EXPERIENCES & REMINISCENCES. 15 



the exquisite Bobbingmoon or Mr. Hopper get from the weary 

 trout, and so on to the " Charles Cotton," a glorious old fishing 

 inn at Hartington, where we remained the night. Next 

 morning we drove to Bakewell, famous for its puddings but 

 the pudding happens to be a cake. Having landed our 

 belongings at the Rutland Arms, we then wended our way to 

 the valley of the Wye, just below Haddon Hall a grand old 

 relic of days gone by. We flogged the water without result 

 except that the writer caught a swallow in the wing with his 

 artificial fly just as he was drawing his line from the water. Mr. 

 Hopper released it as soon as he could get his line in and away 

 it flew apparently none the worse. Empty creels again made 

 Bobbingmoon dispirited, and led both of us to draw comparisons 

 between our Lincolnshire streams and the Wye, Dove, and 

 Derwent, which were not favourable to the latter rivers. Next 

 morning the wind was still in the East, so we paid Buxton a visit 

 and saw its beautiful winter garden, and then wended our way 

 back to Grimsby without one fish to save our angling reputa- 

 tions and decidedly lighter in pocket than when we left home. 

 Bobbingmoon has several times since pressed the writer to 

 revisit Derbyshire, but not Mr. Hopper. It will take more than 

 two years to efface from Mr. Hopper's, and he may add Mrs. 

 Hopper's, memory the disastrous and lamentable failure of his 

 own and Bobbingmoon's visit to Derbyshire. The writer made 

 his peace with Mrs. Hopper on his arrival home with some 

 Buxton spas he had judiciously purchased, but Bobbingmoon's 

 domestic reception must have been awful. 



