little acquainted. Above Meifod the river is increased by the accession of the Banw, by some called the true Virniew. For exactness, I ought here to state that the name of the river is properly spelt "Vyrnwy," but I prefer following the English style, which gives a better idea to a "Sassenach" of the pronunciation. Below Meifod are still some good trout reaches, but the pike are gaining an ascendancy which seriously interferes with the welfare of the red-spotted gentlemen. I heard of a Manchester man taking an enormous number of small jack with the minnow one Easter week. As far as I can see, there are no very large

ones.

Above Pontyscowrhyd weir are some excellent deeps and back-waters for pike, and some good ground for wildfowl. A few winters ago I shot a bird here which was wholly new to me, being, I believe, rare so far north. I had to retrieve it myself off some rotten ice, over which I had to crawl at full length. It was a fine specimen of the water-rail. It was here also that a friend of mine got bogged, and had to be hauled out with ropes, minus his wading boots. A little lower down, I once counted more than twenty salmon on one ford, and picked up half as many lying dead on the banks. This is not an uncommon sight on the Virniew. On the first day of the season, and

1

a few days after this, I saw the river netted for a considerable distance above and below this ford, and not a single fish of any kind was caught. The next fishing station is Llansaintffraid, and for a long way above the weir are deep stretches of water, that just above the mill being particularly deep.

I believe this water holds plenty of pike, though I never had much sport in it myself. The last time I was there, not very recently, the water was dotted with trimmers quite allowable, perhaps, when the object is to thin the pike and preserve the trout, but, nevertheless, not at all pleasant to any one who carries a trolling rod. From Llansaintffraid to the mouth of the river Tanat I have always had my best sport with the pike. There are two spots where I rarely failed to have a run-one just opposite the first bush going up-stream from, and on the same side as, the Tanat, and just where the deep begins to tail off into a rapid ; and the other about eighty yards higher, where some sunken trees project into the stream. It was a little above this last spot that nine of the largest perch I ever saw were caught by a fellow-angler, one bright, hot summer's afternoon, when the water was perfectly clear. The shoal of fish slowly circled round the bait, and cunning Griffith guided the worm accommodatingly to the noses of the largest.

The Tanat is a capital trout stream, but a great part of it is preserved by Sir Watkin Wynn, and can only be fished by ticket. All the way down to Llanymynech the Virniew has holes where the big chub sleep away the lazy day, under the swaying branches of the willows, and shallows where the tender-mouthed grayling hover, and now and then the large Severn trout find their way up, and make glad the heart of some fortunate angler. Below Llanymynech the river retains the same character. The trout are gradually dying out, and the coarse fish reign in their stead. This is much to be regretted; yet it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and it is pleasant to see the numerous bottom-fishers from distant towns, who would never dream of throwing a fly, but who enjoy themselves vastly, sitting under the shade of the willows, and studying intently the movements of their floats as they are influenced by the seductive bite of the chub or the rapid dash of the perch. Pleasant is it to them, and who shall say that it is not as profitable as the more scientific amusement we indulge in? The fords are fewer and more gravelly, and the deeps are longer and muddier, as the Virniew nears the Severn; the pebbles give way to gravel, and the gravel to clayey soil and rich alluvial loam.

While canoeing one summer, I was often seriously

bothered by the clay banks that abound near Melverley, where the rivers join. These banks reach up in steep ledges and pinnacles close to the surface, and the canoe would drive on to one without warning, for they are not easily seen. With deep water before and behind, and perhaps on either side, or, what is worse, tenacious mud, it was a difficult and dangerous job to get free. Many of the labourers in this neighbourhood make a good thing of setting night-lines along the deeps, nominally to catch eels; but of course, if any other fish gets on, it is not thrown back again. I have seen large baskets of fish caught in this manner exposed for sale in Oswestry streets.

When canoeing, I came suddenly upon a man, waistdeep in the water, shovelling the mud out on the bank. In reply to my inquiry, he said he was looking for "lamperns" to bait his eel-lines with.

Between Llanymynech and Melverley is Pentreheilin Mill, and it was to this place that my last

Virniewside ramble was directed.

It was a beautiful

day, early in the autumn, and, mounted on my bicycle, I threaded the fragrant lanes with the intention of enjoying the holiday and a brisk ride through a pleasant country, that stretched,

"With all its autumn bowers,

And crowded farms and lessening towers,"

till it mingled in the distance, not with the "bounding main," but with the blue haze that hid the far-off hills. Alas for the vanity of human wishes! A plague of gnats, which visited the country that year, was then at its height, and into my eyes and nose and mouth they came by hundreds; not pleasant at any time, but doubly unpleasant when steering a bicycle along rutty lanes. At last, fairly blinded, I ran against a heap of stones while descending a steep bank, and had, without doubt, the worst fall it has been my fate to have in all my bicycle experience. Bicycle, basket, rods, and myself all appeared tied up in an inextricable knot. However, I was very little the worse, and the river was reached at last without any further tumbles.

Gudgeons had to be caught for bait, and while catching them I conversed with the miller. He told me that the grayling and trout fishing had fallen off very considerably of late, but that the pike and chub were on the increase. He once killed a seven-pound pike with no less than fourteen samlets and small trout in its maw. In the spring, when the water is high, great numbers of jack ascend the brook Morda (which here flows in) up to the mill, in a vain attempt to get higher.

"We caught a good many with the net a fortnight ago," said the miller.