OCTOBER 185 



whether to accept or reject the lure you put before him. 

 Nobody ever knew or heard at least I never did of a 

 true angler forsaking the waterside through waning 

 love for it. One of the truest of the fraternity, Tom 

 Todd Stoddart, having sacrificed to this passion a 

 promising career at the Scottish Bar, became the trout- 

 fisher's troubadour the salmon-fisher's songster 

 laureate of the lochs. Hear him when his strength was 

 far spent : 



' The voice of the city, the whisper of men, 

 I hear them, and hate them, and weary again 

 For the lull of the streams and the breath of the brae 

 Brought down in a morning of May. 



' And I, when to breathe is a burden, and joy 

 Forsakes me, and life is no longer the boy, 

 On the labouring staff and the trem'rous knee 

 Shall wander, bright river, to thee.' 



Another and more recent example of veteran devotion 

 was my aged friend Canon Greenwell of Durham, who 

 was ninety-six when he died in 1918. An accomplished 

 archaeologist leading authority on British Barrows 

 he was distinguished above all other anglers by having 

 both a salmon fly ' the Greenwell,' and a trout fly 

 ' Green well's Glory/ named after him. Many a fisher 

 has become the eponymus of one or the other, but none 

 other of both, so far as known to me. Only three weeks 

 before his death he wrote me a long letter twelve 

 sides of large paper full of angling reminiscences, de- 

 scribing the circumstances of the genesis of 'Green well's 

 Glory,' and expressing satisfaction that he had caught 

 some trout in what was to prove his last summer. 



From one cause or another, field-sports are apt to 



