AWAY TO WESTMORLAND 65 



head, owning defeat. I began to understand the 

 frame of mind of the angler who hurled his fly- 

 book into the water, crying fiercely to the fish, 

 "Take the lot, you brutes ! " 



No ; one could not get really angry ! There 

 was nothing to do but laugh. This time the 

 trout were scoring. Birds were singing freshly, 

 lovely glades sloped in the richly-wooded park, 

 and there was a herd of fleet-footed deer. With 

 such sounds and sights one could not but rejoice 

 in the surroundings. And when, defeated by 

 the fishing, I returned to the village, there was 

 a game of bowls to be had on Milnthorpe 

 bowling-green. For a small charge, visitors are 

 allowed to play. The bowling-green gives good 

 company. People sometimes speak slightingly 

 of bowls " Oh, that old man's game ! " I seem 

 to remember that Drake played a game of bowls 

 on Plymouth Hoe when time was pressing. If he 

 was "an old man," he did very well considering ! 



There was another compensation, last but 

 best of all, for the bad brown trout fishing. The 

 sea is at hand, and not far from the mouth of the 

 river is a weir-pool. Sea-trout were coming up, 

 and I went down to meet them. The water was 

 too low at the time for them to ascend the weir ; 

 and at times they settled down that is, as much 

 as sea-trout ever can settle down in the weir- 

 pool. Public paths run alongside the river here. 

 Usually a fisherman, when seriously engaged, 

 likes his own company only, but by this pool 

 the spectators seemed somehow part of the 



