IN THE MIDLANDS. 107 



their boat was covered with spoil when the game was thrown 

 up. 



Old Nottingham, or, as I believe it should be called, 

 Trent Bridge, ancient as the times of Edward the Elder, 

 was a many-arched and picturesque structure, from which it 

 was possible between the racing currents to catch barbel. 

 There was a noted angler in the town whom, for con- 

 venience, we will designate Bowles, and he was quite 

 historical as to barbel a Gamaliel at whose feet stocking- 

 weaving Sauls sat to learn the -wisdom pertaining to greaves, 

 dew-worms, marsh-worms, brandlings, gilt-tails, red-worms, 

 tegg-worms, peacock reds, dock grubs, and so forth : in 

 which your Trent anglers, let me say, are remarkably learned. 

 Bowles was an institution on Nottingham Bridge. Trades- 

 men and workfolks strolling that way in the cool of the 

 evening naturally looked for Bowles, his spectacles, and his 

 strong barbel rod. But he, I am informed, was never seen 

 at his post after the following occurrence : 



The word was passed that Bowles had hooked a monster 

 barbel. The news penetrated into the town, ascended to 

 the workshops, ran along the meadows up and down, and 

 caused great excitement. Looms, counters, tea-tables, 

 business and pleasure were alike forsaken, and there was a 

 regular stampede in the direction of Nottingham Bridge. 

 Sure enough Bowles was engaged in a mighty struggle. 

 The old man perspired, but never blenched. 



The crowd became immense. Bowles would winch the 

 monster in within a few yards of the shore, when, whew ! 

 out it shot into the stream like an arrow from the bow. 

 The superb skill and patience of Bowles were audibly com- 

 mended ; he was too wily to check the monster in those 



