XIV HOT DAYS ON THE AVON ^ ^ 



IT is odd how erroneous are one's imaginings of 

 places which one has never seen, but of which 

 one has often heard tell. Why I should always have 

 had an idea that the Avon above Salisbury was an 

 uninteresting stream, a sort of canal flowing through 

 a desolate dull land, I know not, but so it was. I also 

 had a kind of feeling that its trout and grayling were 

 inferior to those of Itchen or Test. In short, I had 

 small opinion of the Avon except in its lower waters, 

 where, it was impossible to avoid knowing, there was 

 very fine bottom fishing and the chance of a big 

 salmon or two if one was very lucky. Confession is 

 good for the soul, so I set all this foolishness down ; it 

 really does not do to draw mental pictures and form 

 opinions on them. There have been occasions on 

 which, having dreamed of a fair rolling river, I have 

 found the reality to be little more than a stagnant 

 ditch ; the disappointment in such a case is ill to 

 bear. 



With the first sight of the Avon, to which I have 

 recently had introduction, there came, however, rather 

 a glad sense of hitherto unrevealed delights than dis 

 appointment. It is truly a beautiful stream, flowing 



