CLEAR WATERS 



to sound country-loving folk at any rate, and for anglers 

 beyond any doubt, is the finest climate in the world ! 



I remember with what delight I heard the curlews 

 call once more and the plovers cry and flushed a black- 

 cock in the * white grass ' on the way to the stream. 

 And what joy it was to see again the grey wagtail 

 preening herself on the shingle of the brook edge, the 

 sandpiper scudding along its surface, the white- 

 breasted dipper nodding at one as of old from a 

 mossy rock, the kindly odours, the gracious look of 

 the brook-side that never knew the meaning of those 

 scorching agencies, fierce heat or fierce cold as most 

 of the world understands them, all seemed to welcome 

 one home again as to a place where one really belongs. 



Yes, indeed, this was the true country for the angler 

 or the sportsman of any kind, where there is practically 

 not a day in the whole year when active out-door life 

 is unavailable ! It was kind, too, of the fish to signalise 

 such an otherwise auspicious day, since it was a July 

 one, by rising really well. At any rate we had half a 

 basketful apiece of sizeable little trout, when the 

 exigencies of train-time put an end to our sport. The 

 only cloud over this to me rather memorable day was 

 the feeling that it was but an interlude not to be re- 

 peated perhaps for years. Had I dreamed it was but 

 the prelude to thirty years, at any rate, of reasonable 

 enjoyment of such delights, what a day it would have 

 been ! On the other hand, what a day had I known 

 that, when we parted that evening on the Morpeth 

 platform, I should never see my old friend and play- 

 mate again in this world ! Being for the first reason 

 in rather sentimental mood, I sat down when I got 

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