A HOLIDAY IN DEVONSHIRE. 75 



a man wolfishly hungry. Pick-me-ups are unknown in that 

 village of stone, Princetown, where the houses, probably out 

 •of respect to the convict estabhshment, do not rise above 

 the severest rules of architecture. 



Four, five, and six dozen of trout are no uncommon result 

 of a day's persevering and intelligent angling on the moors. 

 An old man, whom I had no reason whatever to doubt — 

 for similar statements were made to me by others — assured 

 me that he once caught fifteen dozen in eight hours. This 

 assertion will probably take away the breath of the in- 

 credulous heretic who shrugs his shoulders and drops the 

 corners of his moutli at any record of rod and line work ; 

 but with very exceptional luck, or perhaps it should be said 

 through a combination of fortunate circumstances, such an 

 enviable capture is quite possible on the Dartmoor streams. 

 Of course it will not often occur, and five or six dozen is the 

 total which under ordinary conditions should give complete 

 satisfaction, and send the angler home in good humour with 

 himself, his tackle, the water, the weather — and, in short, 

 the world at large. 



Not even accidentally would I wish to do an injustice to 

 the bonny watercourses of Dartmoor. I am far too much ena- 

 moured of them to be guilty of so flagrant a crime, and on 

 this account I would introduce a marginal clause touching 

 the size of their finny habitants. After a flood you are 

 never quite certain what will be tempted by the fly. Salmon 

 are every year known to push their way up into the moor, 

 and are seen in pools reachable by threadlike channels 

 which to an unpractised eye contain scarce water sufficient 

 to cover a fish. Large trout of two and three pounds weight 

 are sometimes found when the water is clearing, but these 



