Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 705, June 30, 1877

No two persons suit each other better for a foreign piscatorial tour than an artist and an angler; for both find materials for their skill. Where David Cox could find materials for his pencil such as we see in the grand picture of the 'Salmon Trap,' the follower of Izaak Walton will assuredly not be without hope in the exercise of his delicate craft. Nor are ladies, if with proper tastes, unsuitable companions for the angling traveller. Even if they do not actually possess in common some taste such as painting, yet still sketching and fishing, or fishing and walking, or simply fishing and quiet travelling, can well be combined, provided each possesses a fair share of that cardinal virtue of all travellers – forbearance. Thus, with a moderate capability of walking, we see nothing to prevent a brother and a sister, or a husband and a wife, from pleasantly enjoying a tour that shall include angling.

None of the usual guide-books give any information upon the subject of continental fishing; and therefore it must be found out in the first instance whether some village or valley is a likely centre for the angler; and often it proves that some half-way posting inn is the very best station for his purpose. But if some amount of walking is undertaken, and the angler be of an inquiring disposition, there is no fear of overlooking any stream or lake by the wayside.

There is yet another pleasing attraction for the traveller who angles as he goes. This may be termed the natural history attraction; for not only are fresh varieties of fish made familiar to the angler to whom the trout, or grayling, or pike of his home serve as the personification of all fresh-water fish, but even new varieties of these fish are observed under entirely new conditions; and no fisherman of any intelligence who happens to spend a few days among the lakes of the Eastern Alps, will fail to make the acquaintance of that excellent fish, the coregonus. In speaking of this fish, Mr Francis Francis, a well-known writer on angling subjects, tells us that 'where varieties caused by water and locality are as plentiful as the lakes, where the distinctive differences between the fish themselves are but small, and where names are legion, the confusion is so great, that nothing but the utmost patience and perseverance, combined with large opportunities and the staunchest assistance, can ever hope to settle such moot-points as these questions of the identity of some fish with others. The coregoni are therefore as yet very much unexplored and debatable ground with naturalists.' We may add that intelligent and trustworthy observations by anglers are at all times of value, and that in addition to its many other charms, a fishing tour may fairly be said to be a directly instructive and intellectual pleasure, each successive fact that is stored up in the memory opening out yet another to the searching mind, and serving to prevent a captivating amusement from degenerating into a mere pot-hunting pursuit.

In the more mountainous districts, it is remarkable how many curious and characteristic legends may be found connected with different lakes. In the Tyrol especially, which is the beau-idéal of the angling traveller's holiday-ground, innumerable legends are to be found connected with every dark mountain lake or tarn. There is, for instance, a lake well known to many Swiss travellers who leave the usual route of tourists up or down the Lake of Lucerne, and rest for a while in the village of Seelisberg, situated above the spot where the confederates are supposed to have taken the oath which was the foundation of the Swiss Republic. Above this again, sheltered by the dark precipices of the Niederbauen, is the Seelisberger See, of which there is a legend that in it dwells a monster known as the Elbst. This beast can, Proteus-like, change its form, and the unconfiding swimmer resting, as he supposes, on the floating trunk of a fallen pine, is engulfed for ever in the waters of the lake. Thus, if one is not inattentive to the stories of the mountaineer, the angler may store his mind with much of the picturesque and characteristic folk-lore of the Alps.

Not a little of the charm of a fishing-tour arises, or ought to arise, from its leisurely character. But, as we have already hinted, the feverish anxiety to hurry from place to place which seems to characterise the fashion of travelling nowadays, precludes the traveller from enjoying any one place thoroughly. 'If,' he says to himself, 'I could shoot or fish it might be different.' Therefore it is that we would point to what we might almost term a new continental amusement, whereby the traveller may combine the recreation of good old Izaak Walton with the harder toil of the mountaineer, or the more sober pleasures of the botanist and the artist, to the increase of the enjoyment to be derived from each one of these pastimes.

It would be out of place here to enter into details concerning the equipment of the travelling fisherman. All we would now point out is that those flies which are useful in a Scotch or Welsh stream or on an Irish lake, are, as a rule, equally serviceable in a Swiss river or a Tyrolese lake. And the only important fact to bear in mind is, that the supply of flies should be tolerably large, though not necessarily very varied in kind, for the art of fly-making is not well known on the continent.

To point out localities for the fisherman would necessitate a geographical ramble over Europe; moreover, as it is the object of this paper to shew that fishing can be combined with most of the ordinary amusements of the general traveller, no special district need be sought for. It is sufficient here to mention the rivers of Normandy and Brittany, of the Vosges and the Ardennes for spring fishing; and the waters of Würtemberg, Bavaria, and Austria for sport later in the year. In the mountain district, for example, popularly called the Tyrol, the rivers are full of grayling, so that the autumn, far from being a blank time for the angler, will, even after the trout are becoming somewhat out of season, afford him excellent sport. And in the Tyrol especially are the inhabitants simple and hospitable in the extreme; the scenery of their country is characterised by extremes of wildness and softness, such, for instance, as the bleak grandeur of the distant end of the Königs See, and the softer beauties of the valley of the Alm. Though the ramifications of travel are everywhere spreading, it is never likely that in the lifetime of the present generation at least, the travelling angler, whose ways lie out of the beaten track, will be disturbed by any except a few kindred spirits.

THE LAST OF THE HADDONS

CHAPTER XXX. – MRS TRAFFORD'S HAPPINESS

Although the precise date for our wedding-day was not as yet decided upon, it was tacitly understood that the orthodox preparations were being carried on for it so far as depended upon milliners and dressmakers. I did not think it necessary to explain to Mrs Tipper and Lilian that the little I had to spend for the purpose was already spent. And indeed I considered that I had a quite sufficient wardrobe for a portionless bride, without trespassing upon their generosity, which I knew would be brought into play by the slightest hint of a want on my part.

We made the most of the departing summer days; Lilian and I sufficiently occupied to satisfy our consciences and add a piquancy to idleness. After our morning rambles, visits to the cottages, and an early dinner, we betook ourselves to the woods, where Philip read to us whilst Lilian and I worked. And sometimes we went farther afield, devoting the day to exploring the adjacent country, picnicing in the most lovely spots, and filling our sketch-books. In the evenings there was music and the frequent visits of Robert, with delightful conversation, in which we all aired our pet theories without any jar in the concord – a quartet in which each played a different part to make a harmonious whole.

Nevertheless our summer sky was not entirely free from clouds. Mr Wyatt – whose attentions to Lilian had latterly been most marked – could not be made to understand that there was no hope for him; whilst Lilian could not be made to believe that her aunt and I were correct in our surmise respecting the cause of his so frequently finding his way in the direction of the cottage. But there came a day when he found courage to challenge fortune and make his hopes known to her. He had joined us in one of our rambles, and I suppose she felt a little hesitation about separating Philip and me, as well as the natural dread which a delicately minded girl feels of appearing to suppose that love-making must necessarily follow being alone with a gentleman for a few minutes, and so gave Mr Wyatt the opportunity he had been seeking.

We lost sight of them for a short time, and I gave Philip a hint of what I suspected to be the cause of Mr Wyatt detaining Lilian.

'Love her!' he ejaculated, stopping short and staring at me in the greatest astonishment. 'But she does not return it – impossible! She is surely not going to throw herself away like that!'

'I do not think there would be any throwing away in the case, Philip. Mr Wyatt is a good man, and a gentleman. The real difficulty is that Lilian does not care for him in any other way than as a friend, and she never will.' At which Philip hastened to make the amende.

'I ought not to have spoken in that way, Mary. Of course he is a good fellow – for any one else's husband.'

I could not help smilingly agreeing to that. It was ever so much more agreeable to think of Mr Wyatt as the husband of any other than Lilian. When she presently returned alone, looking very grave and regretful, walking silently home with us, we knew that Mr Wyatt had been answered. Fortunately his was a nature not difficult to be consoled; and it so happened that he had a pretty cousin eager to console him. In a very short time, Lilian had the relief and pleasure of knowing that she had done him no permanent harm.

One piece of good fortune came to us, which I had been almost afraid to hope for. The house so beautifully situated, which I had so long coveted for our future home, and which was aptly named Hill Side, was to be sold. We found that the interior arrangements were all that could be desired. In an unpretending way it was the perfection of a house – one we both would choose before all others. Though not numerous, the rooms were mostly large for the size of the house; whilst, as Lilian laughingly said, my pet aversion to square rooms had been duly considered by the builder. A long drawing-room opening to a veranda'd terrace, and commanding one of the finest views in Kent, with dining-room facing in the same direction, and a delightful little morning-room, and library and study at the side; the latter possessing a special little view of its own down what was artistically made to appear a steep declivity, its sides clothed with bushes and hanging plants, and boasting a pretty running brook. You had only to make-believe a little to fancy yourself living in some wild mountainous region, when looking from the oriel window of this charming little room.

Philip was quite as enthusiastic and inclined to ignore disadvantages, as were Lilian and I. Climbing the hill! Who minded climbing to reach such a nest as that! Stables for the modest little turn-out we should keep could be had in the village at the foot of the hill; and as to the distance from the railway station, shops, &c., we grandly pooh-poohed all that as unimportant to two people who cared for fashion and change as little as we two meant to do. Food was to be got; and that was enough, depending for our supply of books, &c. as we should from London. The best of it was that these little drawbacks told in our favour in the purchase; being considered by most people as great disadvantages, which lowered the value of the property. Consequently Philip was able to gratify our taste at much less cost than he at first anticipated.

He at once set about the necessary negotiations for completing the purchase, planning all kinds of improvements and alterations, Lilian and I being in constant request in the consultations.

Meantime, Mr and Mrs Trafford had returned from their wedding-tour, and we were telling each other that we meant to pay the expected visit of congratulation. But we contented ourselves as long as possible with meaning to pay it, being in no haste to make our appearance at Fairview again. There could never be anything stronger than politeness between either Hill Side or the cottage, and Fairview; and we did not wish to pretend that there could. But either the bride became impatient to assure us of her happiness, or she was curious to find out for herself whether the rumour, which had reached her respecting the intentions of the gentleman who visited so regularly at the cottage, was true; for she waived ceremony at last, and came to visit us – she and 'Caroline.'

Philip and Lilian and I were in consultation about the furniture for Hill Side, which we wanted to be artistic and at the same time befitting a cheerful country home. The only room we were inclined to be really extravagant about was the library; and that, I was chiefly answerable for. Philip gravely opined that I must mean to spend a great deal of my time there, and I as gravely allowed that I did. Lilian and I were to be the only ladies admitted there. I reminded him that he did not yet know Mrs Trafford and Mrs Chichester, and that therefore he had better not make his rules too stringent.

We were in the midst of an animated discussion upon the respective merits of light and dark oak, when Philip drew our attention to what he termed an extraordinary collection of finery coming down the lane.

It was Mrs Trafford, her long train sweeping the dust into clouds behind her, accompanied by Mrs Chichester. It would be vain to attempt a description of her appearance, laden as she was with every conceivable folly which French and English modistes could invent. Perhaps Philip's comment – 'Too much of everything, from the lady herself to her feathers and furbelows' – best expressed the impression her appearance gave. I saw his eyes turn for refreshment upon Lilian's simple holland dress and the delicate colouring and outline of her face. She always looked her best in contrast with Marian; the soft rose of her cheeks, the deep tender blue eyes, and the pale gold hair, in eloquent protest against the other's vivid black and white and red.

Mrs Trafford (how glad I was to be able to discontinue calling her Miss Farrar) had no misgivings. Misgivings! Was not everything she had on in the latest extreme of fashion? She evidently considered that it was for us to have misgivings; though she generously tried to make matters pleasant and set us at our ease by giving us a description of Paris and details of fashionable life there. We had no idea what Paris life was like; no one could without having been there; it was too absolutely delightful, quite too awfully charming. She positively could not exist without going every year to the enchanting place; and so forth, and so forth; all in superlatives.

She made a great point too of telling us how very much 'Dear Arthur' had enjoyed the life there. 'He really was quite too enraptured, and said he had never known what enjoyment was till he had seen Paris.'

Mrs Chichester put in a word to the effect that her brother had frequently visited Paris; and the life there was not new to him. But Marian reminded her that he had not before visited it with her, which made all the difference.

With lowered eyes, Mrs Chichester softly remarked that it doubtlessly did make a difference.

Of course it did – all the difference! 'And' – turning pleasantly to Lilian once again – 'I have brought over a French maid with me: one really cannot expect to look commy fo without, don't you know, in these days.'

I tranquilly supposed that they could not; never again would Marian receive a home-thrust from me; though there could not be friendship, there would be no more war between us. I did not even allude to the Pratts.

'You must all come to Fairview to dinner; aunty and all, ong fam-y you know; you really must.' And turning to Philip, she graciously expressed a hope that Mr Dallas also would do her the honour.

Mr Dallas gravely replied that he was entirely in our hands and ready to do our bidding. At which she laughingly advised me not to take all that for gospel. 'You can't expect it always to go on like that, you know, Miss Haddon; though I am sure I have no reason to complain. No one could be more thought of than I am. You would say that if you could have seen how patiently Arthur waited for me at the shops – hours and hours, I assure you. The very worst he did was to give a little sigh sometimes, and no one could be offended at that, knowing how some of the husbands go on. – Waiting about in the shops really is a test of a husband's good-nature, Mr Dallas.'

Philip meekly supposed that it really was.

'Is it true that Mr Dallas has become the purchaser of the little place – Hill Side isn't it called? – which you can see from some part of the Fairview grounds, Miss Haddon?'

'Yes,' I replied; Philip had bought it.

'It looks a charming little place. But is it large enough?'

I said that Mr Dallas thought it large enough for his means; at which she was amiably anxious to point out the disadvantages of having a large place and the advantages of having a small one.

'A small house is so – cosy – you know, and so – warm in the winter, and all that. I sometimes almost wish I lived in a small way myself; I really do. No one would believe the expense it is to keep up a large place like Fairview; they really wouldn't. And then the trouble of having a large staff of servants! You have no idea what men-servants are in a house – so extravagant and expensive and lazy; it's quite too dreadful, my dear!'

'Really, aunt' – turning to the dear little lady placidly eyeing her – 'you are the best off after all, if you could only believe it.'

'I do believe it, Mrs Trafford.'

But that was more than Marian could understand. 'It's very good of you to say so, I am sure, aunt; but perhaps, after all, it does seem like old times to you.'

Mrs Chichester flushed up now and then, a little out of humour, I fancied, at seeing herself thus travestied. But she said very little; indeed during the whole visit she seemed to be absorbed in one idea, so lost in astonishment at my good fortune as to be quite unlike her usual self. She was even impolitic enough to give some expression to her astonishment in a little aside to Lilian, who was quite indignant at the implied ill compliment to me.

'You must say you will come and dine with us,' repeated Marian, when she at length rose to take her departure. 'You positively must! Arthur will never forgive me if I don't make you promise. – What day have we disengaged next week, Caroline?'

Caroline could not or would not recollect what day they had disengaged; a little angry probably at a smile which I could not suppress; and was chidden by her sister-in-law accordingly.

'But you ought to make a point of remembering such things, you know; and I must beg that you will do so in future,' said Mrs Trafford, with a tone and look which seemed to shew that Mrs Chichester's office was no sinecure. I think she was heartily glad when the visit was over.

'You must come up and see the things I bought in Paris,' whispered Mrs Trafford good-naturedly in a little aside to me. 'It will give you an idea of what is worn. Ask for Céleste, if I do not happen to be in the way, and I will tell her she is to shew you beforehand; for she knows how particular I am. She will put you up to all sorts of things if you make friends with her. You can't conceive how much those French maids know about improving the figure and complexion and all that; though of course I do not need anything of the kind.'

I murmured something about being obliged; not to seem ungrateful for what was evidently meant to be a kindness.

'Oh, you are quite welcome.' Then lowering her voice again: 'He is a dear! How long have you been engaged?'

'Nearly ten years.'

'Ten years!'

'Mr Dallas has been abroad some years, and has only just returned,' I said, seeing no necessity for making a mystery about it.

'And kept true to you all that time! He must be good! So handsome too – so very handsome. All the heroes in the books are big, and have broad shoulders now;' sentimentally. 'His beard just the right colour too! How you must dote upon him, and how jealous you must be! Between ourselves, I could hardly bear Arthur to be out of my sight before we were married. It's different now, of course; if he does not behave well, I can stop his allowance, you know. That would be only fair.'

This seemed to confirm the rumour which had reached us to the effect that when it came to be a question of settlements, Marian had proved to be sufficiently a woman of business to keep the power in her own hands, notwithstanding the angry remonstrances of her lover and his sister. Perhaps also it was true, as it was said to be, that he would have drawn back at the last moment, but for shame.

I made some indefinite reply about putting off the time for being jealous as long as possible.

'Well, I can only say that it is a good thing I did not see him before I saw Arthur, or else you might have had cause enough to be jealous! But you needn't be afraid now. I am not one of that sort!'

And with that parting assurance, Mrs Trafford went her way, talking loudly over her shoulder as she walked down the lane, to 'Caroline,' who followed in her wake, about the inconvenience of not being able to get into 'my carriage' at the gate.

We did not laugh over the bride's grandeur as we might have done had she been any one else; the remembrance of all that she had deprived Lilian of was too fresh upon us for that. And Lilian herself was in Marian's society reminded more vividly of the wrong which had been done to her mother.

'You were quite right, Mary,' said Philip to me when we were alone – alluding to the bridegroom. 'The poor wretch is punished enough! It's an awful punishment! By-the-bye, what was she whispering to you about all that time?'

'Offering me a view of the latest Paris fashions; and admiring you, ungrateful man that you are!' I smilingly replied. 'She thinks I must be terribly jealous.'

'Jealous;' reddening. 'What did she mean?'

'I suppose she thinks she would be jealous in my place,' I said, a little surprised at his manner.

'In – your place. I do not understand,' he returned, as it seemed to me now, even angrily.

I laid my hand upon his arm. 'Of course I only repeated it because of its absurdity, Philip. Between you and me, it would be "Away at once with either love or jealousy."'

He took my hand in his, lifted it to his lips, and then turned away without a word. Well, I did not object to such silent leave-takings; they were eloquent enough for me. But I must not jest again in that way, I told myself, as I slowly returned to the cottage again. Philip evidently did not like it. Oddly enough, the first thing Lilian said, when I met her at the gate, where she was waiting for me, was upon the same topic. She had, it appeared, heard the one ominous word in Marian's whispered talk to me.

'What was Mrs Trafford saying to you about jealousy, Mary?' she asked, in a low tone and with averted eyes, trifling as she spoke with my watch-chain.

Did she fancy that Marian was still inclined to be jealous of her? I wondered.

'Only some nonsense about my being jealous of Philip, dearie,' I lightly replied.

'Jealous! – jealous of – Philip? What did she mean?' she ejaculated, using the words he had used with the same manner and even more anger.

'She seems to consider it is only natural that I should be jealous of him, since she tells me that his beard is the fashionable colour for heroes this season; but she was good enough to assure me that I need not be afraid of her now; although things might have been different if she had seen him some time ago. So I feel quite safe.'

'O Mary, are you sure, are you sure?' – with a little hysterical laugh.

'Am I sure, Lilian! Do you too require an assurance that I am not likely to become jealous of Mrs Trafford! You are almost as bad as Philip, and that is saying a great deal. Why, Lilian, what is the matter?'