A MEMORY OF THE LUGG 121 
only got one rise in still, deep water at a bend. 
Whether the fish was trout or grayling, I do not 
know; but there was such a boil as to indicate a 
big one. Just before reeling up for the day, I 
ve on wet flies, but repentance had come too 
ate. 
The Major had a fair basket. He rejoiced 
over one fish exceedingly —“ fought likea trout!” 
he said. The other Major, the one-armed angler, 
also got several grayling. He fished with 
his usual keenness and managed his rod, net and 
fish with the dexterity which I have before 
described. It was a real pleasure to the rest of 
us that this valiant English gentleman, who bore 
his wounds without complaint, was able not only 
to hold his own in the matter of catching fish, but 
as a rule to do better than we did. The third 
member of the party fished hard and got a few 
grayling also. Only the fourth—but it was my 
own fault and I shall not complain. 
It is two months since that day on the Lugg, 
and, although not a written note was made at the 
time, yet how clear is the scene, as I write in 
London. The purling river, the Major’s “I’m 
in him!” the hillsides, the woodland, the frost- 
bound earth, the Hereford cattle, the great calm, 
and—*“ Oh! have you just come from Russia, 
please?” Kind hostess, here is a message of 
thanks. 
