92 A Sportsman at Large 



wing. The unlucky scollopax must have been rising just as 

 my brother had popped in his left barrel. 



Nearly every shooting man can tell of similar coincidences. 

 Several have come within my personal observation. 



On Dartmoor we thought a lot of a black-cock ; but in 

 after years I looked upon them somewhat contemptuously, 

 though on more than one occasion I have had quite exciting 

 sport in contriving their undoing. These happenings took 

 place late in October and during November, but the following 

 year we foregathered at Cator again, in the late summer, 

 intent on plying the rod in lieu of the gun. 



The Dart was full of fish of a sort playful little fellows, 

 of which it took, on an average, five to level up a pound 

 weight ; but it required skill and experience to make a really 

 good basket. To tell you the truth, I believe the majority 

 of them were salmon par ; but " little fish taste sweet," and 

 all were trout that came to our nets. The returning of par 

 to the water was a rule more honoured in the breach than in 

 the observance. Anyway, there were countless thousands 

 of the little chaps in the Dart, and the toll we took could not 

 possibly have had any sort of effect on the run of salmon 

 in years to come. 



It was a great event when a genuine pound trout found its 

 way to my creel. I think it occurred on about half a dozen 

 occasions, though Harry got hold of a " monster " of nearly 

 two pounds, but it was a logger-headed, ill-conditioned speci- 

 men, and could not compare with the really beautiful and 

 succulent pounders which fell to my lot. 



It was mild sport as fishing goes, but it was, nevertheless, 

 a joyous game, amid lovely surroundings, breathing the 

 free, pure air of the moor, and observing Nature and her 

 children of the wild to the best advantage, under enthralling 

 conditions. 



As time went on, draining operations acted disastrously 

 on some of the most prolific snipe mires. These sportive birds 

 became rarer and rarer in those parts, until at last it was 

 hardly worth while seeking them. 



When, to my unutterable grief, the dear old Dads passed 

 away in 1879 his little freeholds on Dartmoor were, by his 



