THE WELSH BORDERLAND 



to his frank amazement. It was getting dark, and 

 when he opened the lid, as I had put the trout at the 

 top, he took the rest for granted, for the grayling had 

 hardly yet come into consideration. * Confound it ! ' 

 he said, * you must be a conjurer.' And being the 

 professor he was, he may well have been staggered 

 seeing the abnormal fishing famine that then prevailed. 

 I left it at that, resumed the basket, said good-night, 

 and passed on in a state of semi-exhaustion to much- 

 needed food and repose. I didn't see my friend again, 

 as I departed next day. We had constantly shot in 

 company in old days, but never fished together, and I 

 have no doubt his opinion of my prowess in the latter 

 department is of a most unduly exalted kind. The 

 incident was the more curious as the grayling isn't 

 much of an evening fish. The morning, even in 

 warm weather, is usually his most responsive time. 



Ludlow and the Teme are associated in my mind 

 with another pleasant, and indeed much pleasanter, 

 dry-weather surprise. It was some five years before 

 the trifling incident just related, when I was staying 

 in that delightful and, as I always maintain, aestheti- 

 cally unrivalled town, during a hot and dry August. 

 Fishing, as a matter of fact, was not greatly in my 

 mind on this occasion. Nor, indeed, is that sulky 

 month calculated to stir an angler's ^cravings, at any 

 rate outside a mountain or a chalk-stream country. 

 Nor again did I at that time know personally any of 

 the surrounding waters. Moreover, the neighbour- 

 hood of Ludlow is so rich in scenes of natural beauty, 

 and in antiquities of abounding interest, that if you 

 are anything at all besides a fisherman there is little 

 K H5 



