " Had good 
 sp-o-o-o-o-rt ? " 
 
 Yokel : " Eh-h-h-h ? " 
 
 F. R. B. : " Caught any fis-s-s-s-sh ? " 
 
 Yokel : " What do yer sa-a-a-a-ay ? " 
 
 F. R. B. : " Have — you — caught — any — fis-s-s-s-sh ? " 
 
 Yokel : " Wha-a-a-a-a-at ? " 
 
 F. R. B. (to himself) : " Hang the fool ! " (To yokel) : 
 " Have — you — caught — any — trou-ou-ou-out ? " 
 
 Yokel : " Wha-a-a-a-at sa-a-a-a-ay ? " 
 
 F. R. B. (to himself) : " Confounded luny ] " 
 
 But my friend did not mean to be done out of his confab 
 in this way. So he got out of the water, and cross-questioned 
 the man quietly on the bank as to Avhat he had caught, what 
 fly he was using, where the best fish lay, how it was the fish 
 were not rising, if it rained in the night would the fish go 
 better on the morrow, and if there should be sufBcient rain 
 
Round about Rhayader. 131 
 
 to colour the water would an arlificial minnow be more 
 killing than a running worm, or would a live minnow be 
 better than either, or would he recommend the fly as 
 superior to both— if not, what kind of artificial minnow 
 would he recommend, and what sort of Uve minnow were 
 the fish partial to, where could he (F. R. B.) obtain a 
 supply, would he (the yokel) supply a few if they were 
 required, and, if so, at what charge ; if not, would he (the 
 yokel) stand on his head in mid-stream, and whistle " God 
 Save the Queen " to the tune the old cow died of, at so 
 much an hour, and be photographed, and then — but the 
 yokel had passed on out of hearing before the last request 
 was made, utterly flabbergasted at the amount of questions 
 requiring an answer. 
 
 At luncheon time Evans Evans joined us at Dol Mynach. 
 He had; as usual, improved the shining hour by catching a 
 nice lot of trout, one being a good fish, over i^lb. The 
 native had again beaten the gentiles, and as we had the best 
 water we looked and felt small. In common with the rest 
 of my compatriots, I hate being beaten. The thought 
 rankled in my bosom, it robbed the luncheon hour of all 
 pleasure and the midday pipe of its soothing sweetness. 
 We owned, with as good grace as possible, that with the fly 
 Evans Evans •^■a.% facile princeps. With a minnow or running 
 worm we felt assured he would have taken a back seat, the 
 more so as he refused to try conclusions with either, 
 declining to come out when these were the order of the 
 
 day. 
 
 Farewell, Clearwen, thou sweet mountain torrent ! 
 " No more by thee my steps shall be 
 For ever and for ever." 
 
 Yet I look forward, at some future date, to float on the 
 bosom of thy gathered waters, with the permission of the 
 Birmingham Corporation. How awfully prosaic these last 
 
132 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 words sound ! But the world becomes more and more so 
 every day we live, and romance is like unto some wounded 
 knight that lies a-dying. 
 
 III. 
 
 Another great feature of Rhayader is its dogs. I have 
 never come across any village before, or since, that could 
 boast of so many curs of high and low degree. They romped 
 about in packs, or lay in the middle of the roads dozing in 
 the sun, utterly oblivious of vehicular traffic. They never 
 thought of moving on the approach of a trap — no such idea 
 ever occurred to them. You might run over them if you 
 wished, but they seemed to have an instinctive knowledge 
 that you would do nothing of the sort, rendered doubly 
 strong from the immunity they had hitherto enjoyed. There 
 was a dare-devil look in their eyes, which seemed to express 
 their feelings : " Drive over us by all means, if you wish, but 
 it will be your look-out, not ours," and no one ever did drive 
 over them. The inhabitants treated them very much as the 
 old Egyptians did the crocodile, or the Hindoos their cows, 
 as objects of veneration. They made long circuits round 
 them, and would drive along the footpath and run over 
 their fellow-creatures without turning a hair, rather than 
 disturb the sleeping dogs. If they came to some narrow 
 defile, thickly strewn with these animals, where it was im- 
 possible to pass without running over them, they would 
 alight from their traps, and plump down on their knees, and 
 stroke and coax them, and implore them with all sorts of 
 endearing words and actions to remove their lazy carcasses 
 just for one moment. Sometimes the dogs were in an 
 accommodating mood, and after many stretchi igs and 
 yawnings would slowly remove themselves with a self-satisfied 
 air, as if they were making some unheard of concession at a 
 
Round about Rhayader, 133 
 
 great cost and sacrifice to themselves. At other times they 
 would absolutely refuse to budge an inch, and then I have 
 seen those Rhayader folk very sorrowfully climb up into 
 their trap again, turn the horse round, drive down some lane 
 and make a circuit of a mile or so round to reach a point 
 just below these brutes. And what surprised me more than 
 anything was that these people were not angry, and did not 
 give way to bad language as ordinary mortals would have 
 done. Oh, no ! they took it all as a matter of course, though 
 scarcely concealing their sorrow that their prayers and en- 
 treaties had been unavailing. 
 
 F. R. B., who had been trained up in a different school, 
 said he knew there would be murder before he left 
 Rhayader. I tried daily to stem the tide of his blood- 
 thirsty intentions, and repeated the old adage, "When at 
 Rome do as the Romans do.'' 
 
 " All very fine,'' he replied, " but I am a free-born 
 Englishman, and I am not going to dodge about all over 
 the country to avoid running over a dog. Did you ever see 
 a London cabby stick at such a trifle ? No — he goes 
 straight a-head, bumpsy, bumpsy, bumpsy, right over them, 
 and imagines they are stones, and abuses the London 
 County Council for not attending properly to the streets." 
 
 However, I think he did see the force of my remarks 
 about the Romans, for nothing very terrible happened. One 
 day, when he was especially reckless, he drove the wheel of 
 the trap over the toe of an unusually low looking-mongrel. 
 A mere trifle, you would think, but it was quite sufficient to 
 set the village by the ears. I have a vivid recollection 
 of the fearful screams that dog uttered, and how all the others 
 rushed to see what was the matter, and joined in with the 
 most piteous howls, and then showed their teeth and grinned 
 horribly at F. R. B. and myself. I feel certain that if we 
 had not have been at a safe distance nothing would have 
 
134 
 
 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 remained of us save our boots. Crowds of people swarmed 
 round us with muttered threats, and the owners of the 
 injured dog took him up in their arms and ran off to the 
 dispensary as if the creature had been a baby. F. R. B. 
 lost caste after this — he was looked upon with suspicion, 
 and people avoided him if they saw him coming their way. 
 
 ROCKS AT PONT-HYLL-FAEN. — SOURCE OF THE ELAN. 
 
 Running over a dog in Rhayader brings about the same 
 result as when a Hindoo inadvertantly eats a bit of potted 
 cow. 
 
 AVhat was considered by the country folk in the light of 
 a judgment fell on F. R. B. It happened in this way. 
 
Round about Rhayader. 
 
 135 
 
 F. R. B. was the proud possessor of a well-bred fox-terrier, 
 named Tip, before mentioned. Tip always followed her 
 master about in the same way as the historical lamb 
 followed Mary. A curious dog was Tip, and unlike other 
 fox-terriers. She adored her master and mistress and 
 cordially hated every other specimen of humanity. If you 
 patted her, she growled ; if you called her, she looked at 
 
 RHAYADER.— ROAD, RAIL, AND RIVER ON THE WAY TO BUILTH. 
 
 you out of the corner of her eyes, and made off in an 
 opposite direction. Her favourite pastime, when a visitor 
 arrived, was to sneak up behind and nip his or her leg, not 
 viciously, but more as a reminder that she objected to their 
 presence. Latterly she had imbibed a wholesome dread of 
 me, for I would kick out behind just as she was preparing 
 to grab my leg, and it dawned upon her by degrees that 
 
136 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 that game, so far as I was concerned, was played out. I 
 tried in various ways to overcome her objections to me. 
 I have sat for hours whining hke a dog, thinking that 
 tijat might please her — then I tried me-owing, and assumed 
 the character of a cat. By the look she gave out of the 
 corner of her eyes — a look of supreme scorn and contempt 
 — I judged she thought I was- making a fool of myself to no 
 purpose, so I gave it up. 
 
 Well, F. R. B., his wife and daughter, accompanied by 
 Tip, went for a walk along the river bank, and came to a 
 farm, where sheep-shearing was in progress. Naturally of 
 an inquisitive and curious turn of mind, F. R. B. asked 
 permission of the farmer to view the proceedings. Leave 
 was cordially granted, but as there was the usual swarm of 
 sheep-dogs about the yard, F. R. B. hesitated to take Tip 
 until he was assured that they the sheep-dogs) would take 
 no notice of her. No sooner, however, had they got inside 
 the gate than a sort of half-bred bull-terrier sprang out of 
 an outbuilding, pounced upon poor Tip's back, rolled her 
 over and over and pinned her to the ground. Mrs. B. 
 placed her hands over her eyes and screamed. Most ladies 
 adopt this method when a startling and unlooked-for crisis 
 arrives. 
 
 I recall vividly what befell my grandmother and aunt 
 when they went to pay a visit at a neighbouring country 
 house. My aunt was accompanied by a deerhound which 
 she led upon a chain. As they were going up the drive a 
 fox-terrier accosted them, and at once commenced to make 
 rings round my aunt and the deerhound, barking and 
 snapping viciously at the deerhound's legs and tail. The 
 deerhound yelled ferociously, and tried to go for that terrier, 
 but the chain restrained him. In his struggles he coiled the 
 chain round and round my aunt until she seemed like a 
 bundle of faggots. The noise brought out the lady of the 
 
Round about Shayader. 137 
 
 house, who advanced against her terrier with a dog whip and 
 chevied him round and round my aunt and the deerhound, 
 lashing out in good style. But most of the blows fell 
 upon my unfortunate aunt's legs, and she afterwards con- 
 fessed that she never received such a trouncing in her life 
 before. At this moment the chain which secured the 
 deerhound broke, and the impetus at once sent my aunt on 
 her back with her legs in the air, and released her dog. 
 Then those two animals set to work and fought like demons 
 over my aunt's prostrate form, the lady of the house still 
 continuing her flogging operations, the lash more often coiling 
 round my poor prostrate aunt than round the bodies of the 
 combatants. 
 
 My grandmother, who was of a highly nervous disposition, 
 wrung her hands in speechless agony, and finally plumped 
 herself down on the doorstep, moaning and groaning in a 
 helpless manner, at intervals calling out "George" at the 
 top of her voice, like the firing off of minute guns. No 
 one responded to her call, but no doubt the invoking of a 
 masculine name was consoling in the highest degree. 
 
 When the fray was over they all retired into the drawing- 
 room ; but conversation was quite out of the question, since 
 they were all panting for breath and speechless, so tea was 
 drunk in silence, and then my grandmother and aunt, with 
 pale, wan faces, crept homeward in the evening twilight. 
 
 F. R. B. went for that dog with his stick. He whacked 
 him on every part of the body until he (F. R. B.) was blood- 
 red in the face, with the only result that the dog held on so 
 much the tighter. Then he adjured the farmer in stentorian 
 tones to "call off that brute." 
 
 " Call your'n," was the response. 
 
 Then F. E. B. set to work and belaboured that dog again 
 with frenzied zeal. 
 
 " Whose dog are you a-hittin' ?" yelled the farmer wrath- 
 
138 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 fully — "hit your own," as F. R. B., with one well-directed 
 blow, knocked the beast head over heels. 
 
 Tip, thus released, took the opportunity of pinning her 
 shameless aggressor by the throat, and made him holloa 
 pins and needles. However, poor old Tip had received 
 her coup de grace. A week afterwards she succumbed to 
 blood poisoning in spite of every attention. Many a tear 
 bedewed the sod beneath a laurel bush where Tip was laid 
 to rest, and folk still say in Rhayader that this fatality was 
 a judgment on F. R. B. for running over the lurcher dog. 
 
 The rain had come at last, and the streams were coming 
 down very stained, so we decided to try a running worm in 
 the upper part of the Elan above Caban. Just before the 
 junction of the Elan and the Clearwen, you turn off the 
 Nantgwilt road up a rough track which leads to Cwm Elan 
 House, and no further. The roads in this district have a 
 happy knack of suddenly coming to a full. stop. In this case 
 we had no alternative but to go boldly up to the house and 
 ask leave to put our pony up. A more charming or 
 romantic spot it is difficult to conceive than that occupied 
 by Cwm Elan House. It is situated on the wooded slope 
 of a natural amphitheatre. I hardly know how to describe 
 it. Take a large basin, fix a toy house on a gentle declivity 
 just above the bottom of the basin, imagine trees in the 
 background, a trout stream wending its way through the 
 foreground, and a ridge of rocks exactly like the side of the 
 basin over against, and you have a bird's-eye view of the 
 situation of Cwm Elan House. 
 
 No wonder, indeed, the engineers fixed on this spot as a 
 site of one of the lakes. And a glorious lake it will be ! 
 It is a spot where poets might compose some masterpiece, 
 and where the least gifted would find inspiration. 
 
 Having put up Gipsy in some very tumble-down stables, 
 we adjourned to the river, which was pouring down in a 
 
Round about Rhayader. [39 
 
 regular flood, and made wading out of the question, except 
 in the shallows, but the fish went eagerly at the worm. 
 
 I got into conversation with an old rustic whose face 
 resembled a shrivelled-up apple. There were deep furrows 
 in it, well filled with loam, where a respectable crop of pota- 
 toes might have been grown without any difficulty. Both 
 men and women in Wales, but especially the latter, are 
 remarkable after a certain age for their shrivelled-up appear- 
 ance. Girls lose their good looks after twenty years of age, 
 and are quite weird at thirty. This old chap seemed to be 
 an authority on fishing — possibly he was a decayed Rebecca- 
 ite. In his youth he said there were some fine trouts in the 
 stream, and pounders were common. He was essentially a 
 laudator temporis acti — all old people are. Possibly the 
 savages who once roamed on the banks of this stream ob- 
 tained more food from its waters than the civilised angler 
 of to-day, but it is doubtful whether the fish were larger. 
 It is the food which makes the size, and I see no reason 
 why the food supply should have been greater in those 
 halcyon days long past. 
 
 This rustic was the only philosopher I ever alighted on 
 amongst the Welsh peasantry. He told me he had proved 
 over and over again, on evidence sufficient to hang me or 
 any other man, that fish could not feel pain. In proof of 
 this he told me a remarkable tale. 
 
 He was once fishing for pike, he said, and had caught a 
 very small one, not worth keeping. So he cut off part 
 of its tail to use as a bait, and returned it to the water. 
 In less than two minutes he had caught the same fish 
 again with its own tail. In getting the hooks free he 
 accidentally removed an eye before returning the fish to 
 the water as before. He then used the eye as a bait with 
 the tail, which was intact. He again caught the same fish 
 with its own tail and eye. In freeing the fish again, he 
 
140 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 accidentally — of course, quite accidentally — removed the 
 remaining eye. His bait this time thus consisted of two 
 eyes and the tail, and again he caught the identical fish. 
 He killed the fish after this and had it stuffed, and " it 
 hangs in my hoose," he added, " with its tail and two eyes 
 in its mouth." 
 
 I thanked him heartily for this interesting anecdote, and 
 was about to inquire if he had any more of a like nature 
 stored away in the recesses of his brain, when a muffled 
 shriek came down on the flood from the place where 
 F. R. B. was . last seen wading. Instantly we turned and 
 gazed up stream. There was not a vestige of anything 
 pertaining to a human being to be seen. F. R. B. had 
 completely disappeared. 
 
 "Alack! your -friend's drownded," exclaimed the old 
 man philosophically. 
 
 " Nonsense." 
 
 "Aye, sure ; he's either at the bottom of the river, or 
 else he's been whisked away to heaven." 
 
 "He might have left the fish behind," I replied, starting 
 off-. 
 
 A man once disappeared who had committed some fraud. 
 His Gladstone bag was found on the banks of the Thames, 
 but his body was not recovered. Some people contended 
 that he had not committed suicide, while others as stoutly 
 maintained that he had. Their arguments all turned on an 
 umbrella. The man had never been seen out of doors, even 
 on a summer's day, without an umbrella. Some folks 
 argued that if he had committed suicide his gamp would 
 have been found beside his Gladstone bag, as he would 
 have found no use for it in the other world. They said 
 that the Gladstone bag was a blind, and that he and his 
 umbrella had betaken themselves to Spain. 
 
 The other party argued that since he and his gamp were 
 
Round about Rhayader. 141 
 
 inseparable, it was only in the natural order of things that 
 they should die together, and that whenever his body was 
 recovered, he would be found tightly grasping his beloved 
 gamp. A very pretty theory this ! but I am inclined to 
 take the former view. ' I think that the disappearance of 
 the umbrella tended to show that the old gentleman had 
 not committed suicide, but had crossed the seas for some 
 harbour of refuge. 
 
 THE WYE BELOW RHAYADER. 
 
 F. R. B. had not terminated his existence after all. He 
 emerged dripping and spluttering from the rushing current. 
 It appeared he had been working the worm down stream in 
 a very rapid bit of water, when a dislodged hurdle was 
 swept with terrific force against him and caught him under 
 the knees, laying him on his back in the twinkling of an 
 
142 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 eye. Somehow he had become entangled in that hurdle, 
 and it was only with great difificulty he could get free. 
 
 It scared him a bit, he said, and visions of sharks, 
 crocodiles, &c., floated through his brain. 
 
 The next day we returned to this part of the Elan and 
 tried a Devon minnow. It was broihng hot, but in spite of 
 this we took a nice lot of fish during the morning. There 
 are some pretty falls just before you get to Cwm Elan 
 House, and here I caught one or two good fish and turned 
 over another that could not have been far off a couple of 
 pounds. About three miles up the water, at Pont-Hyll- 
 Faen, the stream has channelled its way in a marvellous 
 manner through the hard rock, the result being a series of 
 falls and silent pools which are well worth seeing. 
 
 Sport or no sport there ie a strange fascination about 
 these mountain streamlets that wander among the silent 
 hills. At every turn a fresh piece of enchanting scenery 
 meets the eye (like an everchanging kaleidoscope), which 
 makes one think that a life-time spent here in some rustic 
 cottage among books, fishing-rods, guns, and pipes, would 
 not be amiss. 
 
 Below Rhayader there is good stretch of trouting water 
 in the Wye, extending from the bridge to the junction of 
 the Wye and Elan. We tried it several times, and caught 
 one or two fish about i J lb., and heard that fish up to 4 lbs. 
 were taken here. Below the junction the Wye is a salmon 
 river par excellence. The road and rail to Builth run along 
 its bank, and if you want a charming drive you can't do 
 better than take this route. 
 
 The bridge at the end of the village is another feature of 
 the place, The Wye here is strewn with rocks, and reminds 
 one of the Shannon. All the year round the bridge is the 
 trysting-place of the unemployed, the maimed and infirm. 
 Day after day they hang over the parapets and geze at the 
 
Sound about Rhayader. 
 
 143 
 
 flowing waters. '\\'e were for long curious to know what 
 the attraction could be, so the next time we crossed we did 
 as the Romans. There was nothing to be seen, save a 
 couple of small trout disporting themselves in the pool 
 below. Yet something rooted us to the spot — we found 
 we could not tear ourselves away. We watched the evolu- 
 tions of those trout with absorbing interest, and we under- 
 stood at last the fascination of the unemployed. 
 
 KHAYADER. — JUNCTION OF THE WYE AND THE ELAK. 
 
 After spending most of the morning there, we consulted 
 our watches and found that it was luncheon time. "We 
 shall be late for lunch,'' we both exclaimed, but we hung 
 over the bridge and made no attempt to move. 
 
 For another half-hour we calculated the chances of life 
 or death to certain flies as they sailed down towards the 
 trout. F. R. B. got so excited that he wanted to bet on the 
 
144 Round about Rhayader. 
 
 subject, and attracted general attention by shouting out, 
 " Now, two to one on that fly escaping." 
 
 The unemployed crowded round, but no one responded. 
 There was a slight ripple on the water, and the fly had dis- 
 appeared from human ken. 
 
 F. R, B. looked foolish, and someone in the motley 
 assemblage called out, "You'll not make your fortune like 
 that, gaffer." Yes, the man actually called him "gaH"er," 
 and, although wild horses would not have torn F. R. B. 
 away from the bridge, that word " gaffer," coupled with a 
 ravenous appetite, sent him home. He said " gaffer " was 
 disrespectful. 
 
 When the salmon are coming up I should think the ex- 
 citement must be intense, and the bridge impassable for 
 vehicles. We could have spent our days there quite com- 
 fortably at that season. Possibly we should have strolled 
 back for dinner in the evening, but even this is doubtful. 
 
 As we passed over it with our luggage piled up high on a 
 conveyance from the inn, F. R. B. wanted to get out and 
 have a last look, but we held him down and got him safely 
 over into the station, and then bribed the station-master to 
 lock him up in the waiting room until the arrival of the 
 train. 
 
 If we have not been transported to some distant star in 
 another ten years' time, we mean to return here and sail on 
 the placid bosom of the lakes, and write a few more notes 
 on " Rhayader revisited." 
 
]V[g frieipd Ginger; or, a piovice's 
 Exploits. 
 
 At school he had acquired the name of " Ginger," in 
 some measure owing to the colour of his hair. It was not 
 a classical name by any means, but it was expressive and 
 affectionate. I was always chums with Ginger. He had 
 inherited great sporting proclivities and these drew me to 
 him and made us akin. As a boy he stalked the stubbles 
 with a worn-out single-barrelled muzzle loader in search of 
 larks or a stray rabbit, and followed the hounds occasionally 
 on the family carriage horse, an awkward stilty steed, whose 
 duties otherwise consisted in conveying Ginger's mother 
 and sisters to make afternoon calls and to the social gather- 
 ings of the neighbourhood, a monotonous existence relieved 
 now and then by being required to cart a ton or two of 
 coals from the neighbouring town. 
 
 The honour of initiating Ginger into the art of fly-fishing 
 belonged to me, at least I superintended his education. In 
 making a commencement, Ginger insisted on adopting what 
 I call a theoretical method. He selected a long stretch of 
 green sward free from trees, fastened a piece of white paper 
 on the ground, placed himself at a distance of twenty yards 
 from this spot and set to work with the avowed object of 
 displacing that piece of paper by the help of a swishy rod 
 rigged up with a very light line on which dangled " a red 
 spinner." I cannot say that I smiled on this pet idea of 
 
146 My friend Ginger; or, a Kovice^s Exploits. 
 
 his, but since he was bent on acting upon it I offered no 
 opposition— nay, forwarded the undertaking. It speaks well 
 for Ginger's patience and perseverance when I add that six 
 hours a day at Jeast were spent on this self-inflicted task. 
 Day after day wearied and disgusted he turned away, 
 despairing of ever been able to direct that fitful fly to the 
 appointed spot. That red spinner seemed possessed to the 
 full with the spirit of perverseness, for it clung with tenacious 
 grasp to his hat, his coat, and trousers. Its demonstration of 
 aff"ection towards Ginger were quite painful to witness, its 
 whole soul seemed to revolt at the idea of coming in contact 
 with that piece of paper. Even Ginger was touched, and 
 handled the poor thmg tenderly as he loosened its 
 convulsive grasp, the tear on his cheek seemed to imply that 
 he felt he was playing the part of an unfeeling brute. 
 
 At length, one day, as the shadows were beginning to 
 lengthen, and all nature was wrapped in restfulness and 
 quiet, an Indian war-whoop rang out through the solemn 
 stillness. I rushed wildly out, expecting to find Ginger 
 lifeless or in a fit produced from over-exertion. My 
 hurried calculations, however, were entirely upset, for I 
 found Ginger with life still in his body, but trembling 
 with excitement, his eyes goggling from his head, he was 
 gazing intently on the ground, gibbering incoherently. 
 I saw at a glance what had happened. His mission was 
 at last accomplished, for there lay that piece of paper, 
 and horrified fly in close embrace. I say " horrified," for 
 I have never seen such a pitiable look of anguish on 
 any red spinner's visage before or since. I was glad for 
 Ginger's sake, and congratulated him; but I felt sorry 
 for the fly. 
 
 It was a never-to-be-forgotten event, for in Ginger's 
 eyes it raised him a step higher in the scale of rational 
 beings ; henceforward his operations would be transferred 
 
My friend Ginger; or, a Novices Exploits. 147 
 
 from the green sward to the limpid stream, his prey no 
 longer a lifeless corpse but the unknown inhabitants of 
 the watery deep. Dreams of future exploits came not 
 singly but in battalions. Might he not some day eclipse 
 the fame of Izaak Walton? Might he not uphft some 
 monster from the vasty deep unknown to the angling 
 fraternity, and earn for himself undying fame ? 
 
 Through the village of Copwick there flows a sluggish 
 stream into which some enterprising person had intro- 
 duced, some years back, a few trout. These had multiplied 
 at a great rate, and had thrived and fattened upon the 
 mud and weeds which marked its course. The banks 
 were lined with pollards, bushes, and reeds, so that it 
 was a matter of some difficulty, even to the most expert 
 angler, to get a straight line out, and tempt the fat and 
 wily fish to rise. Nevertheless, this was to be the scene of 
 Ginger's first public appearance with the rod. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to relate that success did not at first 
 attend his venture. He himself told me in pathetic terms 
 of days spent in fruitless labour of making the close 
 acquaintance of every tree and bush in the vicinity of the 
 water. These trees all bore marks and hieroglyphics, records 
 of occasions he had swarmed among their branches in search 
 of his truant flies. It was a romantic life, spent, as it was, 
 between earth and heaven. Ginger soon became as active 
 as a monkey. Rotten old pollards, which would have taken 
 any ordinary individual a considerable time to ascend were 
 overcome with astonishing ease. To make a slight deviation 
 from the ordinary routine, for even swarming trees becomes 
 monotonous, he would wind his cast of flies round his body 
 with such marvellous dexterity and rapidity that, as he well 
 said, the thing was done before he could say " Jack Rob- 
 inson." The flies would stick in his clothes at the rear 
 exactly in a spot, where he could not get at them, with the 
 
148 My friend Ginger, or, a Novice's Exploits. 
 
 consequence that he had to divest himself of his outer 
 clothing before they could be removed. 
 
 Once when he was in the act of thus freeing himself, 
 covered with nothing more than a shirt, he descried ladies 
 in the offing. He hurriedly clothed himself without having 
 had time to remove the flies, and awaited their advent. 
 They turned out to be friends of Ginger's who had come 
 down expressly to see him fish. 
 
 " Now, we want to see how you throw the flies," said the 
 elder of the girls. Ginger devoutly wished that he could 
 give them an exposition of the gentle art, but unfortunately 
 at that moment he was firmly secured, bound round and 
 round with yards of cast. 
 
 " Do catch us a little trout," exclaimed the girls, clasping 
 their hands and casting a beseeching look at poor Ginger. 
 
 " I fear I can't — h'm— just now," repHed poor Ginger, in 
 mental anguish, not knowing what to say. 
 
 " Oh ! you are unkind ; we've come down on purpose — 
 do ! do ! " said the girls, with their sweetest smiles. 
 
 " I 1 will another day the sun is so hot it 
 
 has rather overpowered me," almost sobbed Ginger. 
 
 " Poor fellow," exclaimed the girls in chorus, " we are so 
 sorry — can we do anything for you ? Shall we run and fetch 
 a glass of water ? " 
 
 " No —oh ! no, thank you," replied the wretched Ginger, 
 " I shall be all right directly." 
 
 Now these girls had brought with them their maltese dog, 
 and the bullocks in the field had silently collected together 
 and approached to get a near view of the aforesaid dog, 
 with the object of hustling it off their territory. The dog 
 fled to its mistress's petticoats for protection, thereby 
 causing her to turn round and learn the cause of her pet's 
 alarm. 
 
 " Oh, look, look at those horrid cows — tljey are tramphng 
 
My friend Ginger; or, a Novice's Exploits. 149 
 
 on your rod. Quick ! Emily, pick it up," she shrieked. And 
 Emily, thus adjured, snatched it up, terror stricken, and 
 ran for her life, and in doing so nearly removed poor Ginger 
 with it. So violent was her action that the flies penetrated 
 poor Ginger's flesh. He sprang to his feet with a terrific 
 yell ; Emily dropped the rod, and both the girls fairly took 
 to their heels and fled, imagining that the cows were after 
 them. Quick as lightning Ginger broke the cast clear of 
 the line, and thus ended a very unpleasant quarter of 
 an hour — but the girls administered a severe rebuke to 
 Ginger for frightening them so terribly with that fearful 
 yell — little did they guess the cause of Ginger's anguish. 
 
 At other times, with the simplest turn of his wrist, he 
 would weave flies and cast into such an inextricable tangle 
 that there was nothing to be done but to cut off' " the whole 
 bag of tricks " (as he very appropriately named the tangle), 
 and request his sisters to unravel the jumble at their 
 leisure. 
 
 These slight hindrances to the congenial pastime never 
 disturbed the equilibrium of Ginger's mind, but rather 
 aff'orded food for the deepest reflection. 
 
 Incredible though it may seem, these angling eccen- 
 tricities on Ginger's part affected the village in a most 
 remarkable manner. There had lately been established 
 at Copwick a telegraph ofiice, a want which had long 
 been felt by its aristocratic inhabitants. 
 
 The telegraph wires ran along the banks of the stream for 
 some distance, and then crossed at right angles. These 
 wi;-es were a source of very great annoyance to our youthful 
 fisherman, who never by any chance came into their vicinity 
 without entangling his flies thereon ; and, although his 
 climbing abilities after such a long course of practice were 
 of the highest order, yet he never dared swarm the tele- 
 graph posts. An innate fear of the electric fluid effectually 
 
150 My friend Ginger ; or, a Novice's Exploits. 
 
 prevented this. In process of time these wires literally 
 swarmed with casts and flies. To the outward eye it ap- 
 peared as if myriads of insects hovered round them. To 
 add to the strange portent, a few unsuspecting swallows 
 had mistaken the artificial for the natural, and on the wing 
 had seized their prey and being unable to extricate them- 
 selves had eventually died of exhaustion and starvation. 
 Thus the swaying and putrefying corpses of birds made up 
 a weird and mysterious scene. 
 
 That these piscatorial mementoes of Ginger's misfortunes 
 and the suspended animal matter produced some sensible 
 effect on the electric current, I am decidedly inclined to 
 believe from the events which followed. 
 
 The messages conveyed by these wires became totally 
 unintelligible to the receivers. It was rumoured that the 
 officialsiat the village post-ofiSce were incompetent, and that 
 to render the messages at all readable they doctored them 
 with words and readings of their own. In the old days, 
 before telegraph operators became as expert in the 
 business as nowadays, many ludicrous blunders were 
 perpetrated. 
 
 In " Temple's Anecdotes " an American manager of a 
 telegraph coirpany gives an instance of recent occurrence 
 upon the line between Boston and New York. A gentleman 
 sent a despatch requesting parties at New York to forward 
 sample forks by express. When the message was delivered 
 it read thus — "Forward sample for K. S." This was 
 excusable, from the necessary ambiguity of sending one Ime 
 at a time. At Copwick the matter was different. The 
 messages were distinctly doctored. It created quite a 
 flutter among the parsons and retired warriors of the 
 district. It was a matter of common talk at every social 
 reunion : it formed a new and pleasing topic of conversation 
 in a district where local gossip had talked itself threadbare. 
 
My friend Ginger ; or, a Novice's Exploits. 151 
 
 The matter at last reached a climax by the receipt of a 
 telegram which placed a whole household in deep distress. 
 It was a message from a late guest, a young man of hitherto 
 unblemished character to the beautiful daughter of the 
 house. It ran thus — " Dear Pet must come at once if as 
 you say. Keep warm indoors coming to propose if 
 possible." 
 
 Naturally such a telegram created a painful impression 
 in the family circle, and made the young lady an object of 
 suspicion in spite of protests. On the morrow, when this 
 unpleasant episode was being discussed, the dastardly sender 
 of the telegram was announced, and as had been pre-arranged 
 he was ushered into the study, where the outraged parent 
 sought an interview. The result was eminently satisfactory, 
 in fact his explanation put the matter in an entirely different 
 
 light. It appeared that Mrs. had written a short 
 
 note, telling him that his fox-terrier, which had been 
 entrusted to her care for a few weeks, was ailing, and that 
 the gardener believed the dog had got " the yellows." In 
 reply he had at once telegraphed " Fear vet. must come at 
 once if as you say. Keep warm. Propose coming to- 
 morrow if possible." 
 
 It was consequently apparent to every one that the 
 message had either been transmitted incorrectly, owing to 
 the incompetency or carelessness of some official, or from 
 some defect in the working of the wires, had become un- 
 intelligible to the official at Copwick, who had doctored it 
 with readings of his own, and then addressed it to the 
 pretty daughter of the house, supposing it would be more 
 intelligible to her than her mother. 
 
 The authorities at headquarters were promptly made 
 acquainted with this and several other cases, and the whole 
 matter was thoroughly sifted. Nothing ever transpired as 
 to the actual cause of these aberrations of telegraphy, but I 
 
152 My friend Ginger , or, a Novice's Exploits. 
 
 have reason to. suppose that Ginger's fishing mementoes 
 played no unimportant part, for passing along the river bank 
 shortly afterwards, I found they had been ruthlessly swept 
 away, and now live only in after dinner talk across the 
 walnuts and the wine. 
 
-^T' 
 
 J, Davy & Sons, 
 
 137, LONG ACRE, LONDON, 
 JFinc ^rt att& ^xgli-dasa look f rtnfcra. 
 
 Catalogues Raisonnds a speciality. 
 
 Publishing and Issue of Magazines undertaken. 
 
 Special facilities for Printing Book and Coin 
 Catalogues in Hebrew, Greek or Russian Types. 
 
 The Illustrations in this work are printed from 
 
 process blocks from Sketches and Photographs. 
 
 Estimates given for illustrating Books or 
 
 Magazines. 
 
y. Davy & Sons, Dry den Press, \yj, Long Acre, London. 
 Mjl. WILLIAM 
 
 SHAKESPEARES 
 
 COMEDIES, 
 HISTORIES, & 
 TRAGEDIES. 
 
 Rimed fey i&aclaggaid, and Ed. Blount. 1623. 
 
 Small 4I0, price \s. dd. each. Careful Reprints, without note or comment, of 
 the First Folio Edition of 1623. 
 
 HAMLET. AS YOU LIKE IT. ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 THE TEMPEST, with Portrait. 
 
"ELASTIC " 
 
 DRESS 
 
 SUIT 
 
 LINED THEOUGHOUT SILK 
 
 oOO OS* 
 
 CASH. 
 
 We are making a speciality of above, and guar- 
 antee it absolutely the best value in London. 
 
 Gentlemen will also find that in other respects 
 we can dress them well in every way at a saving 
 on West End prices for absolutely the same goods 
 and style. 
 
 HAMILTON & CO. 
 
 ©ibil anh Court bailors, 
 21, BEDFOED STEEET, STEAND, LONDON.