SOME WILTSHIRE MEMORIES 



while opening negotiations with his royal and fatuous 

 father-in-law. Littlecote, like Ramsbury, was famous 

 for large fish. There used to be a stew there in the 

 days of the Popham prosperity, wherein a certain 

 number of large trout were kept in what might be 

 termed honourable captivity, and encouraged to 

 laziness and good cheer. They were lifted out occa- 

 sionally and placed upon the scales. A well-known 

 local sportsman and raconteur used to maintain that 

 an actual spirit of rivalry grew up among these pam- 

 pered captives. One old Triton, regarding whose 

 reputed weight I dare not trust my memory, grew 

 so pleased with himself, according to the aforesaid 

 sportsman, that he used to come regularly up to the 

 edge of the stew to be weighed, and lie like a lamb 

 on the scale. And when the tray went down in evi- 

 dence of his increased well-being, which it generally 

 did, he would flap his tail twice in great exultation. 

 Much, however, must be forgiven to men who live on 

 the banks of streams like this, where the fish do really 

 achieve so large a size that strangers from far counties 

 are apt to be incredulous, and thus put local patriots 

 on their mettle. I remember not so very long ago an 

 amusing encounter with such a man from a very far 

 county, who proved a luminous example of how little 

 one half of the trouting world know how the other 

 half lives, to paraphrase a common aphorism. 



It was on a bright summer morning, and I was 

 travelling by train up the Wylie valley to fish a friend's 

 water at Codford. The only other occupant of the 

 carriage was a rosy-faced commercial gentleman in 

 black broadcloth and a top-hat. By the time the 



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