THE YORE. 137 
months, and continue so until March, so that they are fit 
for the table at the very time when trout are not, which is 
another fact that speaks in favour of the monkish theory 
before mentioned. 
As this is not a paper devoted to.the science of angling, 
I do not purpose to enter into details as to the best methods 
of capturing this beautiful fish, although I have made that 
subject and their habits my study for many years; neither 
do I intend to relate the incidents of every day during my 
trip, lest I should bore your readers rather than interest 
them ; but I will select one particular day, November 10th, 
and glancing at my angling diary endeavour to sketch out 
the brief outline of my day’s sport. 
“Now mind, Ralph, eight o’clock in the morning, not a 
moment later,’ I remarked to my companion as he wished 
me “Good night” at the door of that most comfortable of 
rustic inns, the “ Bruce Arms,” af Tanfield. 
“ All right,” he responded, “I will be ready, never fear.” 
So I turned in-doors, and after a final pipe of peace in the 
chimney corner, retired to rest, to sleep as only a tired 
‘angler can, and dream of endless sport on the morrow. 
“Hallo! seven o'clock already?” I exclaim, as I am 
awakened by a loud tap at my bedroom door; and out of 
bed I tumble to inspect the weather. Not a very cheerful 
look out; an undeniable November morning at last, with 
any amount of mist and fog. Anglers, however, are accus- 
tomed to live in hopes, so comforting myself with the idea 
that the weather may clear up, I hurriedly dress myself, 
eat an excellent breakfast, and as the village clock strikes 
eight, sally forth fully equipped, and make for the house of 
my friend. I find him all ready, awaiting my arrival; we 
exchange the usual morning salutations, and, after lighting 
our pipes, shoulder our rods and step out briskly down the 
lane leading in the direction of Hackfall, at the top end of 
which we had decided to commence, he fishing for salmon 
and I for grayling. 
