CHAPTER VI. 



WHARFEDALE. 



" A day without too bright a beam, 



A warm, but not a scorching sun ; 

 A southern gale to curl the stream, 

 And, master, half our work is done." 



FEW rambles with his rod will afford the angler more 

 pleasure, none will be with better welcome recalled during 

 those musings when, lounging in the winter-time by the 

 ruddy fire in a stormy twilight, he turns over page after^page 

 of that wonderful and never-failing photographic album 

 which is stored with the plates of memory, than his visit 

 to Wharfedale. It is an autumn's amusement that will well 

 bear the winter's reflection. 



The Southrons of this kingdom are guilty of a heavy 

 crime ; they do not know as much about Yorkshire as they 

 ought to do. Most people I have noticed except perhaps 

 the Germans exercise the right of remaining remarkably 

 ignorant of their own country : and it must be confessed 

 with shamefacedness that we English are not a whit behind 

 other nations in general ignorance of the beauties of our own 

 fatherland. Yorkshire especially suffers from this singular 

 neglect. You meet with men and women who are aware 

 that the St. Leger is run at Doncaster, and maybe that 

 Doncaster is in Yorkshire; that there are springs of nasty, 

 though perhaps wholesome, mineral water at Harrogate,, 



