DRY-FLY FISHING 6i 



calling in the flower-starred water meadows of the 

 South, or explores the rivers of the " stone-ribbed 

 North," the peace and beauty of the surroundings, far 

 from the noisy crowd, add a charm which every good 

 fisherman knows how to be thankful for. 



How pleasant is the time of the after-luncheon pipe, 

 with the dipper curtseying from the stones in mid- 

 stream. May be the desolate call of the curlew floats 

 down from the fells, and the grey dale village, with its 

 quaint architecture, speaks of times long past, of times 

 when the Borderers filed down the valley, perhaps 

 to fall upon a party of Monks from the rich Abbey of 

 Fountains. Imagination suggests to the ear the savage 

 shout of exultation of the assailants and the screams 

 of the stricken, when a widening circle in the stream 

 brings one back to present day realities in a second. 



Such is a part of the angler's day, which, lingering 

 in the mind, inspires him through the long wintry 

 months to look forward to the time when God's earth 

 shall be fresh and green again, and the wild thyme be 

 fragrant on the banks of many a North Country stream. 



Great men and small alike are held by the wonderful 

 fascination of the sport, which gives such joy, affords 

 such relaxation to the mind, and is so free from all 

 taint of brutality. And though the actual angling 

 requires the utmost concentration of mind and thought, 

 yet after all, it has truly been described as " The 

 Contemplative Man's Recreation." 



