Notes and- Sport of a Dry-Fly Purist. 121 



long ago were probably the banks of 'a wide river, 

 an estuary of the sea. Opposite is the church and 

 pretty village of Twyford, where the remains of a 

 Roman villa can be visited, and in the churchyard 

 is a famous yew-tree. 



From 9.30 a.m. until one o'clock I fished 

 persistently, using small flies, but except one trout 

 creeled weighing l^lb., only undersized ones came 

 to hand. There was no evening rise until 7.30, 

 vand very sparse then, but afterwards three trout 

 were landed and put back, and one over a pound 

 killed to make up a brace. The keeper then 

 coming up to me, remarked that there had been no 

 May-flies at Twyford this season. 



On August 24th I made a good, although delayed, 

 beginning on the Abbot's Barton fishery. After 

 stalking along the east bank from nine o'clock 

 until nearly mid-day, and casting without once 

 liaving a touch, hope waxed faint, and I thought I 

 had made a mistake in choosing the day ; but when 

 the last meadow opposite the new gasworks was 

 reached, a trout, in position close under the sedge 

 and sword-grass covered right bank on which I 

 stood, was rising and sucking in large dark-winged 

 olive duns as they floated toward him. I carefully 

 drew back, and assuming the kneeling and crouch- 

 ing low down posture also well hidden from 

 view I saw with satisfaction that I had not 



