6 FRESH WOODS. 



nestles, storm-clouds lowered over them, 

 distant thunder was heard, and we reached 

 the friendly shelter of the farm in a down- 

 pour. 



The rain was not only plentiful, it was cold, 

 coming as it did off a biting north wind. It 

 was pleasant to meet with a warm and genial 

 welcome from my friends. 



On Tuesday I started at ten o'clock for my 

 nearest stream, the Teme. I was well equipped 

 with tackle and flies of the best, and accom- 

 panied by a youth who had driven me to the 

 water about four miles from the house. The 

 weather was extremely unpleasant, speaking 

 mildly. Heavy black clouds hung round, 

 and " shadows like the wings of death were 

 out upon the gale," which blew in cold and 

 chilling blasts from the north, frequently 

 bringing angry showers with it. 



I began at Leintwardine bridge, on the 

 north side of the river, with the north wind 

 blowing at my back. I wore a thick black 

 mackintosh, with overalls to match. The 

 stream, in spite of the rain, was low ; I 

 whipped it carefully, throwing, as I thought, 

 very artistically into all the likely currents, 

 whirls, eddies, and pools as I struggled along. 

 By four o'clock I had reached Walford bridge, 

 and then I vowed I would fish no more. I 



