March 11, 1893] 
foot, are, it must be admitted, tolerably well 
nursed and otherwise managed. 
The first of these is the Brora. This is a fine 
stream, having a great wealth of early fish. For 
a while in spring its angling is best on the 
reaches below Loch Brora, but as the season 
advances the spring angling is transferred 
gradually higher and higher—the best of it at 
least into the upper Brora, thence into the 
Blackwater. With open weather, plenty of fish 
are found to be into the Brora before the rod 
season commences. There is no netting now on 
the river itself during spring, but althouE:h this 
has improved the fishing considerably, the fact 
that the Duke’s netters follow up the fish to Loch 
Brora, and net them there every now and then, 
neutralises a great deal of the good which the 
giving up of the netting on the river was in¬ 
tended to bring about. In short, it is just like 
building with one hand and knocking down with 
the other; but for all that, the Brora gives good ' 
angling when angling conditions are even but 
middling right. There are one or two pools, 
which, when everything is perfect in the best 
of the season, would yield from a dozen to a 
score of fish in a single day. The Duke of 
Sutherland hatches out salmon artificially at 
THE PISHING GAZETTE 
TROUT AND GRAYLING STREAMS 
ON THE WELSH BORDER. 
By 0. K. 
THE TBME. 
Most grayling fishermen have enjoyed, at some 
time or other, a few days’ sport on the Teme, and 
probably the club water at Leintwardine has 
been the scene of their labours, for without doubt 
this stretch of water will compare favourably 
with any other stream, both in the quantity and 
quality of the fish. Angling writers have again 
and again recorded red letter days in this 
favourite haunt; indeed, no handbook on gray¬ 
ling streams would be complete without a refer¬ 
ence to silvery Teme. I may be prejudiced, but 
in my estimation the Leintwardine Club water 
is the equal of any stretch on the much-vaunted 
Derbyshire streams. 
I was born and bred on the banks of the Teme, 
for my father was vicar of two pari.shes in its 
vicinity. All my earliest recollections cluster 
round its sandstone waterway, the buttercup- 
spangled meads and wooded dells through which 
it wends its way, now splashing and dashing over 
171 
listening to his amusing tales of the country side 
and watching the rings of smoke which circled 
from the blackest shag. The serenity and 
equanimity of his mind were ever unruffled, due 
in some measure to his constant companion, the 
aforesaid pipe. Only once in an eventful career 
was he “put about,” as he called it. 
In my earliest days we had a barrel-organ, old 
decrepid, and constantly getting out of gear. 
When in this state it could only be induced to 
play the Old Hundredth. Morning and after¬ 
noon, for months, we were regaled with this with 
hopeless monotony. Our squire, who was a 
choleric and irritable old gentleman, gave Pugh 
strict injunctions tohavethe instrument repaired 
before the following Sunday. 
Pugh promised that the matter should be seen 
to, but whether he neglected to do so, or whether 
the instrument was totally irreclaimable, alas! 
Sunday came, and the organ still in the .same 
pitiable plight. Old Pugh turned the handle, 
and forthwith the well-known strains were wafted 
down the church, and then in a voice tremulous 
with emotion he read out the first line of the 
hymn, “ All people that on earth do dwell.” 
The blood rushed to the squire’s face, he stamped 
angrily in his roomy pew, and springing to his 
Loch Brora, and these, in due course, are trans¬ 
ferred to the river and to other streams in the 
county of Sutherland, of which His Grace is the 
territorial magnate, whose right, like Crusoe’s, 
there is none to dispute. 
Mr. Wheeley writes as follows; “The flood 
water at Shepperton is slipping away fast; and 
it the fall goes on at the same rate, the fishing 
will be good at the end of the week. I have just 
returned from a “ look round ” some of the lately 
flooded rneadows, with Herbert Curr. We found 
the remains of a good-sized chub, eaten by rats, 
and a nice tench of about two pounds weight. 
The latter fish was flopping about in t’ne grass 
near Halliday’s Hole, not far from the bathing- 
house; he was “caked” in mud, but after care¬ 
fully washing him, and admiring his beautiful 
bronze-coloured scales, we put him back, little 
the worse for his stranding. Lots of good fish 
would be saved if the parts recently flooded 
could be looked over as the water falls.” 
On account of great pressure upon our space, 
some Club and River Reports are unavoidably 
omitted.—E d. 
THE TEME AT LUDLOW, SHEOPSHIEE 
(Showing Ludford Bridge). 
pebbled fords and red-veined rocks, now slowly 
flowing in stately grandeur between steep banks 
over a deep and rocky bed. 
“ Haunt of my youth, O Teme beloved. 
How smooth thy brow, how cool; 
In slanting rays the moonbeams pierce 
And prove each lurking pool. 
The green turf guards thine onward course. 
The hills of Wales thy fount; 
Here will I muse ere yet the sun 
His chariot remount.” 
My angling reminiscences date from the tender 
age of nine, when a suitable rod and outfit were 
procured for me, and I was entrusted to our 
clerk and sexton for instruction in the gentle art. 
The eccentricities of the old parish clerks are 
world-renowned, and still afford food for jest and 
laughter. Old Pugh, for such was our clerk’s 
name, was no exception. He regarded himself 
quite as part and parcel of our establishment, and 
the births of the parson’s children were faith¬ 
fully recorded in the Bible, which was his peculiar 
property, in the lowermost seat of the venerable 
three-decker. When the worries and cares of 
office were laid aside, he affected a short black 
clay, and many an hour have I spent by his hearth 
feet, shook his fist threateningly at poor Pugh 
and hissed forth, “ Hang all people that on earth 
do dwell! ” 
As old Pugh said to me confidentially years 
afterw'ards, “ lie was regularly skeered and put 
about at such a very large order.” The incident, 
howevei’, was the means of our having a har¬ 
monium, an improvement, certainly, on its prede¬ 
cessor, although Pugh never took to it kindly, 
for he despised “ them new-fangled musics.” 
My first venture was on the Hucks Barn Farm 
water, about a mile and a-half out of Ludlow, on 
the Herefordshire side, known to fame as the 
place where George Barnwell murdered his uncle. 
Here, in a wooded dell, “ where silent waters 
lave,” the haunt of kingfisher, dabchick, and 
moorhen. I first wetted a line, baited with a wasp 
grub. Possibly one’s first experience moulds the 
tenour of our after lives. If unsuccess had 
attended ray youthful efforts, I might not have 
been so keen to have followed up the sport. As 
it turned out I was intoxicated with success. 
Ten minutes had barely elapsed before I became 
aware that my float had totally disappeared. I 
communicated the intelligence to old Pugh, who, 
to my astonishment, sprang wildly to his feet. 
