io8 FLY FISHING NEAR SCARBOROUGH 



lovely scenes. I am sure if I were of the same age 

 as any of the young folk I see about me, I should, 

 like them, adore them, as, indeed, I did once many 

 and many a year ago, when " youth and I " were 

 here together. I came here mainly because I was 

 assured there was some good trout fishing to be 

 got within an easy distance in the Yorkshire 

 Derwent, and nearer still, in Scalby Beck but I 

 must confess that I am a fair-weather fisherman, 

 and the sort of weather which I found on the 

 borders of Wales has pursued me to the eastern 

 coast of Yorkshire. I have been here for a fortnight, 

 and this, my last day, I can truly say is the only 

 nice genial July day that I have had since here I 

 have been. I am not going to complain of the 

 weather one has to accept it, however rough or 

 disagreeable it may be. My chief objection to it 

 has been that it was not of the sort that I like 

 when I go a-fishing. 



One doubtful morning early I started off for 

 the village of Ayton, five miles away, just where 

 the Derwent emerges from the beautiful Forge 

 Valley. I had provided myself with a five-shilling 

 ticket for the day. I engaged a nice lad to ac- 

 company me, and we started in very unpromising 

 weather the river dead and motionless, grass 

 long and wet, the air leaden and oppressive, 

 betokening a thunderstorm, which came on heavily 

 before we had long been at work. The laws of 

 this club are stringent and severe. No trout shall 

 be taken under eight inches in length, nor shall 



