CHAPTER XIII 



FLY FISHING NEAR SCARBOROUGH 

 THE FORGE VALLEY 



July 1900 



INCE I last had the pleasure of addressing 

 you from (not to be too precise) a county 

 bordering on Wales, I have been spend- 

 ing the remainder of what the young folks in the 

 City are good enough to say is "a well-earned 

 holiday," in the North Riding of Yorkshire, at 

 Scarborough, a place not wholly unknown, and 

 needing no reason that I know of that I should 

 attempt to popularize it. I am not much attracted 

 by the sea, that is to say, I cannot for the life of 

 me sit all day on the sands, or lounge about on 

 the parades. The Spa, with all its attractions for 

 the young and the gay, has little or no attraction 

 for an old fellow such as I am. I am constrained 

 to admit, however, that the gardens are exceeding 

 pretty, and gay with the choice flower-beds and 

 winding paths in and about the wooded cliffs. 



Do not for a moment suppose that I despise these 

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