IN THE WEST COUNTRY 41 
up, and us do cut ’un back—but her never 
blooms!” Strangers met and the process of 
improving acquaintance was almost immediate. 
No subdued whisperings took place at meal times 
there ; no ecclesiastical solemnity brooded over 
the tables, as at one first-class, precisely-ordered 
hotel (the name of which neither wild horses nor 
tame shall drag from me), where the conversation 
seemed to be based on the theme, “ I’ve come to 
tell you there is no hope of a reprieve.” 
Jolly days were those at that little Devonshire 
hotel. At first the trout you pick up with the 
fly in those western parts, fairly easily if the 
water is in order, seem very small ; in truth they 
are small, Four or five to the pound is a good 
average. But you note their capacity for fight, 
their first-rate condition, evenin April. Gradually, 
the noting turns to appreciation. There is no 
sluggish, somnolent water in the rivers hereabouts, 
on the Cornish border. Hard by is Dartmoor, 
and the Dartmoor-born rivers carry their early 
turbulence throughout the greater part of their 
careers. So, of course, the trout fight like 
demons. 
One of the most successful of the anglers 
took pains to catch a natural fly and got some 
artificial flies tied to resemble it. The result was 
a variation of the blue upright and it proved very 
killing. Other flies which I found useful on the 
Cornish border were March brown, Maxwell’s 
blue, Maxwell’s red, blue upright, pheasant’s 
tail, Wickham’s fancy, and coachman for evening. 
