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 AJiL: 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 'ir-...- 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
 :i^<-- 
 
 
CO 
 
 7) 
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/anglerssouvenirOOchatrich 
 
C^' 
 
 
To siB that lovi' ns. 
 
 md tlK' JKMnevSt ai-t of ^^iijillw^^. 
 
 As inward, lore brecdi oiiiwsrcl raUr , 
 
 The HoniiJ. aoiuc praise mid some tiw Hawif , 
 
 Use Tenuis sonie a Miaitess court t 
 
 Bui rhtte doli^hts L uoitlier -wish 
 Ncr caw •whilf T fwi!lv flaTi. 
 
IflKl S 
 
 Ly PoFislier 
 
 A NEW EDITION 
 
 iOSDON. FREDERICK WARNESoC? 
 
ty 
 
 THE 
 ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 
 EDITED nY 
 
 G. CHRISTOPHER DAVIES, 
 
 AUTHOR Ol- "the swan AND HEK CREW," "THE NORFOLK BROADS," ETC, 
 
 WITK ILLUSTRATIONS BY BECKWITH AND TOPHAM. 
 
 FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. 
 
 1886. 
 
Richard Ci.av <fe Son-s, 
 
 BREAD STREET HILL, LONBON, 
 Bungai', Suffolk. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Introductory .... 
 Angling — Pro and Con 
 An Evening at the Rye House . 
 Angle-land .... 
 
 The Salmon 
 
 Shade-fishing for Trout 
 
 The Mill . . , . . 
 
 An October Morning . 
 
 The Linn 
 
 An Angler's Holiday: 
 
 I. Home .... 
 II. Up with the Lark . 
 
 III. The Portrait op an Angler 
 
 IV. On a Cottage Door. 
 V. Among the Carp 
 
 VI. Kitten-fishing 
 VII. The Meres 
 
 VIII. COEDYRALLT 
 
 IX. The Happy Valley 
 
 
 iw373479 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ANGLINa ACQXJAINTAJSC£S (AnIMALS, BiRDS, 
 
 ETC.) 198 
 
 Waterside Plants 228 
 
 Bream-fishing 241 
 
 Rain 253 
 
 A Rustic Angler 260 
 
 A Monster Pike 270 
 
 On some Odd Ways of Fishing . . . 278 
 
 Carpe Diem 286 
 
 A September Day. ..... 295 
 
 Blank Days ...,.,. 304 
 
 
There are three classes of men who read angling 
 books. First, and least numerous, are those who 
 care nothing for fishing, but are fond of the country, 
 and like to read those descriptions of country life 
 and scenes which abound in angling books more 
 than others ; next come those who are fond of 
 fishing, and are so lucky as to have plenty of it. 
 These, although they cannot keep their hands off 
 a book on their favourite sport, if they see it, yet 
 look down upon it with some feeling of superiority 
 to it : they know more than it can teach them, and 
 all their lives are passed in the enjoyment to 
 satiety of what it describes as almost heavenly ; 
 and last, there is the large class for which books 
 of this kind are chiefly written — the men who 
 are sportsmen at heart, and passionately devoted 
 to angling, yet have little time, and perhaps less 
 opportunity, to indulge in the pursuit of that 
 which would bring them happiness. These men 
 read with avidity whatever is written upon the 
 gentle art, and so make up in fancy for the loss of 
 I confess that I am one of this last- 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 named body. My opportunities for fishing are 
 abundant enough, but, between law and litera- 
 ture, I haven't the time to avail myself of them. 
 Therefore I read what others write, and I write 
 myself for the sake of others. Yet, as I write of 
 the days when I had the time and used it well, the 
 longing to be off and away once more to river and 
 lake comes with a painful force, and I strive to 
 snatch an hour or two for its gratification. But 
 a fisherman, if he is to be successful should be 
 able to pick his days, and if he cannot do so, the 
 chances are that the days on which he is compelled 
 to fish, if he fishes at all, are unsuitable, and he 
 is unsuccessful. At least that is my experience. 
 Therefore I am again driven back to my books for 
 consolation. Is this not the experience of many ? 
 
 All this is meant to show that a demand has 
 arisen and continues for angling-books, and that 
 there is ample excuse for adding mure to their 
 already great number. 
 
 Some years ago there appeared an excellent book, 
 with very beautiful steel engravings, called " The 
 Angler's Souvenir," by "P. Fisher, Esq.. assisted by 
 several eminent piscatory characters." The earlier 
 part of the present book consists of a portion of the 
 original Anglers Souvenir. The practical matter of 
 the Souvenir has been omitted, because the practice 
 of angling has materially improved since it was 
 written, and its instructions would be of no value 
 to modern anglers. The descriptive part of it, 
 
INTR OD UCTOR Y 
 
 S. 
 
 however, will not lose, but rather gain, by being 
 old-fashioned, and should be received with the same 
 favour by the present generation of anglers as by 
 the past. 
 
 The concluding portion of this work is also a 
 part of a book which was published under the title 
 of " Angling Idylls." The critics who then made the 
 author blush, in his exceeding modesty, at the too 
 generous nature of their criticisms, are responsible 
 for this mixture of the new wine with the old. The 
 last three sketches or articles are quite new, except 
 that Carpe Diem appeared in the pages of "London 
 Society." Critics like to have a raison d'etre for the 
 production of a book now, although I don't see the 
 -"jj least reason why they should, and hope that I have 
 established a sufficient one for the existence of this 
 new edition of " The Angler's Souvenir." 
 
;; 
 
 
 ANGLING, PRO AND CON. 
 
 I. 
 
 When fair Aurora rising early shewes 
 Her blushing face beyond the eastern hils, 
 And dyes the heavenly vault with purple rewes, 
 That far abroad the ■world with brightnesse fils ; 
 The meadows green are hoare with silver dewes, 
 That on the earth the sable night distils, 
 
 And chanting birds with nierrj' notes bewray 
 The near approaching of the chearfull day. 
 
 Tlien let him go to river, brook, or lake. 
 That loves the sport-, where store of fish abound, 
 And through the pleasant fields his journey make, 
 Amidst sweet pastures, meadows fresh and sound, 
 Where he may best his choice of pastime take, 
 While swift Hyperion runs his circle round ; 
 And, as the place shall to liis liking prove, 
 Tliere still remain, or further' else remove. 
 
 The Secrets of Angling, by John Dennys, Esq. 1613. 
 
 The true secret of the Angler's purest and most 
 lasting pleasure — whose remembrance is sweet, and 
 anticipation exhilarating, — is discovered in the 
 stanzas which we have prefixed as a befitting intro- 
 duction to the present chapter. The practice of 
 Angling is closely and necessarily associated with 
 objects, the contemplation, nay, the very behold- 
 ing of which fails not to impart a pleasure to every 
 man whose soul is not insensible to the charms 
 presented by the natural combination of 
 
 " Field and forest, flood and hill, 
 Tower, abbey, church, and mill," — 
 
 yw' 
 
lO 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 m: 
 
 m^ 
 a 
 
 )' 
 
 such as our friend here will enjoy after he has 
 landed the salmon, which has held him in work 
 for this last hour and a half. 
 
 Though the love of angling is generally acquired 
 in youth, yet it sometimes attacks persons of more 
 mature age ; conveys a maggot into their head, 
 and then they dream of gentles ; tickles their nose 
 with a May-fly, and straight they talk of palmers, 
 red and black, dun-cuts, granams, coachmen, pro- 
 fessors, gnats, moths, March browns, and peacock 
 hackles ; shows them a salmon in a fishmonger's 
 shop, and then they think of landing an eighteen- 
 pounder ; makes them dream, speak, and think of 
 nothing but angling ; and 
 
 " winna let the puir bodies 
 Gang about their business ! " 
 
 Few persons who have been educated in tho 
 country, except the peevish or sickly, and such as 
 have had a brute for a master, can look back upon 
 their boyish days without bringing to mind many 
 recollections of real, heartfelt, unalloyed pleasure ; 
 amongst which that of angling, with an episode of 
 bathing or bird-nesting, is not the least delightful. 
 On a fine summer afternoon — when the new-mown 
 hay smells sweet, when the trees are in full leaf, 
 and wild-flowers in full bloom, the com in the ear, 
 and the bean in blossom ; when there are trout in 
 every burn, and nests in every hedge and thicket 
 — happy are the schoolboys who obtain a half- 
 holiday ; and few of the pleasures of life, either for 
 present enjoyment or after-thought, exceed those 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 II 
 
 ^X. 
 
 of such an occasion. The kind master — masters 
 who occasionally give such an indulgence are al- 
 ways kind, good men — with a suppressed smile of 
 satisfaction announces the glad tidings, and im- 
 mediately retires, that he may not witness the 
 somewhat indecorous haste with wliich books and 
 slates are laid aside, and hats and caps scrambled 
 for. Like a swarm of bees casting, they rush out 
 of school with a joyful hum, and then, spreading 
 tliemselves in groups upon the green, hold council 
 how they shall best dispose of the portion of golden 
 time which has been accorded to them jytr gratiam 
 domini — through the kindness of the master. One 
 party is off to the meadow, to plague the farmer by 
 tumbling among the hay, when they pretend to assist 
 him in tedding it ; another is gone to the wood and 
 the coppice, to cut sticks, gather flowers, and seek 
 bird-nests ; and a third has determined to try the 
 fishing, after taking a bathe in the Friar's Pool, as 
 they go up the burn. Those of the latter party 
 who have rods, now produce them, and a survey and 
 fitting of tackle take place ; while such as are not 
 so well provided set out in search of brandling 
 worms and cad-bait ; their reward for such service 
 being a cast now and then, with the honour of 
 carrying the fish home. 
 
 To attend our fishing-party : they have now had 
 their bathe in the Friar's Pool ; the swimmers 
 boldly plunging in from the ledge of rocks at the 
 head, and the sinkers prudently confining them- 
 
 ■.s^^ 
 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 -^^ 
 
12 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 selves to dabbling about in the shallows at the 
 foot. Two young ones, who would not go over- 
 head voluntarily, were, to prevent them taking 
 cold, thrice ducked nolen volens ; and another, who 
 would not bathe, was gently bumped against a sod- 
 dyke. They now proceed to the serious business 
 of the afternoon, — fishing. The strongest, as a 
 matter of right, select such parts of the water as 
 appear to them best ; the weaker fish Avhere they 
 can ; and those who have neither rod nor line wait 
 on such as have, or try to catch minnows and 
 loaches with their hands, or to spear eels Avith the 
 prongs of an old fork stuck in a broomstick. 
 
 Here is a chubby little fellow, in a pinafore, five 
 last biithday, making his first essay as an angler. 
 His rod is an untrimmed stick of hazel, which he 
 has picked up by the way ; his line a couple of 
 yards of packthread ; his liook one of the four old, 
 beardless, rusty ones which he bought as a bargain 
 of a schoolfellow ; and his bait the worms which 
 he dug in his grandmother's garden, breaking the 
 handle of her fire-shovel in turning up the earth. 
 But though rude his tackle and small his skill, ere 
 the sun set great was his reward. The water was 
 in prime order, and the fish bit freely. He caught 
 five minnows, and an eel twice as long as his middle 
 finger, and almost as thick ; and lost, as he affirmed 
 and verily believed, a trout about three pounds 
 weight, which dropped off just as he was whisking 
 him out. This is the first step of the angler's pro- 
 
 L<^.~. - 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 13 
 
 gress ; and from this day forward, when time and 
 tide serve, will he fish by rapid stream and broad 
 river, by highland loch and lowland mere ; until, 
 ' ' sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every- 
 thing," he relapse into childhood again. 
 
 The boy who has thus auspiciously entered on 
 his novitiate proceeds gradually until he takes a 
 master's degree, an honour to which no one is 
 admitted before he has performed the qualifying 
 act of hooking and landing, -without assistance, a 
 salmon not less than fourteen pounds weight ; after 
 which he ought, on producing his testimonium, to 
 have the entree of every angling club throughout 
 Great Britain and Ireland. Should there be no 
 salmon-fishing in the waters where he exercises his 
 skill, then a jack of the same weight, also taken 
 without assistance, or a stone and a half of trout, 
 half a hundredweight of barbel, or a peck of dace, 
 roach, or perch, caught in a day's fair fishing, not 
 in dock or pond, may be allowed as a qualification, 
 speciali gratia, for the same degree. It is here to 
 be noted that bream may be allowed instead of 
 barbel, or be weighed with them, if taken in the 
 same day's fishing ; and that carp and tench may 
 be weighed with trout. Eels are not reckoned ; 
 and gudgeon-fishers are always to be considered in 
 a state of pupilage, and their take not to be ad- 
 mitted in proof of angling skill, either by weight, 
 tale, or measure. Gudgeon-fishing, as Michael 
 Angelo said of oil-painting, is only fit for women 
 
 m 
 
H 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 u 
 
 
 and boys. To take a salmon in fresco — that is, in 
 a fresh or spate, as a north-country friend translates 
 it — is the perfection of the angler's art. 
 
 Though no person, however partial to angling, 
 and however fond of walking, in pursuit of his 
 sport, through pleasant meads and by rippling 
 streams, can be entitled to the character of a skilful 
 angler, unless he be capable of bringing home, by 
 the fair exercise of his rod and line, a tolerable 
 load of fish ; yet it by no means follows that mere 
 fish-killers, whose practice had never extended 
 beyond the Docks at Blackwall, the Surrey and 
 Kegent's Canals, or a mile from Islington, on the 
 New River, are entitled to the name of anglers, in 
 the best sense of the word. Their hands are dab- 
 bled in blood— from the butcher's tub — and fouled 
 with the garbage with which they bait their ground ; 
 and there is the fragrance of no flowers to conceal 
 the loathsome smell. They hear not the murmur 
 of the stream, nor the song of birds ; they see not 
 the forest in the fulness of summer leaf, nor the 
 meadow pranked with summer flowers. Confined, 
 in pairs, in a punt or boat, or singly to a strip of 
 ground some thirty feet long, the extent of their 
 rod and line, they sit or stand for hours, the picture 
 of despondency — their eyes never raised frem their 
 float, unless when roused by the coarse salute of a 
 sailor or bargeman, or by the sarcastic query of 
 " What success 1 " from the passer-by. 
 sons, if married men, are generally 
 
 .V 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 IS 
 
 
 relief from domestic annoyances, and who in the 
 words of one of their poets, 
 
 "bend their way 
 To streams, where far from care and strife, 
 From smoky house and scolding wife, 
 They snare the finny race." 
 
 Poor men ! they only resort to this melancholy 
 pastime in order to put their patience to the proof, 
 and fit them for severer trials ; for if the fire be 
 not out and the wife not dead, on their return home, 
 desperate indeed must be their condition. Gentle- 
 angler, laiigh not at those persons who are thus 
 driven to the water-side, to seek so desperate a 
 remedy for their woes : thou knowest not what 
 may hereafter be thy own fate. Pray that the 
 construction of their chimneys, and the temper of 
 their helpmates, may be amended ; but if, after a 
 twelvemonth's absence, thou again mark an un- 
 happy man on the same spot, for pity's sake put 
 the sufferer out of pain. Taking him by the collar 
 of his coat and the waistband of his small-clothes, 
 gently cast him into the water — he will have neither 
 strength nor inclination to resist — hold him down 
 with the butt of his rod for the space of twenty 
 minutes, and then leave him to his beloved gud- 
 geons. Though thou canst not thus expect to gain 
 the medal of the Humane Society, thou wilt have 
 the pleasing consciousness of having relieved a 
 fellow-man, — I almost said a brother angler, but, 
 with such, brother Bob is the word, — of his cares, 
 
 y^i^ 
 
i6 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 and of having prevented him from committing 
 suicide. 
 
 Elderly anglers, who feel weak in the legs after 
 a mile or two's walk, and who seat themselves on 
 the bare ground when tishing, ought to be made 
 acquainted with the danger which they incur in 
 thus incautiously resting themselves ; for " how- 
 ever dry it may seem," says an experienced bottom- 
 fisher, "many, from so doing, have experienced 
 violent cholics, inflammations in the bowels, etc." 
 To guard against such disorders, it appears, from 
 the authority above quoted, that "careful anglers 
 provide themselves with a piece of cork or board, 
 (which some cover with a piece of carpet). . . . 
 The cork or board provided for a seat is usually 
 about eighteen inches long and twelve broad, which 
 may be kept and carried in a basket, with other 
 articles used by anglers." This contrivance, which 
 was good enough in its day— about ten years since 
 — has, in consequence of the late rapid strides of 
 science, as applied to the useful arts, been almost 
 wholly superseded by Macintosh's patent Caout- 
 chouc Air-cushions, which, when not inflated, may 
 be conveniently stowed in the hat-crown, and, 
 when wanted, can in two minutes be blown out to 
 the size of a goodly pillow. But as it is desirable 
 that the angler should carry with him as few things 
 as possible beyond his necessary tackle, a further 
 simplification of . this * ' life preserver " for the 
 sedentary angler, is here suggested ; being also 
 
-^^ ' //ff 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 T7 
 
 waterproof, it has all the general advantages of the 
 cushion, with, it is presumed, some little comforts 
 in addition : — to be warm as well as dry, in the 
 part most exposed to cold and damp, is a great 
 desideratum with the angler who wishes to enjoy 
 
 " pleasure and ease 
 Together mixed, — sweet recreation," 
 
 The proposed improvement has also the advan- 
 tage over the cushion in these points, — it is always 
 ready for use, and is much less liable to be lost. It 
 is rather surprising that an invention at once so 
 simple and obvious should have occurred to no 
 bottom-fisher before. It consists merely in seating 
 the inexpressibles of the sedentary angler with 
 caoutchouc, and lining them, according to size, 
 with two, three, or four bosom friends— prepared 
 rabbit-skins, so called, — which can be obtained at 
 any glover or hosier's shop. 
 
 Though Sir Humphrey Davy, in his " Salmonia," 
 speaks lightly of the angling of " cockney fisher- 
 men, who fish for roach and dace in the Thames," 
 yet we strongly suspect that in this school he was 
 first initiated into the mysteries of the rod and line, 
 and that his love of fly-fishing for trout and sal- 
 mon was rather a late one. He was President of 
 the Royal Society, and he was ambitious — sero sed 
 serio, late though earnestly — of ranking among the 
 first of fly-fishers. Vain hope ! No man who drives 
 out to Denham, "in a light carriage and pair of 
 horses," to enjoy trout-fishing in a preserved stream ; 
 
 B 
 
 4% 
 
 u- 
 
 
 -0 
 
i8 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 or who is carried into a boat on a Highlandman's 
 back, to fish for salmon on Loch Maree, need aspire 
 to such a distinction. Of fly-fishing, he may talk, 
 in season and out of season, 
 
 " About it, Goddess, and about it," 
 with German Professors and French Members of 
 the Institute — but a genuine angler he never can be. 
 The advice to anglers respecting the state of their 
 bowels, the danger of palsy or apoplexy to be ap- 
 prehended from wading, and the excess of drinking 
 a pint of wine, savour much of the precautions and 
 .^ forebodings of a prudent bottom-fisher. Thovigh 
 
 'f'-.'^r/ there are several passages of great beauty and 
 J 4; feeling in the " Salmonia," and many obervations 
 '''•_C%\ on natural history which are highly deserving of 
 '^W^-'^ attention, yet, notwithstanding that it has had an 
 ^fti', extensive sale, it is not a popular book. Many have 
 
 '•€hi^ read it who would not otherwise have looked into such 
 ''t,^^^ a book from curiosity to see what the President of the 
 .^^^^v>. Royal Society, claiming to be one of the first scien- 
 tific bodies in Europe, could say upon such a sub- 
 jecb ; and others, who are desirous of reading such 
 works, be the author who he may, have perused it 
 with greater avidity in consequence of the previous 
 reputation of the author. It is of little use as an 
 angling guide ; and though the author appears to 
 have angled in the Scottish Highlands and in Stiria, 
 he scarcely appears to have seen any of the people 
 of these countries, for there is nothing like a cha- 
 racteristic sketch of popular manners in the book. 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 19 
 
 The notice of the " stout Highlander with a power- 
 ful tail, or, as we should call it in England, suite," 
 is a poor affair ; and Mr. Ornither was right in not 
 saying a word about the Celt being " a pot -fisher, and 
 somewhat hungry," until his tail was turned, lest 
 he should have soused him in the pool. The sneer 
 from the Cockney (he could be nothing else), one 
 of a party who " have come nearly a thousand 
 miles for this amusement," at a Highlandman as a 
 pot-fisher, is really capital. Why, what does the 
 Highlandman feed on? — Salmon, grouse, and red 
 deer ; and he might as well be laughed at as a 
 pantry sportsman, because he kills the latter for his 
 table, as sneered at because he takes his own fish. 
 We have known some trout and salmon fishers in 
 our day, and the best of them were pot-fishers ; not 
 men who fished for a living, but who walked far 
 and waded deep to bring home a prime salmon for 
 the kettle, or a creel full of trout for the frying- 
 pan. The author of " Salmonia," who is not disin- 
 clined to let us know that he enjoyed the acquaint- 
 ance of a Prince of the Blood Royal, and had lived 
 with the great — cum magnis vixisse would form no 
 unapt motto for the book — is more at home at 
 Denhara, within the sound of "the dressing-bell 
 which rings at half-pas t four," preparatory to dinner 
 at five, than on the banks of a Highland loch, where 
 the select party is annoyed by the sight of a power- 
 ful Highlandman with his tail on. Mountain lochs 
 and streams cannot be so strictly preserved as two 
 
20 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 or three miles of stream in Buckinghamshire ; nor 
 gentlemen anglers in Ross-shire so well fenced in 
 from chance intruders as by the side of a brook 
 which skirts a gentleman's pleasure-grounds within 
 twenty miles of London. 
 
 Fly-fishing is most assuredly that branch of 
 angling which is the most exciting, and which 
 requires the greatest skill with the greatest per- 
 sonal exertion to ensure success. Fly-fishing 
 in a preserved water, where a gentleman, per- 
 chance in ball-room dress, alights from his car- 
 riage to take an hour or two's easy amusement, 
 is no more like fly-fishing in a mountain stream 
 — where the angler wanders free to seek his fish 
 where he will and take them where he can — than 
 slaughtering pheasants, in a manner fed at the 
 barn-door, and almost as tame as the poultry which 
 are regularly bred in the yard, can be compared to 
 the active exertion of grouse-shooting. The angler 
 who lives in the neighbourhood of, or visits even 
 the best trout streams, has not unfrequently to walk 
 miles, if he wishes to bring home a well- filled creel, 
 before he finds it worth his while to make a cast. 
 When he has reached a place where trout are plen- 
 tiful, and disposed to rise, his labours then only 
 commence. He now and then hooks a large trout, 
 which he has to keep in play for some time before 
 he can draw him to land. The fish has run all the 
 line out, and with strong effort is making up or 
 down the stream ; and the angler, being no longer 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 21 
 
 '^"N 
 
 ,^j5_-' 
 
 ,( ii "\ 
 
 
 able to follow him on the shore — for a tree, a rock, or 
 a row of alders prevents him, — and knowing that 
 his tackle, which towards the hook is of the finest 
 gut, will not hold the trout, and rather than lose the 
 speckled beauty, three pounds weight at the least, 
 into the water he goes, up to his knees, and possibly 
 a yard above, the first step. And thus he continues 
 leading a sort of amphibious life, now on land, now 
 in the water, for nearly half a day, till he has killed 
 his creel-full, about the size of a fish-woman's pan- 
 nier, with some three or four dozen besides, strung 
 on his garters and suspended over his rod. In this 
 guise, light-hearted — for he has reason to be proud 
 of his success — though heavily laden, he takes his 
 way homeward ; and then does he, for the first time, 
 note how rapidly the hours have fled. He came 
 out about two in the afternoon, just thinking to 
 try if the trout would rise, as there had been 
 a shower in the morning and the water was a 
 little coloured ; and he now perceives that the 
 sun, which is shedding a flood of glory through 
 the rosy clouds that for half an hour before 
 partly obscured his rays, will in ten minutes sink 
 behind the western hill, although it be the 21st 
 of June. Involuntarily he stands for a while to 
 gaze upon the scene. Eirerything around him in 
 the solitude of the hills — for there is no human 
 dwelling within five miles — appears quiet and com- 
 posed, but not sad. The face of nature appears 
 with a chastened loveliness, induced by the 
 
 mm 
 
 s:fi$i 
 
22 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 departing day ; the winds are sleeping, and so are 
 the birds— lark and linnet, blackbird and thrush : 
 the leaves of the aspen are seen to move, but not 
 heard to rustle : the bubbling of the stream, as it 
 hurries on over rocks and pebbles, is only heard. 
 The angler's mind is filled with unutterable 
 thoughts —with wishes pure, and aspirations high. 
 From his heart he pours, as he turns towards home, 
 
 " Thanks to the glorious God of Heaven, 
 Which sent this summer day." 
 
 The exercise which the angler takes when fly- 
 fishing is no less conducive to the health of his 
 body, than the influence of pleasing objects con- 
 tributes to a contented mind. He is up in the 
 summer morning with the first note of the lark ; 
 and ere he return at noon he has walked twenty 
 
 miles ; 
 
 By burn and flow'ry brae. 
 Meadow green and mountain grey," 
 
 and has ate nothing since he despatched a hasty 
 breakfast of bread and milk about four in the 
 morning ; nor drank, except a glass of Cogniac or 
 Glenlivat, qualified with a dash of pure spring 
 water from the stone trough of a wayside well— see 
 it here— on his way home. When he goes to the 
 water-side, as it is more than likely that he will 
 have to wade, he puts on a pair of lambswool socks 
 and an extra pair in his pocket. Should his feet 
 be wet when he leaves off" fishing, he exchanges his 
 wet socks for a pair of dry ones, and walks home in 
 
 ,m 
 
 ^s 
 
 £^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 23 
 
 a state of exceeding great comfort ; the glass which, 
 he took at the well, just after changing his socks, 
 having sent the blood tingling to his toe-ends. 
 
 Delicate, nervous people — such fragile beings as, 
 in country phrase, are said to be " all egg-shells " 
 — who conceive, and very truly, from some de- 
 lightful papers in Blackwood, by the "old man 
 eloquent," that fly-fishing must be a most fasci- 
 nating amusement, and who think that straight- 
 way they can enjoy it in all its charms, are for the 
 most part wofuUy disappointed when they come to 
 make the trial. Fly-lihhing is indeed delightful, 
 but not to them. A poor whimsical thing — poor 
 in Heaven's best gift, mens sana in corpore sano, — 
 who 
 
 " Is everything by fits and nothing long," 
 
 has persuaded himself that he would enjoy fly- 
 fishing, and is determined to try the Wharfe, which 
 he is informed afifords good trout-fishing, the next 
 time he visits Harrogate. Previous to leaving 
 London, he provides himself with an excellent rod 
 and such lines, of hair and silk, as would make the 
 mouth of an old angler water, who spins his own 
 from no better material than the hairs of a cow's 
 tail. His flies, though showy and well enough 
 made, are not the kind for a trout, although laid 
 within an inch of his nose by ever so fine a hand. 
 He supplied himself at a tackle-maker's, who 
 knowing little of fly-fishing except for chub, 
 provided his customer with a choice and extensive 
 
 .. WK^.v-^-X., 
 
 \¥ 
 
24 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 assortment of moths, cockchafers, and bees, with 
 various kinds of large flies, dressed on hooks large 
 enough to hold any salmon in Tweed. 
 
 Having thus supplied himself with the means 
 and qualified himself in the art of killing by a 
 diligent study of Walton, Venables, Barker, 
 Bowlker, Williamson, Mackintosh, Bainbridge, 
 Carrol, and others, who have treated of fly-fishing, 
 he arrives at Harrogate about the middle of 
 August, and in the course of a day or two proceeds 
 to the Wharf e, in the neighbourhood of Hare wood, 
 to make his first essay. Not wishing to appear as 
 a novice, and thinking that his knowledge of the 
 science may fairly place him on a par with any 
 mere practical country fly-fisher, who has never 
 read a book on the subject in his life, he asks no 
 one's advice, but in the fulness of his own wisdom 
 sets about putting his theory into practice — some- 
 times a rather difiicult aff"air as well in fly-fishing 
 as in ploughing by steam. Having reached the 
 water, which happens to be small and fine, about 
 ten in the morning, the sun shining bright and the 
 sky clear, he very properly begins by adj usting his 
 tackle. He puts his rod together, screws on his 
 wheel, on which he winds the line in a very artist- 
 like manner, leading the end of it through the rings 
 on the rod. He now draws forth his book of 
 flies, and after selecting a foot-length to which three 
 likely flies are attached — to wit, for the stretcher 
 a good, heavy, red-ended bee to make the line carry 
 
 il 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 25 
 
 well out ; for the lower dropper a cockchafer, 
 and for the upper, a very fine grey moth — 
 he loops it to his line. Being resolved not to 
 attempt throwing far at first, he only lets about 
 nine yards of line off, and waving his rod with a 
 graceful turn of the arm, he meditates a throw ; 
 and now, away the line goes! — No, not exactly 
 yot ; for the bee has been so well counterfeited that 
 it appears to have been attracted by the flower of 
 the thistle to whose stalk it is sticking so fast. The 
 bae is now disengaged from the thistle, but the 
 nKjth shows a partiality for broadcloth, and 
 adheres most pertinaciously to the collar of the 
 gentleman's coat, w hich he is obliged to put off be- 
 fore he can free himself from the annoying insect. 
 But he has profited already from experience, and 
 discovered that the surest mode of throwing out 
 the line straight before you is first to lay it on the 
 ground straight behind, and then, taking your rod 
 in both hands, and holding it directly over your 
 right shoulder, deliver the flies right in front by a 
 sort of overhead stroke. After this fashion does 
 he make his first cast, and swash go the flies into 
 the water as if a trio of wild ducks had stooped 
 there in full flight ; and had there been a trout 
 near, he most surely would have been killed — with 
 fright. For an hour he continues his unsuccessful 
 practice ; but consoles himself with the ttiought 
 that he will have the more to take next day. 
 Next day comes, another after that, but still ho 
 
26 ' 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 has caught no trout, though he has lost many flies. 
 On the fourth day it rains, and in the forlorn hope 
 of filling his basket while the water is rising, he 
 ventures, without umbrella, to brave a shower — 
 but still without success ; he catches nothing but a 
 cold. The same night he has his feet put in warm 
 water, and takes a basin of gruel when he goes to 
 bed. How unlike the angler proper, who has tho 
 same day been fishing in the Tweed, between Yair- 
 bridge and Melrose. He has caught four grilses, 
 and as many dozen of trouts, from three in the 
 afternoon till seven ; and about eight o'clock, to 
 save time and trouble, takes both dinner and supper 
 at once ; and afterwards enjoys, with Capt. Clutter- 
 buck, a bottle of wine, drinks three tumblers of 
 toddy, smokes two cigars, andretires to bed about 
 eleven, to rise, like a giant refreshed, at six the 
 next morning. 
 
 But to attend to the progress of our amateur 
 angler's disorder. — The next morning he finds that 
 the cold which ho has caught when trying for trout 
 is not disposed to leave him ; so he takes his coffee 
 and reads the newspaper in bed. He gets up about 
 two in the afternoon, rather hoarse, with a slight 
 tickling cough, but dares not stir out, as a drizzling 
 rain is falling. Towards evening he becomes 
 fidgety, and wants something to read ; and looking 
 into his trunk for a book, lays his hands on Walton, 
 which, in savage mood, he throws to the other side 
 of the room, wishing the good old man, and all 
 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 w 
 
 f^^^^ 
 
 writers on angling— whom he considers as the 
 authors of his disorder, by tempting him to try- 
 fly-fishing— at a place where it is to be hoped no 
 honest angler ever will be found. At night his 
 gruel is repeated, but without any beneficial efi'ect ; 
 for the next morning he finds himself much worse, 
 with rather an alarming pain in his side and breast. 
 The doctor now is sent for, who thinks he perceives 
 inflammation of the lungs ; and should his prognos- 
 tic be wrong, his practice is safe ; for within three 
 hours after he of the golden-headed cane has 
 touched his fee, the patient has been cupped be- 
 tween the shoulders, had a blister placed upon his 
 chest, taken a bolus, and swallowed three draughts. 
 He has, however, received an assurance from the 
 doctor that he is in no danger, that is, provided he 
 takes regularly the medicine which is sent him, has 
 the blister renewed on the third day, and the cup- 
 ping repeated at the same time. At the end of a 
 fortnight the doctor pronounced him convalescent ; 
 and at the end of a month, declared that he might 
 venture, by easy stages, to return to London. The 
 access of inflammation abated his fit of fly-fishing, 
 and he has not since been visited with another 
 attack. Angling he now abominates, together with 
 all who follow or teach it ; and, should he ever be 
 so fortunate as to obtain a seat in Parliament, he 
 intends to bring in a bill to utterly abolish its 
 practice throughout the British empire. It is not 
 a mere wish, without experience and without perse- 
 
28 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 verance, that will convert a person who has scarcely 
 seen a trout-stream in his life into an expert fly- 
 tisher. For the perfect enjoyment of angling, there 
 is still something required besides dexterity in the 
 management of the rod, skill in the choice of flies, 
 and acquaintance with the haunts of fish, and the 
 localities of the stream. In addition to these, there 
 must be a warm yet enduring love of angling, even 
 though the diligent pursuit of it be occasionally 
 attended with no reward. The mind of the angler 
 should be fully sensible of the beauties of the 
 ocenery which are presented to him in his excur- 
 sions by lake and stream ; and susceptible of the 
 heart-healing impressions which the splendour of 
 the rising or setting sun, the rugged grandeur of 
 rocks and craggy mountains, the milder charms 
 of corn-fields, meadows, and woody slopes, never 
 fail to convey to him whose better feelings are 
 not overlaid by the filthy lucre of Mammon, nor 
 corrupted by the principles of the modern school 
 of heartless, counterfeit philosophy, which assumes 
 to itself, ^(xr excellence, t\i.Q title of "Utilitarian," 
 and has discarded the old-fashioned virtues of 
 Faith, Hope, and Charity. 
 
 " For what arailes to Brooke or lake to goe. 
 With handsome rods and hookes of every sort, 
 Well-trwisted lines, and many trinckets moe, 
 To find the fish within their wat'ry fort, 
 If .that the minds be not contented so, 
 But wants those gifts which should the rest support." 
 
The author of "Salnaonia," some six or seven 
 years ago, declared that the glory of fly-fishing had 
 departed from many of the streams of Scotland ; 
 but Christopher North, a much higher authority, 
 writing within this present year, gives to all anglers 
 a comfortable assurance that, though there is what 
 he, " Christopher, and a Scotchman," calls first- 
 rate angling, " in few, if any, of the dear English 
 lakes ; " and though, with your own tackle, you 
 may angle in Crummock- water, " with amorous 
 ditties all a summer's day," and never get a rise ; 
 'tis never so in the lochs of Scotland. " But all 
 living creatures," he thus continues, "are in a 
 constant state of hunger in this favoured country ; 
 so bait your hook with anything edible — it matters 
 not what — snail, spider, fly — and angle for what 
 you may, you are sure to catch it — almost as 
 certainly as the accent or the itch." In addition 
 to this express testimony of one so well qualified to 
 give an opinion on this subject, we shall just quote 
 an account of the Ettrick Shepherd's success, in 
 little more than a mere en-passant " whup " at a 
 couple of streams, the Meggat and the Fruid", when 
 journeying, on a pleasant April day, from his own 
 
30 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 Ci 
 
 .■r<?-k 
 
 home on Yarrow to visit a few friends who had 
 pitched their tent, on a gipsying excursion, in the 
 Fairy's Cleugh, on the south-eastern borders of 
 Lanarkshire. We shall not attempt to injure, by 
 translating, the Shepherd's delightful Doric, but 
 quote his own words. " I couldna ken how ye micht 
 be fennin' in the Tent for fish, so I thocht I might 
 as weel tak a whup at the Meggat. How they lap ! 
 I filled ma creel afore the dew-melt ; and as it's out o' 
 the poor o' ony man wi' a heart to gie owre fishin' 
 in the Meggat durin' a tak, I kent by the sun it was 
 nine-hours ; and by that time I had filled a' ma 
 pouches, the braid o' the tail o' some o' them "wrap- 
 pin' again ma elbows." Having overridden his 
 horse, to make up for lost time, the poet is obliged 
 to wait till he gets secoAd wind : and not to be idle, 
 in the meantime, he tries another stream. " I just 
 thocht I wad try the Fruid wi' the flee, and put en 
 a professor. The Fruid's fu' o' sma' troots, and I 
 sune had a string. I could na hae had about me, 
 at this time, ae way and ither, in ma several reposi- 
 tories, string and a', less than thretty dizzen o' 
 troots." Now this is angling indeed, and enough to 
 tempt an elderly Benedict, who manages to kill two 
 brace and a half in a week's constant angling in the 
 Colne, to desert house and home for a month's 
 angling in the Meggat and the Fruid. 
 
 The efiect produced on the mind of the angling 
 public by such papers, in Blackwood, as " Christo- 
 pher at the Lakes," "Christopher in his Sporting 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 31 
 
 :^) 
 
 ms 
 
 w 
 
 c, 
 
 Jacket, Loch Awe," and many others, imbued with 
 a similar spirit, and bearing the impress of the same 
 master hand, is extremely questionable, so far as 
 the general interests of society are regarded. They 
 have unsettled the minds of many. By a kind of 
 fascination, they have allured the elderly gentleman 
 whose annual summer trip never extended beyond 
 Margate, to venture on a long journey to attend 
 the Windermere Regatta, trace the course of the 
 Duddon, or ascend Skiddaw, instead of viewing 
 Doggett's coat and badge rowed for on the Thames, 
 wandering by the Regent's Canal, or climbing 
 Primrose Hill, to see Mr. Sadler's balloon go up ; 
 and even lawyers may now be seen, during the long 
 vacation, angling for trout on Loch Awe, who for- 
 merly confined themselves to trolling for pike — 
 fresh-water attorneys — in the river Lea. From 
 Midsummer to Michaelmas the lakes are perfectly 
 swarming with visitors, while trout have, in the 
 same ratio, become scarce ; and beds are scarcely 
 to be had for love or money. It is in vain that the 
 ''contemplative man" endeavours to enjoy his 
 meditations alone. If he ascend Skiddaw, he over- 
 takes and passes a slow-paced, short-winded com- 
 pany toiling up the steep ; he meets a second 
 coming down, who have a match against time, and 
 intend completing a tour of the lakes in four days ; 
 and the first sight that greets him when he reaches 
 the top is a family party of thirteen, engaged in 
 eating a family dinner— legs of mutton and trim- 
 
 ^ 
 
32 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 mings — which boots and the hostler have carried 
 up in a clothes-basket. Thinking to find something 
 like solitude in the desert, he takes the lonely road 
 to Buttermere up Borrowdale ; but still he cannot 
 escape the lakers, who cross him at every turn of 
 the dale. Three boats have just discharged their 
 living freight at the head of the lake as he passes 
 Lowdore ; under the lee of the Bowder stone sits a 
 Cambridge youth, who is studying for honours, 
 with his tutor at his side, cramming him with 
 choice morsels from Vince and Wood's — alas ! how 
 unlike Kay's, of the Albion — dry and insipid, 
 though solid course. On the top, on a three-legged 
 portable stool, is seated an artist sketching ; and 
 at the base is a member of the Geological Society, 
 hammer in hand, chipping off specimens, which his 
 lady carefully gathers up and deposits in her reti- 
 cule — the future foundations of another new theory 
 of the earth. At Rosthwaite greater annoyance 
 awaits him ; for there does he behold, in that here- 
 tofore quiet and secluded spot, a party of young 
 men and maidens quadrilling it to the melancholy 
 wailings of a pale-faced young gentleman's flute ; 
 and on arriving at Buttermere, tired, and out of 
 humour with himself, the lakes, and their visitors, 
 he finds that he can only be lodged in a double- 
 bedded room, where he is entertained all night with 
 ^^^fi^>7 ^ trombone solo, from the nose of a stout gentle- 
 man who occupies the other bed, and whose double- 
 bass quaver— which is a repeat, con strepito, every 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 33 
 
 K^ 
 
 half-hour — he vainly hopes is the eflfecfc of strangu- 
 lation. Finding no delightful solitude out of doors, 
 nor rest in his bed, he returns to town by the Ist 
 of September ; and finds, in the deserted -walks 
 and drives of Hyde Park, that freedom from intru- 
 sion which he in vain sought among the hills. 
 
 The evil of those papers is not confined to tempt- 
 ing sober, quiet people, who, 
 
 " Along the cool sequestered vale of life 
 Have kept the noiseless tenor of their way," 
 
 — have walked in cork soles by the shady side of the 
 Strand or Fleet Street all their lives — to set out on 
 a wild-goose chase after the picturesque, the sub- 
 lime, and the beautiful, among hills and lakes, and 
 then leaving them, as a Will o' the Wisp does his 
 followers, beguiled and laughed at. It extends to 
 others, recalling scenes which they can never again 
 visit, and exciting longings which can never be 
 gratified. The native of Cumberland or Westmore- 
 land, the man of pleasant Teviotdale, or the child 
 of the mist from the Highlands, 
 
 " Absent long and distant far," 
 
 from the hills and streams which in boyhood he 
 loved, who has been immured for years in a Babel 
 of brick and mortar, is seized, on reading those 
 papers, with a species of calenture. Recollections 
 of the happy days of his boyhood come over his 
 mind as he reads the page where, in 
 ' . . . . words that breathe," 
 
 K 
 
34 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 the faithful picture is portrayed. The memory of 
 dear, departed days is recalled, and a full tide of 
 pleasure bursts upon his heart, to be succeeded, 
 when the enchanting vision has passed, by a corre- 
 sponding depression, when he reflects how small 
 is the chance of his ever visiting his native place 
 again ; but that, 
 
 " Getting and spending," 
 he is doomed to wear out his life in a round which 
 affords little pleasure from reflection or from hope : 
 
 " He sees 
 A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; 
 Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, 
 And a river rolls on through the vale of Cheapside. 
 
 He looks, and his heart is in Heaven ; but they fade, 
 The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; 
 The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, 
 And the colours have all passed away from his eyes." 
 
! 1 
 
 AN EVENING AT THE RYE HOUSE. 
 
 Having occasion to be in London, with a view 
 to forwarding the publication of the "Angler's 
 SouvENiK," we went out to the Lea, about the 1st 
 of October last, to have a day's fishing, in company 
 with two friends— Mr. William Simpson, of the firm 
 of Simpson and Co., a native of, and resident in, 
 the great city ; and Mr. Alexander Tweddell, a far- 
 away cousin of our own, who happened to be in 
 London on a visit from the north. After a tolerable 
 day's sport, we spent the evening at the Rye House, 
 when the conversation, as might be supposed, was 
 chiefly about angling. As none of the party ex- 
 pected that the evening discourse would be made 
 public, each was unprepared to make a display ; 
 but just followed the ball of conversation as it was 
 bandied about, without detaining it until he had 
 delivered himself of a long-set speech, which pos- 
 sibly might have been in preparation for a month, 
 and found, on being held forth, to be both stale 
 and dry. A gentleman of the press, who, like our- 
 selves, had come out to have a day's fishing, at this 
 dull time of the year, when Parliament is not sitting, 
 and nothing interesting hatched either at home or 
 abroad, happened to occupy the small parlour — 
 
 
 %c- 
 
 J/- 
 
36 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 which was only separated from that in which we 
 were seated by a wooden partition, — and heard the 
 whole of our conversation, which, as he had no 
 company, he carefully took down in shorthand, in 
 the regular way of business, intending to interweave 
 a few of his own graces, and show up the party in a 
 newspaper or magazine, just as he might feel him- 
 self in the humour to cut down or extend the article. 
 He left betimes in the morning, to save the seven 
 o'clock coach at Hoddesdon, after giving to the 
 waiter the following note, with orders to deliver it 
 at breakfast-time, addressed, 
 
 " To the Piscatonj Trio, Bye House. 
 " Gentlemen, 
 
 " Happening last night to occupy the small 
 parlour adjoining that in which you held your 
 piscatory session, I was an auditor, WMlgre moi, 
 of the whole of your conversation ; of which, as I 
 was alone and had nothing better to do, I took 
 ample notes, in a professional way, with a view of 
 
 furnishing either a quizzical report for the 
 
 Newspaper, or a sprightly article for the 
 
 Magazine, as fancy might suggest on re-examination 
 of my materials. 
 
 " I do not, however, wish to act towards you 
 with incivility, more especially as the young Scotch- 
 man, when I met him at the water-side yesterday, 
 was so kind as to offer me a cigar from his box, 
 when, seeing that he had steel and tinder with him. 
 
 vV^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 37 
 
 I only asked for a light — an instance of liberality 
 which, unless I had witnessed it myself, I should 
 scarcely have believed one of his nation would havo 
 afforded. I therefore beg to make you the first 
 offer of a fair transcript of my notes for the sum 
 of five pounds, which is much less than I could 
 obtain for them after a few heightening touches of 
 my own— placing a cap and bells on each of your 
 heads, or putting a few good puns into your mouths 
 — and serving your conversation up to the public 
 through either of the channels aforesaid. 
 
 * ' Should I not hear from you by to-morrow 
 afternoon, I shall conclude that my offer is de- 
 clined. " I am, etc., etc., 
 
 " , Reporter. 
 
 "No. — Staples Inn." 
 
 A 
 
 I 
 
 r. 
 
 As we chanced at this time to be in want of a 
 "night," whose shades might give relief to the day 
 of the "Angler's Souvenir," we determined, with 
 the free consent of our friends Simpson and 
 Tweddell, to accede to this modest proposal, with 
 a view to its insertion in our work then groaning 
 under the press. On our return to town, we dis- 
 patched a note, the same evening, to Staples Inn, 
 
 stating that Mr. 's offer was accepted ; and 
 
 desiring that the MS. might be sent, as soon as 
 convenient, to Mr. Tilt, Fleet Street, where the 
 sum agreed on would be duly paid. In two days 
 the subjoined report of our sitting was sent as 
 
 "^ 
 
38 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 directed ; and is here given -without addition or 
 abridgment. The only corrections necessary were 
 in the names of the parties, in which the reporter 
 had committed a few venial errors : for instance, 
 designating Tweddell as "Mr, Saunders," from 
 having heard us once or twice familiarly address 
 him as "Sandy;" calling Simpson "Mr. Simons," 
 and waggishly locating him as a slopseller, in 
 Houndsditch ; and writing ourselves " The Old 
 Fisher," in consequence of mistaking our surname 
 for a mere agnomen, or professional designation. 
 The songs, which were a good deal mangled, are 
 restored, under the revision of Mr. Tweddell. 
 
 Report of the Evening Sitting of a Piscatory 
 Trio, at the King's Arms, Rye House. 
 
 The speakers — Simpson, Tweddell, and Fisher — 
 dined at four ; and at five business commenced by 
 
 Simpson proposing a toast : "To the pious and 
 immortal memory of Izaak WaltoJi." 
 
 (Bumpers — pints — of old Stafibrdshire ale, drank 
 in solemn silence.) 
 
 Fisher (after a deep sigh, to recover his breath). 
 — A toast worth drinking — in the " language of the 
 cabaret," as a great man called Shakspeare's phrase 
 — " pottle deep." A noble subject ! and better ale 
 I scarcely ever drank, — colour of a beautiful amber, 
 clear as sherry, and fragrant as a handful of new- 
 picked hops — a perfect nosegay. Observe that 
 wasp, whose wings are rather stiff with rheumatic 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 39 
 
 pains — caught by being out late these chill October 
 evenings — how he is enjoying himself at the bottom 
 of my glass. There, the ale has warmed his heart, 
 and away he flies, brisk as a bee that keeps hum- 
 
 J ^i-> ming soft nonsense to the flowers in July. I will 
 
 ■i^g?;, thank you to give the toast again, Simpson. 
 
 ;^i^-^. Simpson". — I have no objection ; bat I beg to 
 
 ; "S-'J^ \ decline drinking it again in ale. 
 
 '^^^.^r TwEDDELL. — And so do I. I have no objection 
 
 =?^r^ to drink it again in a tumbler of toddy, if there 
 
 - ^,^*' be any good whisky to be had here. 
 
 Simpson. — Though you may praise this ale, Mr. 
 Fisher, I confess that I think it rather too old. 
 For the rest of this evening, 
 
 " I abandon all ale 
 And beer that is stale," 
 
 and if no whisky is to be had, I shall be glad to 
 join you, Mr. Tweddell, in a bottle of black-strap. 
 Light dinner wines, — abominable compounds of 
 perry and eighteen-penny Cape — are my aversion. 
 I wonder how any person who drinks of them 
 escapes the cholera. 
 
 Tweddell. — I am willing. 
 
 Simpson. — Waiter, a bottle of your best port. 
 
 You know where to find it. Of the same that I 
 
 had last Thursday. A bottle of sherry at the 
 
 same time : I like a glass of sherry to a cigar. 
 
 '^®^l ^^^ "*® laskwe one of your Havannahs, Tweddell. 
 
 Fisher. — I was only in jest when I proposed the 
 
 w 
 
 
 ■■4W 
 
40 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 other pint, as I knew that yon wonld both shy at 
 it. Good ale is now scarcely to be had, the more 
 is the pity ; for most beneficial in former times 
 were its effects on the genius and morals of the 
 nation, as we learn from the old song : 
 
 " Give a scholar of Oxford a pot of sixteen, 
 
 And put him to prove that an ape has no tail, 
 And sixteen times better his wit will be seen 
 If you fetch him from Botley a pot of good ale. 
 
 Thus it helps speech and wit, and hurts not a whit, 
 Bnt rather doth further the virtues morale ; 
 
 Then think it not much if a little I touch 
 The good moral parts of a pot of good ale. 
 
 To the church and religion it is a good friend, 
 Or else our forefathers in wisdom did fail, 
 
 Who at every mile, next to the church stile, 
 Set a consecrate house to a pot of good ale." 
 
 -\l 
 
 ift> 
 
 Simpson. — Go on. 
 
 Fisher. — I cannot. The ale is out, and, as always 
 happens in such a case, my recollection gone. But 
 drink what you please, — toddy, brandy and water, 
 or black-strap, — I am willing to join you. Any of 
 the usual potations in this part of the country I 
 can bear, except gin. The real cream of the valley, 
 at threepence a quartern, should only be drank in 
 "the valley below." 
 
 Enter waiter, with a couple of decanters of wine. 
 SiMPSox. — Now fill, and I will again give you — 
 ^' The Memory of the ' Sage benign.' " • 
 
 1^ 
 
 I-<r 
 
 !«^'^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 41 
 
 Fisher. — Again, I di-ink it with pleasure. De- 
 servedly does the honest angler call him " father,'' 
 and happy are his sons who walk in the path of 
 their worthy parent. A spirit of cheerful piety 
 pervades his whole book ; and, as he instructs us 
 how to angle, he interweaves his precepts with 
 descriptions and reflections which teach us how to 
 live happily and die well. His book is like one of 
 the delightful scenes which he describes with so 
 thorough a feeling of their quiet beauties. A 
 pleasant meadow, with a stream running past it, 
 bounded by low woody hiUs ; field-flowers bloom- 
 ing among the grass and perfuming the air ; with 
 boys and girls cropping cowsUps, culkerkeyes, and 
 lilies, to make garlands to welcome in the merry 
 month of May. I could almost wish that I had 
 lived in those days, to have gone a-fishing with the 
 good old man, whose humour was "to be free and 
 pleasant, and civilly merry ;" to have listened to 
 his reminiscences of learned and pious Dr. Nowell, 
 cheerful Sir Henry Wotton, holy Master George 
 Herbert, witty Dr. Donne, or reverend Bishop 
 Sanderson ; to have eaten a piece of powdered 
 beef and a radish with him, to breakfast under a 
 sycamore tree ; drank a cup of ale, and borne a 
 part in a catch with him in the evening at the 
 house of a cleanly, handsome, and civil hostess, 
 in company with a downright witty companion, 
 who had come out purposely to be pleasant, and 
 eat a trout ; and then, after bidding " Good night 
 
42 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 %€: 
 
 to everybody," to have retired to bed, where the 
 snow-white sheets, of the landlady's own spinning, 
 smelt of lavender. — But, 
 
 " A change comes o'er the spirit of my dream." 
 
 The low woody hills have become mountains, and 
 the boys and girls are changed into a flock of black - 
 faced sheep, with a sim-freckled, red-haired lad, in 
 a blue bonnet, herding them ; the broad meadow is 
 reduced to a narrow glen, through which a noisy 
 stream is careering like an untamed Highland 
 pony ; and I fancy that I hear a voice addressing 
 the lark, which is hovering in full song above her 
 nest on the mountain side, — 
 
 " Bird of the wilderness, blithsome and cumberless, 
 O, to abide in the desert with thee ! " 
 
 I wish that I were home again. 
 
 Simpson. — You are disposed, I think, to "pas- 
 toralize a little. " However highly you may admire 
 Walton's book, it is not in much repute among the 
 anglers who fish in the Lea. It is not considered a 
 practical work ; and I have known some who, in 
 consequence of hearing it much praised, have bought 
 a copy, and, after trying to read it through, have 
 thrown it aside with expressions of surprise that 
 any person — except a priest or a church-going old 
 maid — could admire it. 
 
 Fisher,— What can be expected from men who 
 "blow brains" and fish on a Sunday? Walton's 
 Angler used to be a very scarce book in the north. 
 
 Xt- 
 
 :^ 
 
 ^"W"' 
 
 '^ii^ 
 
/-t.V'''^ 
 
THE AKGLEF^S SOUVENIR. 
 
 43 
 
 Indeed until Major published his beautiful edition 
 in 1823, I never had been able to call a copy my 
 own. The Society for promoting Christian Know- 
 ledge ought to print an edition of tliis book, in 
 order that copies nii^ht bo given — together with 
 the Book of Common Pi*ayer and the Whole Duty 
 of Man, as at present — ^to promising lads who have 
 a taste for angling, on their leaving school. Should 
 it not improve them nuich in the "gentle art," it 
 would at least aflford them many useful lessons in 
 the " art of being virtuous and happy." Sheridan 
 was fond of reading Walton, as we learn from the 
 Introduction to Major's edition, and used to take 
 a copy with him, when he travelled, as a post- 
 chaise companion. I can scarcely conceive how 
 any person could enjoy Walton amidst the joltuig 
 and rumbling of a post-chaise ; and for my own 
 part would ;i3 soon think of eujoymgthe "Pleasures 
 of Hope" in a bell-loft during a full peal. Walton 
 is best read in solitude ; and he will bear reading 
 in all seasons. Head him in the house, in winter, 
 and you will enjoy summer in anticipation ; read 
 him in summer, in the open air — on a hill-side, by 
 the banks of a stream, under a tree, seated at ease 
 in the dess* of a haystack, or reclining in a clover 
 field, — and your heart will drink in the loveliness 
 of the season with increase of pleasure, and will 
 expand with gratitude towards that Power which 
 framed tlie goodly thuigs of the earth for our 
 * The nook in a stack from which the hay has been cut. 
 
 I^^ 
 
44 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 / 
 
 enjoyment. " Live ever, sweet book, the silver 
 image of his gentle wit ! " 
 
 Simpson. — I highly admire Walton's work myself, 
 though I do not make it the text-book for a lay 
 sermon over a bottle of wine. 
 
 Fisher. — You have not much taste for sermons, 
 I believe, whether lay, extempore, and over a 
 bottle ; or clerical, savouring of the lamp, and over 
 a cushion. But to have done with sermonizing. 
 This is a tolerably pleasant place, Simpson, for a 
 bachelor like yourself to spend a few days at, and 
 basket a stone or two of roach, or half a dozen ^^^i 
 brace of jack, since you have nothing better that is 
 comeatable near London at this time of year. Do 
 you ever fish fly for trout now ? 
 
 Simpson. — O yes, in the season. I subscribe to 
 two waters which afford trout, one at the Wandle 
 and the other at the Colne ; and I sometimes get a 8>' 
 day's fishing in the preserved waters of two friends, 
 one of whom resides at Mitcham, and the other 'I 
 near Rickmansworth. 
 
 FiSHEK. — And do you manage to catch manyl 
 
 Simpson.— Why, as you, who count by dozens, 
 understand the word, I cannot say that I do. But 
 I have taken, T believe, in those streams in a season 
 more large trout than ever you caught in beck, 
 bum, or river, north of the Trent— always except- 
 ing sea-trout — in your life. In one season, from 
 the 1st of May to the 1st of September, I have 
 taken with the fly three trouts, each weighing 
 
 A 
 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 45 
 
 t 
 
 rC'^ 
 
 v.pwarda of five pounds, besides two others which 
 weighed three pounds and a half each. 
 
 Fisher.— In this I must yield you the palm. 
 I never caught one real yellow-finned burn trout 
 weighing five pounds in my life. I once, however, 
 saw one caught with a minnow, in the Eden, near 
 Salkeld, which was twenty-two inches long, and 
 weighed five pounds and a quarter ; and I knew 
 a person who took one in tlie Tweed, with a net, 
 which weighed nearly seven pounds. The trout, in 
 such streams in the northern counties as I am ac- 
 quainted with, are not so large as those caught in 
 the trout-streams within thirty miles of London. 
 But, to make amends, the fly-fisher there counts 
 his take by the dozen, while here he is fortunate 
 who in a day catches three "brace." I have fre- 
 quently killed four dozen in a morning, between 
 daylight and nine o'clock, and as many in the 
 evening, between four and ten. During this last 
 season, on Monday, 21st July, after a heavy rain 
 on the preceding Saturday, a friend of mine caught 
 thirteen dozen, between five in the morning and 
 three in the afternoon. He had on three flies, 
 which he never changed during the whole, replacing 
 those which he lost with others of the same kind. 
 For his stretcher he had a grouse-hackle ; for the 
 middle dropper, a fly with a brown body of bear's 
 fur, and " blea" or leaden-coloured wings ; and for 
 his highest dropper, a red hackle. 
 
 TwEDDELL.— -This is something like fishing ; but 
 
 P 
 
46 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 almost any one, man or boy, who has the use of 
 his arms, and can throw five yards of line into the 
 water, without the instructions of a scientific 
 teacher, may catch trout by fishing well up a stream 
 after a spate or fresh, though not in such quantities 
 as a proficient in the art. The true secret of old 
 fly-fishers, who scarcely ever return with a light 
 creel, is only to go to the water when, from long 
 observation, they are almost certain that trouts will 
 rise. An old fly-fisher, who lived near Sanquhar, 
 and whom I have often fished with, up Spank and 
 down Crawick, in Ken, Scar, and Yeochan, once 
 told me, when I was questioning as to the secret of 
 his success, that for a gill of whisky he would tell 
 me how I might always succeed. It was a bargain. 
 "Ne'er fish but when trouts are hungry, and fish 
 aye where they're plenty." " But how am I to 
 know that?" "In troth," replied he, "I canna 
 verra well tell ye. But ye'U no find mony within 
 twa miles o' where ye can see at ae gliff, a manse, 
 a mill, and a public, nor nigh a place where tinklers 
 often camp. Trouts dinna seem inclined to take 
 their meat for a fortnight after sheep-wasliin', nor 
 when the water's verra high or verra low. They 
 dinna feed freely outher on a warm bright day nor 
 on a cauld dark ane ; and the feck o' them keep a 
 black fast in a' weathers, atween Michaelmas and 
 Easter." I have seen a lad sit down by the water- 
 side, near the head of Yeochan, and, with a few 
 threads from his bonnet and the feather of a 
 
 ?^a^l 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 47 
 
 curlew, dress a fly on a common hook — not to a 
 length of gut clear as the thread of the gossamer 
 and almost as fine, but to a dingy link of five cow's 
 hairs, for he had no thought of playing with the 
 trouts — and then, with a rough hazel rod, about 
 nine feet long, and a line to match, begin fishing ; 
 and in two hours catch as many trouts as some 
 cockney fly-fishers, whose rod, flies, and tackle may 
 have cost them ten pounds, take in a whole season. 
 
 Simpson. — What you say proves that in streams 
 where trouts are so plentiful not much skill is re- 
 quired to take them. May we not, then, conclude 
 that the best fly-fishers are to be found in London, 
 as they are confined to angle in waters where the 
 fish are scarce, and so shy as only to be caught with 
 the finest tackle skilfully managed ? 
 
 TwEDDELL. — You may conclude so : and, upon 
 the same grounds, you may also infer that cockney 
 sportsmen, who range the fields within ten or fifteen 
 miles of London, where partridges are scarce and 
 shy, are the best shots. 
 
 Fisher, — I know that there are excellent fly- 
 fishers in London ; but the best, I am inclined to 
 think, did not acquire their craft in the Colne or the 
 Wandle, though they may now and then occasion- 
 ally basket a few heavy trout from those streams. 
 Chantrey can throw a long line cleverly, either for 
 trout or salmon ; but he was a proficient in the art, 
 having killed many a trout in Dovedale, before he 
 came to London, and I doubt if he be improved 
 
48 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 much since he became an R.A. Sir Walter Scott 
 has mentioned, but where I forget, Chantrey's par- 
 tiality to salmon-fishing ; and, as I have the words 
 down in my pocket-book, I will read them. " We 
 have ourselves seen the first sculptor in Europe 
 when he had taken two salmon on the same morn- 
 ing, and can well believe that his sense of self- 
 importance exceeded twenty-fold that which he felt 
 on the production of any of the masterpieces which 
 have immortalized him." 
 
 TwEDDELL. — I think I have heard you say that 
 you did not acquire your own knowledge of fly- 
 fishing in London, Mr. Simpson ] 
 
 Simpson. — True. When a boy, I was at school 
 near Cotherstone, in Yorkshire, and it was there, in 
 the Tees, and in a small stream which ran close to 
 our master's house, that I first commenced angler. 
 I did not commence fly-fisher at once, but regularly 
 advanced through a course of minnow-fishing, with 
 a line of packthread and a farthing hook ; and I 
 well recollect my first trial for perch, with a new 
 rod and a fine hair line, when I caught fifteen, and 
 thought myself a first-rate angler ; and certainly 
 felt myself one of the happiest of human beings. 
 After this successful commencement, with some- 
 thing like a regular angler's tackle, all my leisure 
 hours and holidays, when the weather allowed, 
 were spent in fishing ; and as I managed to take a 
 good many eels, perch, dace, and brandling trouts, 
 I became a favourite with the master's wife, who 
 
 1^ 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 49 
 
 was a great economist, and regularly served up 
 my evening's take for dinner the next day, and I 
 frequently obtained, through her intercession, a 
 holiday, to go a-fishing. My lessons in fly-fishing 
 were taken under our drawing-master, as great a 
 proficient in the art as ever I met with, and in his 
 company I have fished in the Wear, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Stanhope and Wolsingham ; in the 
 '^ ■! Greta ; in the Swale, near Catterick ; and at Rich- 
 
 mond ; as well as in the Tees, from Piersbridge to 
 the Wheel or Weel, above Middleton. Trouts were 
 not plentiful in the Wear then, twenty-eight years 
 ago ; and I understand that they have since become 
 more scarce, nay almost extinct in the upper part 
 of the stream, in consequence of the water from the 
 lead mines. The Tees used to afford tolerably 
 good sport from Cotherstone upwards, though it 
 used to be sometimes netted by the miners about 
 Middleton. The " Weel," about ten miles above 
 Middleton, is a deep pool above two miles long, 
 and containing excellent trout. The country is 
 the most wild and desolate that I ever beheld, — 
 and I have been at the head of Borrowdale, and 
 crossed Dartmoor, — but the Cauldron Snout, where 
 the stream dashes from the Weel over a succession 
 of falls, and the High Force, five miles above 
 Middleton, where the stream leaps, at one bound, 
 from a ledge of rocks sixty feet high, are well de- 
 serving of the attention of the tourist who happens 
 to be within twenty miles of the place. Once, 
 
50 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 during a vacation, when I did not return home, 
 I spent a week with our drawing-master, who was 
 residing with his friends at Richmond. We went 
 out together one day to an excellent trout-stream, 
 near Burton Constable, about seven miles to the 
 southward, and were following our sport to our 
 great satisfaction, for the trouts were large and 
 •rose well, when a countryman came up, and at- 
 tempted to take my companion's rod from him as 
 a trespasser who was fishing without leave. This, 
 of course, was resisted, and a struggle ensued, in 
 which the artist, — who was but weakly, while his 
 antagonist was a big, powerful fellow, — was likely to 
 come off only second-best, when I, a stout lad of 
 sixteen, joined as thirdsman in the fray, and turned 
 the scale. We soon got the countryman — a great 
 hen-hearted fellow — down, and without any regard 
 to what is called fair play, pummelled him well 
 when we had him down ; but that was not long, 
 for he soon recovered his legs, and ran off; while 
 we, who were swifter of foot, gave chase, and be- 
 laboured him with the butt-end of our rods right 
 across the field, till he escaped by dashing head- 
 foremost through a regular bullfinch hedge, like an 
 ox stung by hornets. We afterwards learnt that 
 the fellow had no right to interfere with us, and 
 had only wished to get a good rod at a cheap rate. 
 But for once the Yorkshireman was bit. 
 
 Fisher. — Youth is certainly the period when a 
 love of the fine arts, including angling, is most 
 
 
 ^xt^*j;s»'»iM*3^a!S^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 51 
 
 easily and most naturally inspired, and a practical 
 knowledge of them most readily attained. The 
 pliant fingers of youth, from ten to sixteen, are 
 peculiarly adapted to tying delicate knots, whipping 
 on hooks, and dressing flies ; and he who first 
 begins to learn those minor branches of an angler's 
 art after his hand is " set," seldom performs his 
 work with neatness, and never with ease. And 
 then to see a gentleman who has arrived at years 
 of discretion taking lessons in managing the rod 
 and throwing gracefully a long line, is about as 
 good as a peep at Mr. Deputy Hopkins, who never 
 learned to dance till after he was married, practising 
 a quadrille, for the Mansion House ball, with his 
 coat and wig off. Most of our practical books on 
 angling are written, not for the "instruction and 
 improvement of youth," but for the edification of 
 elderly gentlemen who are presumed never to have 
 had a rod in their hands before ; and the dry-nurse 
 of a teacher "begins at the beginning " accordingly. 
 I think it would be worth any professor's while to 
 open an Angling Academy at Peerless Pool, City 
 Road, when it is no longer used for bathing, to 
 teach grown gentlemen the use of the long rod, — 
 applying a birch one, soldo loco, when needful, to 
 dull or refractory pupils, — with examples of the art 
 of whipping without cracking off the fly. How did 
 you succeed in your trolling to-day, Tweddell ? 
 
 TwEDDELL. — Very badly. I only caught one 
 jack after a two hours' trial ; and when I thought 
 
52 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 to change my gorge hook for a snap, I was nearly 
 another hour before I could fix my bait as the book 
 directed, and then the best part of the day was 
 gone. I do not wonder at my not catching a 
 second one, for I must confess that, after I had 
 succeeded in fixing my hooks and sewing up the 
 gudgeon's mouth, it presented anything but a 
 tempting appearance. I had handled the bait 
 rather too roughly, and when all was ready for 
 a cast, it was not unlike a bruised sprat, bristling 
 with hooks, and more likely to deter than to allure. 
 No pike, however hungry, I felt assured, could 
 behold it without aversion, if not terror, so I took 
 it ofi" again. An old gentleman who came up, and 
 perceived that I was a novice at jack-fishing, invited 
 me to take a seat in his boat, which was then lying 
 just below the Tumbling Bay ; and with one of his 
 rods I caught two dozen of roach, whilst we smoked 
 our cigars, and talked of the comparative excellence 
 of Silvas and Woodvilles, of fishing and shooting in 
 the Highlands, and things in general. Next to fly- 
 fishing, I should prefer trolling for jack, but I have 
 never practised the latter branch of angling, and I 
 could scarcely expect much sport in my first attempt. 
 I did not choose to follow in the wake of either of 
 you, and receive your instructions at the moderate 
 charge of being laughed at. But what success have 
 you two had ? 
 
 Simpson. — I caught three brace and a half of 
 jack, and Fisher three brace, all by trolling ; and 
 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 53 
 
 this, considering that the water is so clear, and has 
 still so many weeds in it, is tolerably good sport 
 for a five hours' bout at the commencement of the 
 oeason. They were all rather small, under four 
 pounds, except one of those caught by Fisher, 
 which I think will not weigh much less than nine 
 pounds. I have not seen a better taken in the Lea 
 this season. I had a run with one, which, from the 
 glance I had of him as he turned, I should take to 
 be larger ; but though he had plenty of time to 
 pouch, I failed to hook liim. 
 
 FisHEK. — I had twenty minutes' good play with 
 the largest pike, for my tackle was rather of the 
 finest, and he was so strong and pulled hard. I 
 nearly lost him once, just as I had brought him 
 near the shore, and was preparing to get his head 
 into the landing-net. Alarmed at the sight of the 
 net, his fear gave him new strength, and he went 
 off with a plunge which I thought had broken all 
 away ; but my tackle held good. It was his last 
 effort, for after he had run off about thirty yards of 
 line, I felt him getting weak, when I turned him 
 and drew him to land fairly exhausted. He was 
 dead-beat, and when I got him into the net, he 
 scarcely moved a fin. 
 
 Simpson. — Though the cockney angler may not 
 take so many nor so fine fish as are caught in the 
 north, yet he enjoys a greater variety of sport. I 
 suppose there is not much trolling in the neighbour- 
 nood of Sanquhar, Mr. Tweddell 1 
 
54 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 \ - 
 
 -s€ 
 
 ^k 
 
 M 
 
 TwEDDELL. — Very little. The streams are too 
 rapid there to afford much harbour for pike, or ged, 
 as they are frequently called in Dumfriesshire. 
 They are, however, caught in several streams in the 
 lower part of the county about Dumfries ; and I 
 have known them frequently taken in lochs with 
 night-lines ; but trolling is not much practised in 
 Scotland. I think I shall be tempted to try it in 
 the Lochar, as I return home. It contains plenty 
 of fine pike, but anglers there seldom try to catch 
 them except with night-lines. 
 
 Fisher. — We will now basket the pikes, if you 
 please. Mr. Simpson, you are a regular bottle- 
 stopper — a perfect cork, — pass the wine; and, 
 Tweddell, wet your whistle, and give us a song. 
 I wish I had brought my pipes to London with me. 
 How the fish would have— pricked up their ears, I 
 was going to say — " vagged their little tails" to 
 a merry lilt on the union pipes, played from a 
 punt on the Thames or the Lea ; while the per- 
 former had a cigar in his mouth, his eye on the 
 float, and his foot on his rod. Why, this would 
 almost equal the performance of the travelling 
 musician who plays on six intruments at once, or 
 that of the notable servant-girl who could 
 " Whistle and knit. 
 And carry the kit, 
 And hameward drive the kye." 
 
 But I hear, by your hum, that you are in voice and 
 ready. Come, lay your cigar down, and oflf at score. 
 
 
 1& 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 55 
 
 TwBDDELL.— Have a minute's patience, till I can 
 recollect the words, and I will give you a ' ' Fisher's 
 Call." I am not sure that I can go through it 
 without breaking down, for 1 have never yet sung 
 it in company, though I have now and then crooned 
 over a few lines to myself. You know the writer 
 well, an old angling crony of yours ; but you cannot 
 have heard the song before, as mine is the only 
 copy that he has given to any one. 
 
 THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE. 
 
 Old Winter is gone, and young Spring now comes tripping : 
 
 Sweet flowers are springing wherever she treads ; 
 While the bee, hovering o'er them, keeps humming and 
 sipping. 
 
 And birds sing her welcome in woodlands and meads. 
 The snow-wreath no more on the hillside is lying ; 
 
 The leaf-buds are bursting, bright green, on each tree • 
 Ho, anglers, arouse ye ! the streams are worth trying. 
 
 Fit your rods, and away to the fishing with me ! 
 
 Haste away ! haste away ! for the south wind is blowing, 
 
 And rippling so gently the face of the stream. 
 Which neither too full nor too fine yet is flowing. 
 
 Now clouded, now bright with a sunshiny gleam. 
 At the foot of the fall, where the bright trouts are leaping. 
 
 In the stream where the current is rapid and strong. 
 Or just by the bank where the skeggers seem sleeping, 
 
 There throw your fly light, and you cannot throw wrong. 
 
 There's joy in the chase, over hedge and ditch flying ; 
 
 'Tis pleasant to bring down the grouse on the fell ; 
 The partridge to bag, through the low stubble trying ; 
 
 The pheasant to shoot as he flies through the dell. 
 
56 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 '\&/. 
 
 ■.td 
 
 But what are such joys to the pleasure of straying 
 By the side of a stream, a long line throwing free, 
 
 The salmon and trout with a neat fly betraying ? — 
 Fit your rods, and away to the fishing with me I 
 
 To awaken the milkmaid, the cock is yet crowing, 
 
 She was out late last night, with young Hodge, at the 
 fair ; — 
 To be milked yet the cows in the loaning are lowing ; 
 
 We'll be at our sport ere young Nelly be there. 
 The weather is prime, and the stream in good order ; 
 
 Arouse ye, then, anglers, wherever you be, — 
 In Scotland, in Ireland, in Wales, on the Border, — 
 
 Fit your rods, and away to the fishing with me ! 
 
 Fisher. — Good ! 
 
 " In Scotland, in Ireland, in Wales, on the Border, — 
 Fit your rods, and away to the fishing with me ! "' 
 
 Some one has been conjuring with your song, 
 Tweddell, for three spirits have already appeared at 
 the invocation — an anonymous angler in Ireland, 
 Hansard in Wales, and Stephen Oliver on the 
 Border. But the spell has not been suflSciently 
 powerful to rouse that master-spirit in Scotland, to 
 whom every stream and loch is known in that 
 
 " Land of the mountain and the flood ; " 
 
 who at one time may be seen throwing his light 
 fly in the Tweed, by the "lovely levels of hcJy 
 Ashiestiel," — consecrated as having been formerly 
 the residence of Sir Walter Scott, 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 ^7 
 
 " For the lore 
 Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core 
 Of human hearts, the ruin of a wall 
 Where dwelt the wise and wondrous 
 
 i,,.^ 
 
 at another time wiling the bold trout, Salmo Ferox, 
 from the depths of Loch Awe ; and anon, waking 
 the echoes with a lofty strain, as he hails the morn, 
 amidst the wilds of Morven. 
 
 Simpson. — Pour have answered the summons— 
 you forget Captain Medwin's "Angler in Wales." 
 
 Fisher. — He is a spirit of another class, who has 
 approached the circle unbidden. The "Angler in 
 Wales " ! why I see not the least trace of the angler 
 throughout the two volumes. He might as well 
 have "unbuckled his mail" — stuffed with frag- 
 ments of " travellers' tales " and scraps from the 
 feast of languages — at Calcutta, and called his book 
 the "Angler in Hindostan." Independent of the 
 misnomer, it is not written in the spirit of an 
 angler. How could it 1 when the doer, whoever 
 he may be, probably never handled a rod, or felt 
 the inspiration of the art, in his life. The calm 
 and cheerful spirit, which the love and practice of 
 angling inspire, is not to be found in the book. 
 From his " scattering his water " on Byron's ashes, 
 it is not difficult to read his riddle. The noble 
 bard should have dedicated one of his poems to 
 his friend — Heaven save us from such friends ! — 
 and appoiiited him one of his executors. Then, 
 perhaps, Rogers, Moore, and Hobhouse might have 
 
 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 n 
 
 been saved from the blunt, clumsy sabre of his 
 satire, which only mangles, but does not cut ; and 
 Byron himself not have been shown up by his 
 friend as a petulant coxcomb and a flash black- 
 guard. I cannot for a moment believe that Byron, 
 with all his faults, was the despicable character that 
 Medwin, soi-disant Byrons friend, and Angler in 
 Wales, represent him. 
 
 Simpson. — Take a cigar, Fisher, or you will lose 
 your temper ; and teU us calmly what scandal about 
 Lord Byron it is that moves your bile. 
 
 Fisher. — I might then tell you nearly all that is 
 said about him in the book. He is represented, on the 
 day that the author of the "Pleasures of Memory " 
 and of "Italy" was expected to call on him, order- 
 ing his bulldog and his monkey into the billiard- 
 room, where he intended to receive his visitor, for 
 the purpose of annoying him. When Mr. Rogers 
 entered, it is said the dog rushed furiously at him, 
 and was encouraged by Byron, while, without no- 
 ticing his visitor, he pretended to call the brute off. 
 At length he thought good to discover the cause of 
 the affray, to kick Tiger oflf, and press his " dear 
 friend" in his arms, — to the great entertainment, 
 I conclude, if the story be true, of the toadeaters 
 present, who flattered and encouraged the noble 
 poet in his wayward follies as the price of their 
 admission to his society ; and who, when he was 
 in his grave, for the sake of dishonourable gain, 
 exposed and exaggerated his follies and his vices, 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 59 
 
 and held him up to the contempt of the world. If 
 this story were true, Byron and his bulldog should 
 have been served in the same manner that Lieutenant 
 Bowling served Roderick Random's brutal cousin 
 and his quadruped auxiliaries. Tiger should have 
 been silenced with a blow from a shillelagh, and his 
 master floored by a right-handed hit between the 
 eyes, and afterwards kicked as he lay, ad putorem 
 usque, as a reward for his unmanly conduct. 1 
 think I know one living poet who would have 
 /'^J^ done it, had he been served so, and have made 
 
 the jackals grin on the wrong side of the face had 
 he observed them encouraging the fun by their 
 sardonic smiles, ad examplar regis, after the fashion 
 of the lion, upon whom they then fawned, when 
 living, but preyed, like unclean animals as they 
 were, upon his carcase when dead. It is no joke 
 to have a bulldog within a couple of yards of you, 
 watching an opportunity to rush in and seize you 
 by the throat. I know what the feeling is, and 
 therefore am disposed to think very indifferently of 
 the man who would waintonly place another in such 
 a situation. I was once passing over a lonely moor 
 in the north of England, when I came suddenly 
 upon a gipsy's encampment, and before I perceived 
 any of the party, a long-backed, bow-legged, brindled 
 bulldog made towards me, showing his formidable 
 teeth, and eyes glaring with rage. I stood still the 
 moment I saw him, and he was just crouching pre- 
 paratory to a spring, when his master, who had 
 
 
 ^N 
 
 ly- 
 
 ri'>ii"^"'T*f^'!^- 
 
6o 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 \ 
 
 observed him inish from under the cart, called him 
 oflf. " He is a savage-looking animal," said I to the 
 man, as the dog skulked slowly to his resting-place. 
 " He is a savage," replied the man, " and we never 
 let him lowse but in places where we dinna expect 
 to meet strangers. It's weel for ye that I saw him 
 spring up, or he wad hae had your thropple out 
 afore ye could cry 'Jack Robison.' " I felt the 
 truth of this at the moment most forcibly, as I was 
 walking, in consequence of the heat of the day, 
 with no handkerchief on and my neck bare. I 
 afterwards learnt that the savage disposition of 
 this dog was purposely encouraged by his owner, — 
 who occasionally smuggled a little whisky from the 
 Scottish side into England, — for the purpose of 
 keeping excisemen at a distance. 
 
 Simpson. — I am not so sceptical as you are. I 
 can believe this of Byron 
 
 Fisher. — Can you ? Then you entertain more 
 uncharitable feelings towards his memory than I 
 do, for what can you think of the man who could 
 be guilty of such an act of wanton cruelty and insult 
 to a friend, or acquaintance, if you please, who was 
 neither young nor strong ? To have placed a pailful 
 of water over the door, and thus practically have 
 given him a cool reception as he entered, would 
 have been a better joke, and more excusable. 
 
 Simpson. — I think it the act of a man whose 
 better feelings had been brutalized by having little 
 or no social intercourse with those whose conduct. 
 
 •^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR 
 
 6i 
 
 a 
 
 ■£ 
 
 <^' 
 
 or manly reproof, might repress or correct those 
 disgraceful freaks which a man of unsettled mind 
 and capricious temper is liable to indulge in, when 
 surrounded only by those who are far beneath him, 
 or whose only passport to his company is their 
 perfect compliance with, and applause of, every- 
 thing that he says or does. I have more than once 
 seen a man of really good heart, in a moment when 
 he forgot himself, give pain to a long-tried, worthy 
 friend, to gratify a small knot of ephemeral acquaint- 
 ances by whom he hai)pened to be surrounded. — 
 Were you never caught yourself, scarcely compos, 
 by a grave old friend, leading the revels among a 
 graceless crew, whom, in your sober senses and in 
 daylight, you would be ashamed to be seen with ? 
 and, as he left the room, more in sorrow than in 
 anger, have you not joined in the laugh which the 
 professed wit of the party raised at his expense ? 
 
 Fisher. — I am still sceptical. But even should 
 a person, not thoroughly insensible to every better 
 feeling, find himself in the last predicament, would 
 he not, on reflection, be ashamed of his conduct, 
 endeavour to mak-e reparation to his friend, and 
 shun the company of the flatterers who corrupt 
 him? 
 
 Simpson. — In such manner I believe Byron would 
 act, 
 
 FisHEK. — Byron's living with another man's wife, 
 the Countess Guicciola, is as well known as his 
 feat of swimming across the Hellespont. She had 
 
62 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 
 abandoned for him husband, home, and good name 
 — if there be such a thing as female reputation in 
 Italy ; — and yet he is represented as speaking of 
 her in a most unfeeling manner to one of his 
 " friends," just after she had passed them on a 
 ride : "I loved her for three weeks, — what a red- 
 headed thing it is !" This " red-headed thing," at 
 the same time, living with him as a wife ! Believe 
 tins of Byron who likes, not I. It is more likely 
 that the reporter " lies — under a mistake," as Byron 
 himself writes, than that the author of " Childe 
 Harold " was so heartless a being. 
 
 Simpson. — I am inclined to think that these 
 anecdotes, which give so unfavourable an account 
 of Byron, have prejudiced you against the general 
 merits of the book as a work on angling. 
 
 Fisher. — Work on angling ! — though you say 
 you have looked it through, you cannot have read 
 it, or you would never allude to it as a work on 
 angling. "Why, there is nothing in it but what 
 Rammohun Roy, who never caught a trout in his 
 life, might have written with the aid of a sixpenny 
 "Art of Angling." So far from entertaining any 
 prejudice against the boot, I read on past the 
 scandalous anecdotes about Byron, till I was fairly 
 brought up by a " Poem" at the end, about Julian 
 and Gizele, the Pindarries, Zalim, Spahees, Beils 
 Ghebres, Goorkhas, Bringarries, etc., etc. I then 
 fairly saw land. The "thing" had been "done" 
 expressly for the circulating libraries, with tho 
 
 i^S^ 
 
 ''yiVi 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 63 
 
 m 
 
 chance of hooking an angler from the title. There 
 is a capital blunder in his first volume, where he 
 gives a quotation from Nemesian, as illustrative of 
 the instinct of a bitch. He must have picked the 
 passage up somewhere, ready cut and dry, for it is 
 evident he cannot have read the context. The 
 poet means that a bitch, when her whelps are sur- 
 rounded by a circle of fire, will rescue the best first, 
 from an instinctive knowledge of its excellence. 
 The original passage, — 
 
 " rapit rictu primum, portatque cubili, 
 Mox aliam, mox deinde alium. Sic conscia mater 
 Segregat egregiam sobolem virtutis amore," — 
 
 he ignorantly renders : 
 
 " with opening jaws, first one, 
 And then another, to her hutch she bears ; 
 The mother, conscious of their danger, thus 
 With an instinctive fondness saves her young." 
 
 Conscious of their danger ! What a wonderful 
 instance of instinct in the bitch, and of sagacity in 
 the plumeless biped — or unplumed rather, for he 
 appears to have been feathered once — who dis- 
 covered such a meaning in the lines ! Send the 
 bottle round. Sandy, why are you looking so glum] 
 Angler in Wales, whoever thou art, Valeas ! 
 
 TwEDDELL. — I am not looking glum, I am only 
 getting weary of your lengthy criticism on the 
 " Angler in Wales." I have read some very clever 
 extracts from it, and I think every author has a 
 right to prefix what title he pleases to his book. 
 
 
 
 rMit-f^i' 
 
64 
 
 THE A^GLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 Fisher.— Do you 1 Then if " Angling," " Angling 
 Recollections," and so forth, prove taking titles, we 
 shall soon have Anglers in Italy, France, Holland, 
 Germany, Egypt, America, Africa, and New South 
 Wales ; — that there are several pock-et-anglers in the 
 latter col (my, on public service, is well known ; and 
 even ladies who keep a journal of their travels, and 
 produce twins — handsome foolscap octavos — every 
 twelvemonth, will be tempted to usher in the '' hot- 
 pressed darlings" as the production of an " Angler," 
 an appellation which may, in another sense, bo 
 correct, as the word is Epicoene, should the fair 
 authoress be a spinster. 
 
 Simpson". — Have you seen Hansard's " Trout and 
 Salmon Fishing in Wales" ? 
 
 Fisher. — Why need you ask, when you knov/ 
 that I buy every new book on angling that appears ? 
 It is a perfect gazetteer of every lake and stream in 
 the Principality, at once so ample and so accurate 
 that I suspect the author must have been several 
 years engaged in the Ordnance Survey. I see that 
 he has resumed in his book a considerable portion 
 of the article "Angling," which he must have fur- 
 nished to Brewster's Edinburgh Encyclopaedia. No 
 angler should go into Wales without taking Mr. 
 Hansard's book in his pocket. The "Angler in 
 Ireland" appears to have had excellent sport ; but I 
 really do not perceive the consistency of his making 
 so many half-apologies for saying so much about 
 angling, when, from the title of his book, we are 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 65 
 
 led to expect that angling would form his principal 
 subject. One might suppose that his book was first 
 written as an account of a tour generally, and that 
 the portions which treat more expressly of angling 
 were afterwards dovetailed in. He, however, 
 writes like one who could make a long and clever 
 cast, and who has a heart to feel all the beauties 
 which lie exposed to the honest cultivator of the 
 gentle art. His book will bear reading a second 
 time, even by one who may think him too partial 
 to the ' ' orange-fly," and a leetle too ostentatious 
 of chronicling his punctual observance of the 
 "Sabbath." Were it not for his stating that he 
 goes to church, I should be sometimes inclined to 
 suspect him to be a hired distributor of tracts 
 to some sectarian " Society for Converting the 
 Heathen." Stephen Oliver, too, the Yorkshireman, 
 who makes the Border counties — Northumberland, 
 Cumberland, and Westmoreland — the scene of his 
 angling recollections, now and then gives us a touch 
 of the mock sublime, and writes as if he had just 
 been refreshing his memory from Harvey's " Medi- 
 tations in a Flower Garden." But fill up a bumper 
 — here's to them all, and success attend them : The 
 Angler in Ireland, Hansard, and Oliver,— light 
 hearts and well-filled creels, with a good account of 
 their next piscatory campaigns ! 
 
 SiMPSOX. — There is a clever little book, "Maxims 
 and Hints for an Angler," with illustrations by 
 Seymour, which you have not mentioned. 
 
66 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 Fisher. — It is a clever little book, but not of 
 this year's brood ; and the hints and maxims of the 
 author, who modestly styles himself a " bungler," I 
 should think would do credit to any of the adepts 
 of the Houghton Club. I see, from the illustrations, 
 that the members are cased up to the fork in enor- 
 mous boots, and that a smockfrocked or liveried 
 attendant, with a landing-net, is always in waiting 
 to do the honours in introducing the trout to a new 
 element. Where gentlemen "whip"— I wish the 
 author would discard the cockneyism next edition 
 — with kid gloves on, Jack I am inclined to think 
 will often be as good as his master in securing the 
 fish, and entitled to share the honours of the cap- 
 ture. The angling characters introduced in the 
 illustrations are portraits, 1 understand, of members 
 of the club. That of the stout gentleman slipping 
 off the bridge on a windy day, is said to be the 
 portrait of an eminent sculptor, and I have heard 
 that he furnished Seymour with the sketch from 
 which the design was made. 
 
 Simpson. — Have you ever seen any American 
 books on angling, Fisher ? 
 
 Fisher. — No. I do not think there are any 
 published. Brother Jonathan is not yet sufficiently 
 civilized to produce anything original on the gentle 
 art. There is good trout-fishing in America, and 
 the streams, which are all free, are much less fished 
 than in our island, "from the small number of 
 gentlemen," as an American writer says, "who are 
 
 '^Vl^i'/i^ 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 67 
 
 at leisure to give their time to it." We are further 
 assured, by the same authority, that ladies do not 
 so often partake of this amusement in the States as 
 in England. 
 
 Simpson. — Lady anglers — at least for fish — are far 
 from numerous in England, so far as my obser- 
 vation extends. I have not seen one for these last 
 three years, though I heard of one the other day 
 tumbling out of a punt, as she was angling for 
 gudgeons with her father in the Lea, near Bow. 
 She was soon fished up ; and after being treated, 
 secundum artem, — according to the directions of 
 tli3 Humane Society, — came to herself, and was 
 conveyed home in a cab, as she had lost one of 
 her shoes. 
 
 Fisher. — There is one mentioned in the "Angler 
 in Wales," who is in the habit of regularly fishing 
 fly, attended by her abigail. This lady appears, 
 from what is said of her, to be as well acquainted 
 with the turf as the stream ; and ChifFney or Scott 
 might take lessons from her in the art of training 
 and managing the race-horse. She is musical, too. 
 How delightful to hear the syi-en, familiar with the 
 beauties of Rossini, after her return from giving 
 her hunter a breathing, 
 
 " Whistle sweet a diuretic strain ! " 
 
 ^^ I do not like to see ladies either angling or play- 
 ing on the fiddle. These are not ladylike accom- 
 plishments, any more than smoothing the chins of 
 
 
 i/^ 
 
68 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 bristle-baarded coalheavera is a feminine employ- 
 ment. I cannot bear a female barber or a male 
 "chamber-maid." Do many ladies angle in Scot- 
 land, Tweddell ? 
 
 TwBDDELL. — Not to my knowledge. I have 
 known a lady once or twice try a few casts with a 
 gentleman's rod, and hook a trout too, but I cannot 
 say that I ever knew one who was a professional 
 fly-fisher. I, however, once saw a woman kill two 
 salmon, with a fly, in the Tweed, about a mile 
 above Kelso, in March 1832. She fished from a 
 boat, which was also managed by a female com- 
 panion. I was out with a friend the same day, and 
 though we had several rises, we both failed in kill- 
 ing a single salmon. 
 
 Fisher. — Gedant braccae stolae, — " Fie, Sandy, 
 yield the breeks to Meg ! " — What kind of sport 
 have you had in trout- fishing in yoxu- part of the 
 country this season ? 
 
 Tweddell. — Not very good, except in the early 
 part. In such a dry summer as this has been there 
 is not much sport after sheep-washing begins, unless 
 there be a good spate shortly after to purify the 
 streams. During sheep-washing, and for a fort- 
 night or three weeks afterwards, trout are very shy 
 of rising, more especially if the water be low. I 
 have often spoken with old anglers about the cause 
 of this, and have heard diflferent reasons assigned 
 for this shyness of the trout. One says that they 
 are sick, in consequence of the water being im- 
 
 K 
 
 /^ 
 
 \ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 69 
 
 pregnated with the tar and grease which is washed 
 from the fleeces of the sheep ; another, that it is as 
 much owing to the dung from their hind-quarters, 
 as the greasy tar is not incorporated with the water, 
 but floats, like a rainbow-coloured film, on the 
 surface ; and a third says they are gorged with 
 the ticks and vermin which are dislodged from the 
 fleece in the washing. To this last opinion I am 
 inclined to give very little credit ; but I think the 
 trout may be disordered by the joint efiects of the 
 greasy tar and dung, and alarmed by the disturb- 
 ance in difierent parts of the stream, I have 
 seen the scum of the tar by the side of the stream, 
 in considerable quantity, ten days after the sheep- 
 washing was over. A good spate, however, seldom 
 fails to cure the trout and restore their appetite. 
 I saw an instance of sick trout this year, but not 
 in consequence of sheep-washing. It was in a 
 otreara which was much swollen from a heavy rain 
 the day before, and the water was very much dis- 
 coloured and tliick, as if a newly-ploughed field 
 had been overflowed and the soil washed away, or 
 as if a bank of earth had fallen in. The water was 
 by no means so high as I have frequently seen it, 
 but in mid-channel it was almost black ; and shoals 
 of small trout crowded to the sides, so weak and 
 helpless, — wabbling about as if they were fuddled, 
 — that you might take them out with your hands. 
 
 Simpson-. — I do not think that this has been a 
 very good season for fly-fisliing anywhere. A friend 
 
70 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 ^ 
 
 m 
 
 1/ 
 
 of mine in Herefordshire informs me that there 
 has been a deficiency of sport in that part of the 
 country, and he complains much of the rivers being 
 netted by poachers. 
 
 Fisher. — The same may be said of some of the 
 best trout streams in Yorkshire and Westmore- 
 land. The Eure, the Ribble, the Lune, the Low- 
 ther, the Esk, and the Eamont, have not afforded 
 average sport this season, as I can testify, both 
 from my own experience and that of others. Some 
 of them have been completely dragged with nets 
 for miles ; and I have seen the waters of more than 
 one of them of a chalky colour for several days, 
 and fish lying dead by their sides, from the more 
 destructive practice of liming. Should these prac- 
 tices be continued, fly-fishers will have no option 
 but to emigrate, and leave the fair but troutless 
 streams of England for the rivers atad lochs of 
 Connemara, or for the virgin waters of the middle 
 and northern States of America, where never yet 
 trout were deluded by the gay deceivers of 
 O'Shaughnessey, Chevalier, or Widow Phun. Un- 
 grateful country ! thou wilt mourn the loss of thy 
 kindest children too late, when thou hearest of 
 them extending civilization, and introducing a 
 knowledge of the gentle art among the wild men of 
 Gal way, or the red man that dwell by Lake Huron, 
 when no longer the trout leaps in thy streams, and 
 when no more the angler's reel is heard sounding 
 on their banlss. The gigantic trout of Lake Huron, 
 
 m^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 n 
 
 -8^ 
 
 il 
 
 (Salmo Amethystinus,) weighing one lumdred and 
 forty pounds, has never yet been captured by a 
 native angler, — red man, or Yankee ; — and if ever 
 he be captured, it is a native of the British Isles, 
 skilled in all the mysteries of the art — who can 
 neatly spin a minnow or troll, as well as lightly 
 throw a fly — who will achieve the glorious deed. 
 
 Simpson. — You are romancing now, when you 
 talk of a trout weighing one hundred and forty 
 pounds. 
 
 Fisher. — I am not. A gigantic species of trout, 
 said to attain that weight, from Lake Huron, is 
 actually described by Dr. Mitchell, a distinguished 
 American naturalist ; and the specific name, Ame- 
 thystinus, has been applied to it from the purplish 
 tinge of its teeth. For my own part, I have no 
 doubt of the fact ; and should have no objection 
 to make one of a party to proceed to Lake Huron, 
 for the purpose of endeavouring to capture one of 
 those Leviathans ; — that is, provided the expenses 
 were defrayed by Government or by public sub- 
 scription. And even should the expedition fail in 
 its object,— Captain Parry did not reach the North 
 Pole, nor Captain "Ross discover the North-West 
 Passage, — yet would the pubhc derive immense 
 gratification from a circumstantial report of oi.r 
 sayings and doings ; for 
 
 " Quarter-day would see us back, 
 "With each a volume in his pack." 
 
 There are also trouts weighing from twenty to sixty 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 pounds in Lake Michigan ; and some of the weight 
 of ninety pounds are said to have been taken 
 in the straits of Michilimackinack — a name well 
 worthy of a ninety pounder — which connect Lake 
 Huron with Lake Michigan. 
 
 Simpson. —A gentleman of the name of Vigne, a 
 member of Lincoln's Inn, took a trip to America, 
 about three years ago, during the long vacation, 
 and enjoyed a few days' fly-fishing in Pennsylvania. 
 He had some fair sport in the Juniata, one of the 
 tributaries of the Susquehannah. The trout wero 
 from half a pound to three pounds in weight ; and 
 in little more than two hours' fishing he caught 
 about six dozen. He mentions the red-hackle as 
 the best fly that an angler can throw in Spring 
 Creek. 
 
 FiSHEK. — The red-hackle is deadly on all waters, 
 though not at all times. It is one of my three 
 types for the colour of flies. The red, black, and 
 grouse hackle, are with me standards, and all the 
 trout-flies which I dress are only varieties of these, 
 with the addition of wings, and a difierence of 
 shade in the dubbing. Those which I range under 
 the red type comprehend the various shades from 
 scarlet to lemon colour. The second extends from 
 positive black, through the various shades of the 
 martin's wing and leaden-coloured hackles, to the 
 bluish-grey feather of the tern. With the grouse 
 hackle are classed the various shades of brown, 
 from the chesuut of the pheasant to the grey- 
 
 ^c 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 73 
 
 brown of the partridge. With the last I also place 
 my flies with speckled wings, from the May-fly to 
 the grey drake and feathers of the Gviinea-fowl. 
 In conformity with this arrangement, my fly-book 
 consists of three principal divisions, each of which 
 again consists of two compartments, one for hackles 
 proper, and the other for winged flies ; and I can 
 turn to the colour and suit myself with a hook of 
 the size wanted with the greatest facility. 
 
 TwEDDELL.— I have known some gentlemen who 
 were seldom successful in taking many trout, though 
 their assortment of flies was most extensive. They 
 have wanted perseverance, and have wasted their 
 time and lost their patience in fiddle-faddling 
 and changing their flies, when they should have 
 xcept fishing on. I seldom change my flies after 
 beginning to fish, in a stream which I am well 
 acquainted with, though I may sometimes keep 
 walking and throwing for two or three hours, and 
 scarcely catching so many fish. I have, notwith- 
 standing, continued using the same flies — because 
 I was satisfied I could put on none more likely — 
 till I found the fish in a humour to feed ; and have 
 filled my creel, when others less persevering, but 
 who had perhaps tried a dozen different flies, walked 
 home with their creels toom, I do not think it a 
 good plan for an angler always to be adding flies 
 to a stock which he is not likely to use up for years. 
 In looking over a large book of flies, belonging to a 
 gentleman who prided himself on their number and 
 
 <'C7i. 
 
 
 fm 
 
74 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 £ 
 
 i' 
 
 variety, I have found many moth-eaten and not fit 
 for use. An excellent fly-fisher of my acquaintance 
 generally carries his whole stock in the two pockets 
 of an old Scots' Almanack, with two or three links 
 of salmon-flies between the leaves. There is one 
 of the salmon-flies which he shows as a trophy. It 
 is rather a plain-looking one, with a yellowish- 
 brown coloured body, brown wings of a bittern's 
 feather, with a blood-red hackle for legs, and the 
 link of a pepper and salt mixture, formed of five 
 black and five white horse-hairs. With this fly he 
 killed, in one day, five salmon, the last of which 
 weighed twenty-five pounds, the largest that he 
 had ever taken with the fly. He landed this last 
 salmon after a severe contest of upwards of an 
 hour, during the whole of which the fish never 
 sulked, but kept continually dashing about the 
 pool where he was hooked, which was not more 
 than eighty yards long, and was too shallow at its 
 head to allow of his pushing up the stream ; and 
 the angler managed to keep his station towards 
 the foot, to prevent his escape downwards. There 
 is nothing like keeping a fish in constant exercise 
 for speedily killing him. I have seen many a good 
 fish lost by being trifled with — holding him lightly 
 or allowing him more line than you can manage — 
 when he contrives either to break the link or 
 entangle the line, and escape. I never allow a 
 salmon a slack line, and thus give him the benefit 
 of a run, when he is almost certain to carry all 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 75 
 
 away. Every good salmon-fisher has a tolerably 
 correct notion what strain his tackle will bear, and 
 holds his fish with a firm, though, when required, 
 not unyielding hand, and keeps him constantly 
 moving. The combined efiect of fear and violent 
 exertion produces, I am inclined to think, a sort of 
 apoplexy, or fit of stupor, in the fish ; and whenever 
 he is suspected to be in such a state he ought to 
 be landed as soon as possible, before he recovers. I 
 have seen a large trout quite stupid and exhausted 
 when brought towards the shore, but, in conse- 
 quence of not being quickly landed, recover his 
 strength, and break away. The moment that an 
 angler brings his fish towards the shore, hQ ought 
 to be prepared to land him. 
 
 Fisher. — I quite agree with you that both 
 salmon and trout are seized, in consequence of 
 their struggles and their fright, with something 
 like a fit, which, for a time, renders them power- 
 less. Perhaps when they are so hooked that the 
 mouth cannot be regularly closed when the line is 
 held tight, their free breathing may be interrupted, 
 and similar eflTects produf^ed in a fish as in a human 
 subject when his cravat is tightly twisted in the 
 murderous gripe of a cowardly antagonist. Wlien- 
 ever you have brought a fish, in such a state, to the 
 shore, net him or gaff" him directly. Have the 
 "click" into him wherever you best can, and do 
 not tickle him to his senses again by two or three 
 misdirected attempts at his gills, for fear of ripping 
 
 -5S V 
 
 \i^^' 
 
76 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 his side. One fish gaffed by the side is better than 
 a dozen missed by trying for his gills. Get him by 
 the gills, if you can, but get him however. Down 
 on your knees as yoii draw him to the bank, and 
 quickly, quietly, and firmly fix the hook of the gaff 
 in him, and out with him, as a fisherman from 
 Robin Hood's Bay hauls a cod from the hold of 
 a five-man boat. Kill him directly with a few 
 smart blows on the head, with a life-preserver, if 
 you have one in your pocket ; if not, with any stick 
 "I' or cobble-stone heavy enough ; slip through his 
 
 gills a cord, one end of which you will fasten to 
 a bank-runner, or the stump of a tree, and throw 
 him into the water till you want him. He will eat 
 as firm again as he would do had you left him to 
 die on the shore by inches, — a dreadfully protracted 
 death to a salmon three feet long, or a human 
 being upwards of six feet high. 
 
 Simpson. — I never caught a salmon in my life, 
 though I have kiUed some trout which for size 
 might be considered such. I should, however, like 
 much to catch a few "brace" of salmon before I 
 hang up my rod as a votive offering to -the water 
 ?^^A nyniphs. But it seems you cannot depend on 
 catching salmon with the rod, however skilful, 
 though you should fish for a month, unless you 
 go to the west of Ireland, or the extreme north 
 of Scotland. Sir Humphrey Davy has said 
 "fuit" of salmon-fishing in the southern counties 
 of Scotland; and the "Angler in Ireland" declares 
 
 
 Vf^: 
 
 #( 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 77 
 
 i 
 
 that no good salmon-fishing is to be expected in 
 Wales. 
 
 Fisher. — Then oflf with you next spring, either 
 to Connemara or Inverness-shire. " Hope deferred 
 maketh the heart sick ; " so if you have conceived 
 an affection for salmon-fishing, let not your long- 
 deferred wishes steal away the roses from your 
 cheek, — you have now a colour like a peony, 
 Simpson, — and present you with wrinkled crow- 
 toes in exchange. As soon as the green leaves 
 begin to appear on the quickset hedge of your 
 garden, start by the first steamer for Aberdeen, 
 and thence find your way as you best can to the 
 Spey, the Ness, the Beauly, the Shinn, the Oykell, 
 the Ainag, the Cassly, or the Carron ; and if you 
 have not sport to your satisfaction, between 10th 
 April and 10th May, cross the country to Port- 
 patrick, take the steamer to Donaghadee, and then 
 set ofi" for Connemara as fast as you can hie, and 
 you will be there time enough to have a month's 
 good fishing in the Costello, the Spiddle, or 
 
 " The sweet flowing river of Ballinahinch." 
 
 I should like extremely to visit Connemara myself, 
 " the next parish to America," as the Angler in 
 Ireland says, — 
 
 " Sed f ugit interea, fugit irreparabile tempiis, 
 Singula dum capti circumvectamur amore." 
 
 " With angling enraptured, at ease sitting here, 
 While we talk of the scenes of our fishing next year, 
 
 ^H 
 
 'dlb 
 
78 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 How th3 salmon we'll tempt with a neatly dressed fly 
 The time that will never return hastens by." 
 
 Whether fishing or talking about it, — recounting 
 past pleasures, or anticipating future, — pulling out 
 trouts as fast as we can throw^ in, or thinking time 
 slow when wearying for a rise, — in joy or in sorrow, 
 in sickness or in health, getting or spending, — Old 
 Time, however we may fancy him moving, fast or 
 slow, still holds equably on his silent, stealthy pace ; 
 
 and, 
 
 " Let the day be ever so long, 
 At length it ringeth to evensong." 
 
 These candles, however, contrary to the usual 
 progress of things, are growing gradually shorter. 
 Tweddell, I wish you would give us another song, 
 before they reach the vanishing point. You never 
 sing now, I believe, Simpson, — the more's the 
 pity, — either at kirk or merry meeting. 
 
 Simpson. — That is because you never avail your- 
 self of an opportunity of hearing me. I am rather 
 out of song — not of voice — at this time, remember- 
 ing nothing but a few old ones, which were standards 
 in the days of Incledon, but are now quite out of 
 fashion, or I would give you a treat directly. 
 
 Fisher. — I can excuse you, for I have some in 
 distinct recollection of once hearing you bawling 
 out in the " Storm," and, in conjunction, though 
 not in concert, with another amateur, completely 
 reversing "All's "Well." But come, Sandy, do 
 favour us, if you please, and, for to-night, this shall 
 
 r€^^^^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 79 
 
 positively be " the last time of asking." Something 
 fishy, if you have such a thing in the cupboard of 
 your memory. 
 
 TwEDDELL. — I have just been rummaging, and 
 I think I have hit upon the very tiling ; but I 
 expect that you will sing after me. 
 
 Fisher. — So I will, but not to-night. I will 
 chant matins, in the morning, in a style that will 
 enrapture you. If there be a lark within hearing, 
 he will make himself hoarse till May in feeble 
 emulation. Silence ! have done making that noise 
 with the stopper on the table, Simpson. You are 
 crying to recollect some of your old "composers," 
 I perceive. Get the start of him, Tweddell. 
 
 TwEDDELL. — Well then, since such is your wish, 
 you shall have another stave. 
 
 
 m 
 
 THE ANGLER'S EYEN-SONG. 
 
 Sober eve is approaching, the sun is now set, 
 Though his beams on the hiLl-top are lingering yet ; 
 The west wind is still, and more clearly is heard 
 In meadow and forest the note of each bird : 
 The crows to their roost are now winging their way: 
 It is time to give over my fishing to-day. 
 
 I arose in the morn, ere the sun could prevail 
 To disperse the grey mist that hung low in the vale. 
 To the linn I went straight, distant ten miles or more, 
 Where the stream rushes down with a bound and a roar: 
 In the black pool below I had scarce thrown my line. 
 Ere a trout seized the fly, and directly was mine. 
 
8o 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 flow they rose, and I hooked them, 'twere needless to tell. 
 I fished down the stream to the lone cradle-well, 
 Where I sat myself down on a stone that was nigh, 
 (For the sun now was bright, and the trouts getting shy;) 
 A flask of good whisky I had not failed to bring. 
 And I chasten'd its strength with a dash from the spring. 
 
 Refreshed then I rose, and ascended the hill. 
 To gaze on the landscape so lonely and still ; 
 Where I met an old shepherd, and near him lay down, 
 At the back of a cairn, where the heather was brown ; 
 And we talked of old times, and he sang an old strain. 
 Till 'twas time to be gone to my fishing again. 
 
 Though my creel be so large, to the lid closely filled, 
 
 It will not hold the trouts which since mornin g I've killed ; 
 
 I must string on a withy three dozen or more, — 
 
 I ne'er in a day caught so many before, — 
 
 But though heavy my creel, yet my heart is so light 
 
 That I'll sing a song of my fishing at night. 
 
 Simpson. — Now, a toast to conclude with, Mr. 
 Tweddell. 
 
 TwEDDELL. — " The gentle art of Angling ! " 
 
 Fisher. — A charming toast ; no ballroom belle so 
 deserving of a bumper. " Her ways are the ways 
 of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." 
 
 Simpson. — The best thing you have said to-night, 
 Fisher ; and most cordially do I say,^ Ditto. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 m 
 
 
ANGLE-LAND. 
 
 NoTWiTHSTANDiXG what learned antiquaries and 
 historians have said about the name of England, 
 or Angle-land, being derived from the Angles, an 
 obscure tribe from Jutland — which, by the way, is 
 never mentioned by our most ancient annalists as 
 forming a considerable body of the Saxon invaders 
 of Britain — it is not unlikely that they may all 
 have been hunting on a false scent. The most 
 obvious derivation is from Angling, the mystery of 
 catching fish with rod and line ; an elegant branch 
 of the fine arts, in which the people of this country 
 excel all other nations, and the instinctive love of 
 which, becoming more intense in each succeeding 
 generation, they probably derive, from an illus- 
 trious race of angling ancestors, who flourished the 
 long rod during the Heptarchy ; and from whom 
 the seven kingdoms, when united under one crown, 
 were called Aengle-land ; a name in which all would 
 cordially agree as peculiarly appropriate, since, from 
 St. Michael's Mount to the Frith of Forth— which 
 we believe was the extent of " Old" England — they 
 were anglers all. Hence, natio Anglia est ; and till 
 the end of time may the love of her children towards 
 
 
82 
 
 THE ANGLEl^S SOUVENIR. 
 
 the gentle ait, and their skill in its exercise, con- 
 tinue to render the name appropriate ; — for so all 
 piscatory authors, booksellers, publishers, and 
 tackle-makers are in duty bound to pray. The 
 conjecture that the name Anglia, or Aengle-land, 
 is derived from "angling," will be considerably 
 strengthened when we consider that the more 
 ancient name, Britannia, is most probably derived 
 from Britthyl, a trout, meaning the country abound- 
 ing in trouts ; a much more feasible etymology 
 than that of Humphrey Lhuyd, who derives it from 
 Pryd and Cam, fertile and fair : a far-fetched 
 etymology, for which Buchanan — a savage with the 
 rod, as the royal breech of James VI. could testify 
 — scourges him soundly. The change of name, 
 from Land of Trouts to Land of Anglers, is at once 
 simple and natural, and exactly what a philosophical 
 etymologist would be most likely to infer. Let any 
 person look at the map of England, including in 
 his survey Scotland, Ireland, and the Principality, 
 — that is, if he have not personally visited each 
 country, which every gentleman, at least, ought to 
 do before making the tour of Europe, — and from 
 the brooks, becks, and burns which he will see 
 rising in all directions, and winding through the 
 country, at last forming a noble river — capable of 
 bearing on its bosom the native oak which erst 
 shaded its banks, but now formed to bear Britannia's 
 thunders, and ''to quell the depths below," — and 
 he will directly perceive, trom the very physical 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 83 
 
 constitution of tlxe country, that England is pecu- 
 liarly adapted to form a race of anglers. The very 
 climate, which certain foreigners decry as being 
 dull and cloudy, is decidedly in favour of the 
 angler ; for, notwithstanding the number and ex- 
 cellence of our streams, had we the clear atmosphere 
 and cloudless skies of Italy, the fly-fisher's occupa- 
 tion would, in a great measure, be gone. Above 
 all other classes of Englishmen, the fly-fisher has 
 most reason to be satisfied with the climate of his 
 own country ; and were a course of angling to form 
 — as it ought — a branch of liberal education, we 
 should not have so many absentees misspending 
 their money and their time, and losing the fresh- 
 ness of honest English feeling in the enervating 
 climate and degraded society of Italy. 
 " native Britain ! my mother Isle ! 
 How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and 
 
 holy 
 To me, who from thy lakes and mountain hills. 
 Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks, and seas, 
 Have drunk in all my intellectual life. 
 All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts, 
 All adoration of the God in nature, 
 All lovely and all honourable things. 
 Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel 
 The joy and greatness of its future being !" * 
 
 Under the term "Angling," Professor Rennie 
 includes all kinds of fishing with a hook, in salt 
 water as well as in fresh ; and it must be admitted 
 • Ck)leridge. " Fears in Solitude." 
 
 h€ 
 
84 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 — though the fact militates against our derivation 
 of Anglia from "Angling" — that the people of 
 Sussex, about 678, were so ignorant of the " gentle 
 art," that the only fish that they knew how to 
 catch were eels, which they probably managed to 
 capture after the primitive fashion of "bobbing" 
 with a pottle of hay. St. Wilfrid, however, taught 
 them the art of fishing with nets, and with hooks 
 and lines ; and thus enabled them, at a period of 
 famine, to procure a supply of food from their own 
 rivers and bays. " This Bishop," says the Venerable 
 Bede, who records the event, ' ' gained the affections 
 of the people of Sussex to a wonderful degree by 
 teaching them this useful art ; and they listened 
 the more willingly to hia preaching from whom 
 they had received so great a benefit." St. Wilfrid 
 probably acquired his knowledge of sea-fishing at 
 Lindisfarn or Holy Island, where he was educated ; 
 and as angling was allowed to ecclesiastics as a 
 recreation, it is not unlikely that the Saint may 
 have fished fly for salmon in the Tyne, when he 
 was Bishop of Hexham . 
 
 Sea-fishing, with hook and line, though compre- 
 hended by Professor Rennie under the general term 
 " Angling," does not come within the scope of our 
 " Souvenir," otherwise we might here insert certain 
 ■'Recollections of Cod-fishing," which, perchance, 
 might prove more lengthy than interesting. We 
 will, however, do better ; we will embellish this 
 portion of the volume with a few illustrations of 
 
 s:V 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 85 
 
 
 coast scenery, which can scarcely fail of exciting 
 most pleasing seaside reminiscences. Behold the 
 joint effect of Topham's pencil and Beckwith's 
 burin, and read the description of Crabbe : 
 
 " Turn to the watery world ! — but who to thee 
 (A wonder yet unviewed) shall paint — the Sea ? 
 Various and vast, sublime in all its forms, 
 When lulled by zephyrs, or when roused by storms, 
 Its colours changing, when from clouds and sun 
 Shades after shades upon the surface run ; 
 Embrowned and horrid now, and now serene, 
 In limpid blue and evanescent green ; 
 And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie, 
 Lift the far sail, and cheat th' experienced eye 
 
 Be it the summer noon ; a sandy space 
 
 The ebbing tide has left upon its place ; 
 
 Then just the hot and stony beach above 
 
 Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move ; 
 
 (For heated thus, the warmer air ascends 
 
 And with the cooler in its fall contends.) 
 
 Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps 
 
 An equal motion ; sweUing as it sleeps, 
 
 Then slowly sinking, curling to the strand, 
 
 Faint lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand. 
 
 Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow. 
 
 And back return in silence, smooth and slow. 
 
 Ships in the calm seem anchored ; for they glide 
 
 On the still sea, urged solely by the tide." 
 
 % 
 
 
The salmon, above all other fish, both from its 
 value and the sport afforded in its capture, is the 
 most worthy of the angler's attention ; and to hook 
 and kill a fine fresh-run lively fish of this species, 
 weighing from seven to seventeen pounds, requires 
 the exertion of all his patience and skill. Owing 
 to the scarcity of this fish in the south of England, 
 angling for salmon, either with fly, worm, or min- 
 now, is seldom practised south of the Tees. In the 
 northern counties, where they are more plentiful — 
 the Tyne, in Northumberland, and the Eden and 
 the Derwent, in Cumberland, are the rivers which 
 afford the best chance of success to the salmon 
 fisher. A good many salmon are caught with the 
 rod in the Tweed, during the season, between 
 Berwick and Peebles ; but he who wishes to enjoy 
 the sport in its greatest perfection must go farther 
 afield, and locate himself for a month beyond the 
 Tay, or in the wilds of Connemara. With respect 
 to salmon-fishing in Wales, two recent authors, 
 who both profess to speak from experience, dis- 
 agree ; the one telling the angler that he must 
 expect no good salmon-fishing in the Principality, 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 ^7 
 
 while the other represents it as excellent in more 
 streams than any angler — who commences salmon- 
 fishing when he comes of age, and hangs up his 
 rod when about seventy, devoting three months 
 in each year to the sport, and fishing each stream 
 thoroughly — can hope to get through in his life- 
 time. 
 
 "'Tis really painful here to see 
 Experienced doctors disagree." 
 
 Fresh-run salmon — that is, clean fish from the 
 sea — begin, in small numbers, to enter most rivers 
 in the north of England and in the south of Scot- 
 land, about January, if the season be mild ; their 
 numbers increasing during the spring months. In 
 severe winters, and when the streams are full from 
 the melting of the snow, their appearance is pro- 
 portionately delayed, as the salmon has an aversion 
 to snow broth. In some rivers their appearance is 
 from a month to six weeks later than in others ; 
 and there are streams which they never enter till 
 April, though they ascend others which discharge 
 themselves into the same estuary in January. 
 
 The advance-guard of the main body of salmon 
 begin to ascend above the tideway about March 
 in early rivers, and enter the fresh water ; and 
 during this and the three succeeding months of 
 April, May, and June is the best time for angling 
 for salmon within ten or twelve miles of the 
 highest point of the river to which the tide flows- 
 About July they begin to push up towards the 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 higher parts of the river, and now enter its smaller 
 subsidiary streams, gradually ascending towards 
 their sources, during the months of August, Sep- 
 tember, and October, as floods aflford them oppor- 
 tunity of passing the falls, weirs, and shallows. 
 Should the weather be frosty, the early fish com- 
 monly begin spawning in November, though the 
 greater number spawn in December and January. 
 Grilse, the young of the salmon, — which descend 
 as smouts or salmon-fry from the spawning ground 
 to the sea in April and May, — return to the rivers 
 about the middle of June ; and again descend to 
 the sea in September. Grilse, which on their first 
 appearance weigh from two to four pounds, and 
 increase during their abode in fresh water to six 
 or seven, take a smaller kind of salmon- fly, dressed 
 on a hook, No. 4, 5, or 6, according to the state of 
 the water. They may also be angled for with lob- 
 worms, a minnow, or a par's tail. 
 
 Salmon, in ascending a river, mostly keep in the 
 middle of the stream, avoiding the shore, and 
 seldom making any stay in pools or weils which 
 are miich shaded either with steep rocky banks 
 or trees. They are most likely to be found a 
 little below weirs and falls, and towards the head 
 of large pools. As salmon never, or at least very 
 rarely, rise at the fly when the water is clear and 
 unruffled, the angler need not be apprehensive of 
 disturbing them by wading; for when the water 
 is in such a state as to afford him the greatest 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 ■ W^ 
 
 1 
 
 A » 
 
 chance of success, they will not be very likely to 
 notice him at the distance of twenty yards. When 
 the angler knows that salmon are in a pool, he 
 must not be content with making two or three 
 casts, as directed by mere book-makers, who pro- 
 bably may never have seen a salmon caught, bvlt 
 fish the pool diligently again and again, making 
 his casts frequent ; and should he not succeed 
 with one fly, try another of a different shade. 
 
 In duU weather, when unifornily dark hazy clouds 
 are impending, and the barometer points steadily 
 to rain, both salmon and trout generally decline 
 taking any kir^d of bait or flies, whatever may be 
 the state of the water. On such days, the angler 
 may save himself the trouble of going to the water- 
 side — except for the sake of exercise — as he may 
 much more profitably employ himself at his inn, 
 if he be merely a temporary sojourner, in dressing 
 a few flies, looking over his tackle or his linen, or 
 writing to his male ai^d female friends, cr^^mming 
 the former with accounts of the loads of salmon 
 and trout which he has caught — in his dreams ; and 
 soothing the ladies — maids, wives, and widows, who 
 are disconsolately singing, from morning to night, 
 "Oh for him back again," — with a touch of the 
 sentimental, either in verse or prose, accordingly 
 as he may be " i' the vein." 
 
 With a twenty-feet salmon rod — a twig which 
 requires two hands, and cannot be flourished about 
 as a gentleman switches his cane — an e^cpert angler 
 
 
 e,..t. 
 
 j-VJ .A".•TJ'- 
 
90 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 ..^i. 
 
 will find no difficulty in casting twenty-five yards 
 of line, if the banks of the river be clear of wood ; 
 and if the wind be direct in his favour, he will be 
 able to cast five yards more. It is generally the 
 safest way to strike as soon as the sabnon descends 
 after having seized the fly ; for when he has once 
 taken it in his mouth and made a downward plunge 
 there is nothing to be gained by giving him time, 
 which only affords him an opportunity of blowing 
 it out again should he not have hooked himself. 
 In the "Encyclopyedia Metrojwlitana," article "An- 
 gling," — which must have been written by a down- 
 right ignoramus, wholly unacquainted with the art 
 of which he pretends to treat, and, from the shame- 
 ful literary errors which have been permitted to 
 pass uncorrected, revised by a careless editor — is 
 the following direction : "When you imagine that 
 the salmon has been struck, be cautious in giving 
 him time sufficient to enable him to pouch his bait, 
 that is, swallow it fairly or securely ; after this 
 fix the hook in him by a gentle twitch." A passage 
 betraying greater ignorance of the art of angling 
 was never penned. The doer must have read that 
 pike, when trolled for with the dead gorge, are to 
 be allowed time to pouch the bait ; and he sagely 
 directs that after the salmon has been "struck," 
 he is to be allowed time to take the hook out of 
 his jaw, then swallow it fairly and securely — no 
 mumbling it like an old crust allowed ;— and when 
 the hook is thus comfortably lodged in his stomach, 
 
 •mSi 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 91 
 
 I'l^' 
 
 and the process of digestion is commenced, it is to 
 be fixed, for the second and last time, by a "gentle 
 twitch.' 
 
 The steadiness and self-possession required to 
 manage a salmon after he is hooked ; the peculiar 
 tact with which the angler now yields to the rush 
 of the fish, now holds hard when he appears to be 
 growing weak, are only to be acquired by practice, 
 as they can no more be taught by mere precept 
 than the art of dancing on the tight-rope. To tell 
 a novice to be steady when he has hooked a salmon 
 for the first time — now to give him line, now to 
 hold him in— is like telling a young ensign, who 
 has never smelt powder but on field-days, to be 
 cool and collected in his first battle ; or a cockney 
 not to be frightened when first a covey of par- 
 tridges starts up before him, within ten yards of 
 his nose. Favour us, gentle reader, with your 
 patience for five minutes, while we attempt to 
 give a sketch of salmon-fishing which will embody 
 all the practical information on the subject of 
 catching a salmon which we can convey ; and to 
 secure your attention the better, you shall be the 
 hero of the tale. 
 
 You are staying at an inn, or at a friend's house, 
 on the banks of some river— say the Tweed, the 
 Tyne, the Spey, or the Costello— for the sake of 
 salmon-fishing. There has been a soaking rain of 
 eight hours' duration on the Tuesday, which has 
 brought the salmon up, and at six o'clock on 
 
 U 
 
 ^^^^^ 
 
 
92 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 U 
 
 Thursday morning — with a pleasant breeze from 
 the south-west, as much blue in the sky as will 
 make trousers for every man in the Royal Navy, 
 and a cloud occasionally shading the sun's face 
 — your fly is making his first circuit across the 
 berry-brown water of a pool in which you know 
 there are at least twenty salmon. For upwards of 
 an hour you flog that half mile of water till your 
 arms ache, but without success, the fish not yet 
 being disposed to take breakfast. As an excuse for 
 resting yourself, you sit down for twenty minutes, 
 and change your fly, putting on our No. 1, hare's 
 lug and bittern's wing. You return to the water 
 again, and ere the new fly has gone the circuit 
 thrice, he is served with a special retainer, in the 
 shape of a salmon, which, judging from his pull, 
 you estimate at thirty pounds, the largest and 
 strongest, as you verily believe, that you ever 
 hooked. With that headlong plunge, as if he 
 meant to bury his head in the gravelly bottom, 
 he has hooked himself. Your hook, which will 
 hold thirty pounds dead-weight, is buried in his 
 jaws to the bend, and now that he feels the barb, 
 he shoots up the stream with the swiftness of an 
 arrow, and fifty yards of your line are run off 
 before you dare venture to check him. Now his 
 speed is somewhat diminished, hold on a little, 
 and, as the river-side is clear of trees, follow up 
 after him, for it is bad policy to let out Une to an 
 unmanageable length, when you can follow your 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 93 
 
 fish. There are some awkward rocks towards the 
 head of the pool which may cut your hue ; turn 
 him, therefore, as soon as you can. Now is the 
 time to show your tact, in putting your tackle to 
 the test without having it snapt by a sudden 
 spring. Hold gently — ease off a little — now hold 
 again — how beautifully the rod bends, true from top 
 to butt in one uniform curve ! — He has a mouth, 
 though bitted for the first time. Bravo ! his nose 
 is down the water ! Lead him along. — Gently; he 
 grows restive, and is about again. Though his 
 course is still up the stream, he seems inclined to 
 tack. Now he shoots from bank to bank, like a 
 Berwick smack turning up Sea B-each in a gale of 
 wind. Watch him well in stays, lest he shoot 
 suddenly ahead, and carry all away. He is near- 
 ing the rocks — give him the butt and turn him 
 again. He comes round— he cannot bear that 
 steady pull — what excellent tackle ; lead him down- 
 wards ; he follows reluctantly, but he is beginning 
 to fag. Keep winding up your line as you lead 
 him along. He is inclined to take a rest at the 
 bottom, but, as you hope to land him, do not grant 
 him a moment. Throw in a large stone at him, 
 but have both your eyes open — one on your rod 
 and the other on the place where the fish lies — lest 
 he make a rush when you are stooping for a stone, 
 and break loose. Great, at this moment, is the 
 advantage of the angler who has a " cast " in his eye! 
 That stone has startled the fish — no rest for salmo 
 
 Stfv,AS- 
 
9 + 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 — and now^ he darts to the surface. "Up wi tally," 
 what a leap ! it is well you humoured him by 
 dipping the top of your rod, or he would have gone 
 free. Again, and again ! These are the last efforts 
 of despair, and they have exhausted him. He is 
 seized with stupor, like a stout gentleman who has 
 suddenly exerted himself after dinner, or a boxer 
 who has just received a swinging blow on the 
 jugular. Draw him towards the shore, — he can 
 scarcely move a fin. Quick the gaff is in his gills, 
 and now you have him out; and as he lies stretched 
 on the pebbles, with his silver sides glancing in 
 the sun, you think you never caught a handsomer 
 fish in your life, though you perceive that you 
 have been wrong in you estimate of his weight 
 — thirty pounds — ^for it is evident that he does not 
 weigh more than thirteen. It was exactly half -past 
 seven when you hooked him, and when you look at 
 your watch after landing him, you perceive that it 
 wants a quarter to nine, so that he has kept you in 
 &.:M^ exercise exactly an hour and a quarter. 
 
 " Along the silver streams of Tweed 
 'Tis blythe the mimic fly to lead, 
 When to the hook the salmon springs, 
 And the line whistles through the rings 
 The boiling eddy see him try, 
 Then dashing from the current high, 
 Till watchful eye and cautious hand 
 Have led his wasted strength to land." 
 
 In angling for salmon with a minnow — a small 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 95 
 
 trout or brandling may be used for the same pur- 
 pose — it is necessary to use a long-shanked hook, 
 which is to be passed in at the mouth and brought 
 out between the vent and the tail ; and, to prevent 
 the bait slipping down this hook, a small hook, 
 whipped on a piece of tine gut about three inches 
 long, is to be attached to the link and passed 
 through the minnow's lips. To facilitate the spin- 
 ning of the minnow, it is usual to employ two 
 swivels, one at the junction of your first and second 
 length of gut, and the other at the junction of the 
 second and third, with a shot, greater or smaller 
 according to the strength of the current, placed on 
 the gut, immediately above each swivel, to keep 
 the minnow down in the water. In spinning a 
 minnow, the foot-length, of gut, is generally about 
 three yards long. Some anglers use a conical piece 
 of lead, with a hole at the apex, for the gut to pass 
 through, which they slide down over the minnow's 
 nos3 ; but this method has not any advantage over 
 the simpler one of placing shot above the swivels. 
 The manner of using this bait is to cast it across 
 the stream, and, as you draw it towards you, to 
 keep it playing by a slight motion of the rod. 
 
 In fishing for salmon with lob-worms, two or 
 three, according to their size, ought to be placed 
 upon the hook, which ought to be cast up the 
 stream and worked gently down with the current, 
 according to the strength of which the line is to be 
 shotted. When spinning a minnow, or fishing with 
 
 i^^^i^i! ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
96 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 the worm for salmon, it ia customary to use a 
 stiffer top-piece than in fishing fly. When a salmon 
 is hooked by either of the former methods, he is to 
 be managed in the same manner as in fly-fishing. 
 There is no rod or tackle that we have ever seen 
 which will enable an angler to throw a salmon of 
 twenty pounds weight over his head, as he would 
 whisk out a trout when shade- fishing. The best 
 time of the day for salmon-fishing is from six in 
 the morning till eleven in the forenoon, and from 
 four in the afternoon till dusk ; but when the water 
 and weather are favourable, they may be angled 
 for at any hour between sunrise and sunset. The 
 angler who in one day has the skill and good for- 
 tune to land four salmon, each upwards of seven 
 pounds, though he may have toiled for them from 
 dawn till evening, has no just cause to grumble, 
 and to represent the water as not worth fishing. 
 An amateur angler, who has thrice in the course of 
 ten years taken eight salmon in one day, is entitled 
 to give a minute detail of each day's proceedings, 
 and catch his salmon over again, in all companies, 
 social, philosophical, or literary. Before taking 
 leave of the salmon, we beg to correct an error of 
 the press in the second series of Mr. Jesse's inte- 
 resting "Gleanings," of which, compared with the 
 " harvesting" of some others, it may be said that 
 " the gleanings of the grapes of Ephraim are better 
 than the vintage of Abiezer." It is there stated, 
 page 305, that "the ovarium of a salmpn will pro- 
 
V 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 97 
 
 diice 20,000,000 ova." This requires correction, by 
 cutting off the three last ciphers, and making the 
 number 20,000 instead of 20,000,000. Twenty 
 millions of the ova of a salmon ready to spawn 
 would weigh about four hundred pounds. The 
 number of ova in salmon is, according to the size 
 of the fish, from fifteen to twenty-five thousand. 
 
An angler who wishes to obtain a dish of trouts 
 will not wait till they are inclined to take the 
 artificial fly, provided he can fairly hook them by 
 availing himself of other means. In days when the 
 water is clear and smooth — not a breeze stirring to 
 curl its surface —and when there is not the slightest 
 chance of success with the artificial fly, the shade- 
 fisher will not unfreqiiently bring home a dozen or 
 two of good trouts. In shade- fishing, the angler 
 ought to use a stiflT rod and a line strong enough to 
 lift out a trout the moment he is struck ; and for 
 bait we know nothing better than gentles. The 
 best situations for practising this method of angling 
 are the banks of streams shaded by trees and bushes 
 that conceal the angler from the sight of the trouts 
 which are taking their ease in the pool below, 
 leisurely opening their mouths and plying their 
 gills as if between sleeping and waking. Having 
 put a couple of gentles on his hook, let the angler 
 warily make his way through the bashes, and pro- 
 jeqt his rod as imperceptibly as the motion of the 
 shadow on the dial ; and drop his hook as gently 
 as a caterpillar lowers himself from the branch of a 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 99 
 
 lime-tree to the ground. A fine portly-looking trout, 
 who would not spring at the most tempting fly, as 
 requiring too much exertion, skulls himself, with 
 two or three gentle strokes of his tail, towards the 
 dainty morsel, which he tips over as you, gentle 
 reader, would an oyster ; and, just as he is de- 
 scending, he feels a slight tickling in his throat ; 
 and before he can ascertain the cause, he finds 
 himself in another element, flying like a bird 
 through the alders that shade his native stream. 
 
 In clear water it is sometimes advantageous, 
 when there is a light breeze, to use two natural 
 flies, with a fine line, putting a small hook through 
 them, under the wings, so that they may lie with 
 their heads in opposite directions, and allowing 
 them to be lightly blown across the stream, or 
 carried down with the current. When using the 
 blowing line, it is necessary to employ a reel. 
 Worms, either lob or brandling, are an excellent 
 bait for trout when the water is rather discoloured ; 
 and even when it is clear trout will frequently take 
 the worm in streamy parts of a river or a burn, 
 when they will not take the fly. When worms arc 
 used, the bait is to be thrown up the stream, and 
 worked gradually downwards to the extent of the 
 angler's line. 
 
 In swift-running streams, the fresh-water or bum 
 trout seldom attains to the weight of five pounds ; 
 and in such streams, in the north of England and 
 in Scotland, by far the greater number of trouts 
 
 
 Wi 
 ^'^ 
 
 % 
 
 -■4* 
 
 \\)\i% 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 \ 
 
 caught weigh lesa than half a pound each. In the 
 Thames, between Teddington and Windsor, very- 
 large fresh-water trouts are sometimes caught. 
 Within the last twelve months three have been 
 caught, two with the net, and one with the rod 
 and fly, each of which weighed upwards of twelve 
 pounds. The beautiful engraving of a large trout, 
 given herein, from a painting by A. Cooper, R.A., 
 is a " portrait" of a well-fed five-pounder, which 
 was caught by the artist himself, in the Wandle, 
 in May, 1834. 
 
1=^ 
 
It is May-day, and the earth is dressed in a fair 
 new garment of green ; the copious showers of the 
 day before yesterday, followed by yesterday's 
 brilliant sunshine and warm south wind, have 
 made the leaves rush forth with a sudden bound 
 from buds which hitherto have been so jealously 
 closed. To-day the bright sunshine pours out of 
 a cloudless sky upon a green world, which in its 
 vividness of colour seems to be gifted with the 
 lustrous transparency of the sky itself 
 
 On such a day it were a shame to stay indoors 
 and see nothing bluer than foolscap — nothing 
 greener than writing fluid ; besides, this morning 
 our rod fell from its bracket when no one was near. 
 The housemaid said it was a strong breeze through 
 the open window which dislodged it, but that is all 
 nonsense. It was the spirit of the spring which 
 moved it to protest against inaction on such a day. 
 We are not superstitious, but we dare not disregard 
 such a warning ; therefore let us take our trusty 
 rod in our hand, and wander forth to revel in the 
 sight of the blue sky and the green woods, so 
 delightful after the discomforts of a long and cruel 
 w inter. 
 
102 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 r 
 
 Whither shall we go? What need to ask? — there 
 is but one stream in the verdant valley, and 
 wherever we strike it our steps are sure to be 
 irresistibly led, upwards or downwards as the 
 case may be, to the mill, which for a century 
 has nestled among the great trees in the heart of 
 the vaUey, and has been so frequented by angling 
 visitors that it has earned the name of the Angler's 
 Paradise. 
 
 Oar way lies over meadows yellow with the low- 
 flowered celandine, the taller and more kingly 
 buttercups, and scattered clumps of nodding cows- 
 lips. It is a field of cloth of gold, the whole of 
 this low ground ; but in lieu of gaudily bedecked 
 knights and horses, there are only our sober selves 
 clad in homely grey, and red and white satin - 
 flanked cows, to view its loveliness. 
 
 The hedges look like the spray of a waterfall 
 turned into emeralds, and set with pearly foam of 
 the blossoming thorns. On the uppermost branch 
 of a tall hazel clump a thrush is singing with all 
 his heart, his fawn-coloured throat throbbing with 
 the music of his voice ; while not far ofi", his mate 
 is sitting on her blue eggs, and listening proudly to 
 his epithalamium. 
 
 In the pauses of his song you can hear another 
 and a merrier one, dropping faintly down from 
 that speck in the dazzling blue, which you know to 
 be a lark. 
 
 Ah, there, too, is the first swallow skimming 
 
 <!■ 
 
 =f 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 103 
 
 1 
 
 P 
 \ 
 
 over that still pool, on which the white ranunculus 
 flowers lie in such perfect purity ; and hark ! was 
 that a cuckoo ? or was it but a dove, whose voice 
 is so tremulous with the happiness of his recent 
 wedding that his coo-o is broken into two syllables ? 
 
 How welcome is each sight and sound that indi- 
 cates the advancing spring ; how impossible it is to 
 be sad on such a day ! 
 
 There is the brook sparkling over gravelly fords, 
 and circling slowly in quiet pools, its foam-bells 
 sparkling in the sunshine. It has cleared so rapidly 
 after the rain that only in the deeps is it a pale amber 
 colour ; elsewhere the water is blue, or golden, or 
 brown, or black, as the shadows fall. The gravel 
 shines, and the blue sky is reflected ; but every- 
 where there is white and sparkling foam in lines 
 and splashes. 
 
 Rigging up our rod and flies, we wade knee-deep 
 among the broad-leaved butterburs, and with a 
 wave of the rod the glistening line is despatched on 
 its deadly mission, and at the very first cast a trout 
 is hooked, and in another moment is breathing its 
 last among the daisies and silver seed-globes of the 
 yellow-flowered dandelions. Its struggles ere it is 
 seized shake out hundreds of the shuttlecock seeds, 
 and they float away on the south wind over the 
 meadows. 
 
 So on we go up the brook, pulling up a trout 
 from this pool where the water swirls under the 
 overhanging roots of an oak, and a troutlet from 
 
 
 .J 
 
I04 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 that merrily rippling shallow. Although the water 
 is just the right colour, the sun is too bright for 
 very good sport, but we like the bright sunshine, 
 and the additional pleasure it gives to our waterside 
 ramble more than atones for a lighter basket. 
 
 Now we enter a wood, where the oaks and the 
 alders crowd too thickly over the stream for us to 
 fish it. We stroll quietly along the mossy glades, 
 and mark the lady-fern unfolding its curled fronds 
 among the pale, sweet-smelling primrose clumps ; 
 and the delicate white, purple-veined bell flowers 
 of the wood sorrel drooping over its triple, heart- 
 shaped leaves. Between the tree stems a white 
 butterfly flits ; squirrels frisk among the branches 
 overhead, and peer inquisitively at us ; from clumps 
 of bracken — the tawny russet of the last year's 
 growth, and the tender green of this — a tiny rabbit, 
 who has come out of his mother's burrow for a first 
 tour of inspection, sits up on his haunches and 
 stares solemnly at us ; while the atmosphere of the 
 wood is thrilling and quivering with music, tho 
 melodies of a hundred birds, and the hum of a 
 million insects, toned down into a sweet and all- 
 pervading harmony. 
 
 There is the mill, separated from the wood by a 
 meadow's breadth, and such a meadow I — a perfect 
 blaze of spring flowers ; that part of it which margins 
 the brook white with nodding cardamines. The 
 stream itself is broad and shallow, and its quiet 
 current slides over trailing masses of weed that 
 
 ( 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 105 
 
 wave in the water like a maiden's tresses in a 
 summer breeze. 
 
 The mill is a large, grey, irregular building— a 
 farmhouse as well as a mill. Its massive walls are 
 stained with age, and the ivy clothes them here and 
 there with a mantle of glossy green. The huge, 
 black, moss-stained wheel creaks slowly around. 
 It is an overshot wheel, and the water pours down 
 upon it from the sluice above in an iron-grey 
 column, broken and changed into silver as it 
 splashes and drips from the floats of the wheel. 
 To the left is a broad sloping weir of great height, 
 down which the water dashes with a thousand 
 sparkles, and boils and bubbles in the great pool 
 beneath, whence it is glad to slip quietly away over 
 the sleepily waving weeds. 
 
 From beneath the wheel, the water, having done 
 its work for the present, hurries away deep and 
 black along a narrow channel, overhung with water 
 docks and grasses, knotted rushes, and " water 
 scorpions " (which, when the blue flowers smile at 
 us we call forget-me-nots), until it rejoins its parent 
 stream a little lower down. Here, experience has 
 taught us, there will be a great trout lurking, and 
 we take two of our flies off" our cast, leaving only 
 one, that they may not catch in the rushes 
 and spoil our sport. Then creeping on hands 
 and knees through the cool meadow grasses, we 
 cautiously cast our fly upon the narrow torrent. 
 At the third cast there is a quiet circle in the 
 
 *• 
 
 
io6 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 water — big trouts rise leisurely — and an electric 
 tug as we strike announces to us the pleasant fact 
 that we have hooked a nice fish. There is not 
 much room for him to fight, and in a few minutes 
 we have led him into the shallow brook below, and 
 there at last he lies upon the yellow gravel, a silver- 
 bellied, red-spotted beauty of quite two pounds in 
 weight. 
 
 " Ah, you rascal ! " cries a voice from an upper 
 window of the mill; "you have caught my best 
 trout. Now just take a cast over the pool below 
 the weir, and then come in and have some dinner. 
 It will be ready in ten minutes. Now, no excuses 
 — you must be hungry after catching such a fish." 
 
 That is the miller — a Tennysonian miller. 
 
 " I see the wealthy miller yet. 
 
 His double chin, his portly size, 
 And who that knew him could forget 
 The busy wrinkles round his eyes ? 
 
 The slow, wise smile that round about 
 His dusty forehead drily curled. 
 
 Seemed half within, and half without. 
 And full of dealings with the world." 
 
 A heavy dinner in the middle of the day does 
 not agree with us, but the miller would not be 
 pleased if we declined his invitation, and we avo, 
 hungry ; so after landing another trout — a small 
 one this time— we prop up our rod against the 
 porch, and enter the mill. 
 
 We have a pleasant family dinner in the low- 
 
 \ 
 
 ^. 
 
 \i 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 107 
 
 ceilinged, oak-wainscoted dining-room, through 
 the open windows of which a pleasant fragrance 
 comes in from a large, old-fasliioned flower garden. 
 At one end of the table the miller presides, jovial 
 in appearance and talk. At the other end the 
 miller's wife is his exact prototype. We are a 
 great favourite of hers, for because the labour of 
 the brain gives us a somewhat pale and preoccupied 
 look, she imagines we are delicate, and what woman 
 can resist the pleasure of doctoring somebody ] 
 Therefore, she supplies us with fresh eggs, beautiful 
 milk, almost solid cream, and such other country 
 dainties which she imagines, and rightly so, we 
 cannot get in perfection in the town. She gives 
 us also dandelion tea, and tea made of some other 
 herbs, notwithstanding our protestations that in 
 town we could get something eqiially nasty. But 
 in her eyes no good thing— always excepting 
 bonnets and dresses — can come out of the town ; 
 and rarely do we i^ay her a visit but she insists 
 on our taking — in her presence, mark you, for she 
 will not accept our promise — a wineglassful of some 
 intensely bitter decoction. Bless her heart, thoiigh ! 
 ^he is a dear old lady. 
 
 Then, there is the miller's eldest son, and his 
 wife, with three or four little ones, who have 
 already made a successful raid upon our pockets. 
 There is no maiden "miller's daughter" here, but 
 the youngest daughter, who was married a year 
 ago, has now come home with her babe to "make 
 
io8 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 JVV--, 
 
 Ixer boast" to her delighted grandpapa and grand- 
 mamma. All at the table are jolly and merry and 
 happy, save one, the only one we have not yet 
 mentioned. He is the miller's youngest brother, 
 but to look at him he seems much older than the 
 miller. He was an artist, whose pictures were 
 beginning to sell. Then he met with a love dis- 
 appointment, which upset his unstable nature. He 
 went utterly and irredeemably to the bad ; and now, 
 half imbecile, and wearily waiting for the end, he 
 has accepted the shelter of his brother's home. 
 Miserable as he is, however, his artistic perceptions 
 have not altogether left him ; and now he looks 
 more animated and happy, because he has been 
 sitting in the shadow-flecked orchard, between the 
 masses of white and sunlit blossoms, and has been 
 watching the play and dance of the water as it 
 sweeps over the weir ; the tlu-ush singing in the 
 apple tree, the lark in the blue sky, and the gay- 
 coloured chafHnch building its lichened nest in a 
 fork of the splendidly blooming cherry tree. The 
 gladness of the spring has permeated even him, 
 and to-day his presence is less like a cloud in the 
 sunshine of their home happiness. 
 
 Country people themselves seem to wake to a 
 new life and cheeriness with the spring, and their 
 cheeriness is infectious. We pity the man who has 
 no friends in the country whom he may visit, and 
 from whom experience such a hearty welcome that 
 it makes him better pleased with himself. He 
 
 
 \% 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 109 
 
 thinks he must have some merit in himself to 
 evoke such heartiness from others. 
 
 Dinner is over, but the miller has some capital 
 port, which it would be a shame to leave untasted, 
 and he likes a chat with a guest from the town. 
 Then cigars, or, more iitted to the time and place, 
 long churchwardens, are produced ; and the som- 
 nolent effect of the soothing weed disinclines us to 
 exertion. Hence it is that the afternoon slips 
 rapidly away, and we are in no hurry to resume 
 our fishing. At last, however, the spell is broken. 
 From one of the windows the long stretch of dead 
 water above the weir is visible. It is a famous 
 place for trout. On hot days you can see great 
 fellows of three and four pounds weight, lazily 
 floating about in the clear water. No angler leaves 
 the mill without trying to catch one, but most 
 anglers leave it without having caught one. The 
 banks are steep and thickly wooded, and fly-fishing 
 is impossible. The miller will not allow worms to 
 be used there. These big fish are his pets, and he 
 chuckles at the ineffectual attempts of anglers to 
 throw a fly over the spotted beauties, or, having 
 succeeded in throwing a fly, to induce them to 
 take it. 
 
 Now, about fifty yards above the weir, just 
 under an alder bush, a big fish has been rising at 
 intervals of a few minutes for the last hour. An 
 angler's patience can stand such a sight no longer, 
 and we knock the ashes out of our pipe, mark it in 
 
 
no 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 w 
 
 pencil with our initials that it may be kept for our 
 use on a future occasion, lay it down reverently, 
 and sally forth to seize our rod, the miller following 
 with a sly smile on his ruddy face, ready to break 
 into a ponderoiis laugh at our approaching defeat. 
 But during the winter we have been plotting dark 
 deeds. We know full well that these huge trout 
 will not look at an ordinary fly, so we have con- 
 structed the image of a large green caterpillar, 
 curled up in the most natural manner. As we 
 attach it to our line the miller's face grows solemn, 
 and he shakes his head, but says nothing. We 
 twist the rod luitU the line is rolled around the 
 top like tlu-ead on a reel; then creep cautiously 
 along the bank to just above the alder bush. Our 
 position is perilous. The bank is steep and slippery ; 
 our foothold is scant — we are, alas ! obliged to crush 
 a tuft of primroses with our boot ; and the water 
 below us is deep. 
 
 There is the trout. His weight can surely not 
 be less than four pounds and a half. He does 
 not see us. We quietly insert the point of the rod 
 through the bushes, and unroll the line so that the 
 caterpillar descends towards the water in exactly 
 the same manner that a real caterpillar does, 
 suspended by his silken thread. When it is about 
 six inches from the water, we pause, and hold it so 
 for a few seconds, while the big troiit is watching 
 it. Then we let it fall suddenly on the water. The 
 trout rises at once, and with a quick chop of his 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 in 
 
 '/ 
 
 ^ 
 
 big jaws, he has the bait, and — hurrah ! he is 
 hooked. The miller's sympathies are now with the 
 angler who has performed so redoubtable a deed. 
 He shouts, " Hold him tight ! don't let him have 
 his head." Very good advice this, but impossible 
 to follow, for the trout has got his head, and darts 
 off up-stream at a racing pace, leaving diverging 
 waves of water behind him. The line is rapidly 
 whisked off the reel. Our heavily-bending rod 
 tells us how futile would be the effort to check him 
 in his mad career. The situation is critical. Our 
 line is nearly run out. We cannot follow along 
 the bank ; the last inch is now off the reel. 
 
 "Throw your rod in after him." The advice 
 comes too late. There is a sharp struggle forty 
 yards up the stream ; the gut gives way, and the 
 line flies back among the bushes in sticky folds. 
 Oh, horror ! 
 
 " What to ns remains of good ? " 
 
 Despair ! Tare and 'ouns ! Frantic gesticulations 
 and lamentations ! To hook him so cleverly, and 
 then to lose him ! Hath earth any sorrow like 
 this? The miller consoles us to the best of his 
 ability, and offers us a pipe. His wife says a cup 
 of tea — not dandelion— will do us good. We doubt 
 it — our feelings are too severely lacerated — but 
 we will try. Bless these people, how they do eat. 
 Breakfast at half- past seven ; lunch at half- past 
 ten ; dinner at one ; tea at half-past four ; and 
 
 — -r* — ' 
 
112 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 t 
 
 supper at half-past eight. Why, at home, we only- 
 have two meals in the course of the day — breakfast 
 and dinner, for a biscuit in the middle of the day 
 cannot be called a meal. 
 
 Tea does console us ; a pipe does also console us ; 
 and after a romp with the children in the orchard, 
 we feel happy again, though still regretting the loss 
 of so fine a fish. 
 
 The busy murmur of the mill ceases. The 
 dappled cows come wading through the brook to 
 be milked ; we catch a few more small ti'out ; the 
 sun goes down in a sea of amber, crimson splashed 
 and spotted ; the white mists wreath around the 
 coppices of oak and fir ; the bats wheel and scream 
 in the still air, and — we go in to supper. Then 
 there comes a rubber or two of whist, a farewell 
 pipe, and a glass of grog ; and with a fair basketful 
 of trout, a bottle of dandelion tea in one pocket of 
 our coat, a spring chicken in another, and laden 
 with a posy of cowslips and primroses gathered 
 by the children for the dear partner of our joys 
 and purse, we shake hands with the miller and 
 his wife, and bid good-night to the dear old mill 
 and its inhabitants. 
 
 4' 
 
 \r 
 
 ,^i 
 
 «^^^^^'' 
 
 t^^ 
 
The white mists of an October morning rise quietly 
 and sluggishly, like a sleeper just awakened, from 
 the damp meadows, the green hue of which is 
 strewn and dashed with the yellow and grey of the 
 long, dead bents and the faded summer grasses. 
 The soft mysterious mist rolls slowly away, flowing 
 down with glacial motion from the hollows of the 
 wood, where the dead leaves lie in wet masses of 
 tawny brown, and orange, and purply black. Down 
 a narrow path between the tall, though broken and 
 dying, bracken which hangs in dripping sadness 
 over the soft path, we step with loitering tread, 
 armed with our rod and creel. For what fish wc 
 on such a cool, still morn ? For pike or lordly 
 salmon? trout or dashing perch? No, the still 
 quietude of this windless autumn mom has seemed 
 to us to present a favourable opportunity for the 
 capture of some of the silver-sided roach that run 
 in the calmer reaches of the river, winding through 
 the valley below us ; the valley that only a few 
 minutes ago was invisible from the higher ground 
 upon which we then stood, so enveloped was it in 
 its shroud of mist. The valley now presents a 
 patchwork appearance, for while the natural tints 
 
 
114 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 of green and yellow are visible in many a place, 
 and the river shines with the dull gleam of frosted 
 silver between rows of shadowy willows, yet in 
 every dip and hollow the mist clings as loath to 
 part from its bride of the night. 
 
 We rest for a few minutes on the crooked and 
 lichened stile at the edge of the wood to gaze at the 
 scene below us. It is half repellent and half at- 
 tractive, yet wholly beautiful with a chaste, cold 
 beauty. The vagueness and uncertainty imparted 
 to the breadth of meadow by the changing mists ; 
 the indistinct outlines ; the strange weird mystery 
 of the still, white river with its curving reaches, 
 upon wliich the yellow leaves of the willows float 
 in increasing numbers, are sad and uncanny ; and 
 the low bushes with their brown branches gleaming 
 wet with the mist, and hung with myriad water- 
 drops, look cold and cheerless. We hesitate to 
 leave the warmer shelter of the wood, and we look 
 back at it with the air of one who leaves a friend 
 for a long journey. There may be water-kelpies 
 and elves lurking in the river valley, among the 
 sedges and under the mantle of mist, while here in 
 the wood there is nothing but the faint, shy rustle 
 of the curled-up leaves as they crack from their 
 parent branches and flutter downward into the 
 brake and brambles, to form a thickening carpet 
 through which the red-coated squirrel bounds with 
 a quick patter, and the conies dash with a great 
 flurry and disturbance of matter. 
 
 "S^ 
 
 m. 
 
 \ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 115 
 
 m 
 
 To the eastward, beyond the wood and through 
 its sombre glades, the sky is of a pale and perfect 
 green, but low down against the crest of the hill 
 which shows dark and serrated upon it, it is 
 brightening witli a white light. Presently there 
 is the dazzle of the sun above the horizon, and 
 with a sudden attack its rays shoot through the 
 woods, at first with a steely radiance, but quickly 
 brightening and strengthening until the brown of 
 the wood is turned into crimson, the yellow into 
 burning gold, and the green of the mosses and the 
 hardier ferns into a brilliant emerald. The wood 
 is now a mass of gorgeous colours. 
 
 As wine makes glad the heart of man, and drives 
 away for the time the pressing weight of care and 
 sorrow, so the magic wine of the sunlight gives the 
 radiance of health and life and beauty to the damp 
 and decay and sadness of this autumn \vood. 
 
 And now a wren begins to sing shrilly in the 
 underwood ; a robin on yonder gate Micks his tail 
 and expands his red breast, and with a derisive 
 cock of his eye at the sober-coated little wren in 
 the bramble bush below him, bursts into a clearer 
 and fuller song, and then stops, quite expecting that 
 he has overpowered and silenced mistress wren. 
 But Kitty is well satisfied with herself. She cares 
 not for any robin, though he is God's cock and she 
 is God's hen. She is an advocate of woman's rights, 
 and so she goes on with her contented and thankful 
 twitter— very sweet it is if one listens properly — 
 
n6 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 aiid flits about with a keen eye for things eatable, 
 and heedless of the showers of wet she shakes upon 
 her little brown back from the purple-streaked 
 blackberry leaves. 
 
 And now we turn again towards the river, and, 
 lo ! the mists are fleeing hither and thither in dire 
 confusion, and melting away before the brightness 
 of the sun. The dewdrops look no longer cold and 
 cheerless, but are sparkling diamond-like under the 
 fairy wand of a sunbeam. 
 
 Now, let us delay no longer, but to our fishing ! 
 so, with well-waterproofed boots on our feet, we 
 stride heedlessly through the soaked grass and 
 strike the river at a favourite spot. And while we 
 rig up our tackle — leisurely, for it is yet fuU early 
 to begin — let us discourse some little of the fish we 
 are to catch, in the manner of our honoured master 
 the rambler by the Lea, and, we hope, to the edifi- 
 cation of his younger disciples. 
 
 First, let us give our quarry the honour of his 
 proper name, for in this eastern county, where the 
 rustics' wits are as slow as their rivers, the roach 
 sufiers the indignity of being classed with the bream, 
 and called by the family name of " white fish." 
 
 Cyprinus rutilus, then, is its scientific name, but 
 we wonder how that fine fat fellow which has just 
 risen to the surface and smelt at a tiny leaflet to 
 see if it were digestible, would feel if he knew that 
 he bore such a grand name — ah, Mr. C. Rutilus, 
 we will show you such a dainty morsel by-and-by. 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 117 
 
 
 Walton says that the roach " is a fish of no great 
 
 reputation for his dainty taste, and his spawn is 
 
 accounted much better than any other part of him ; 
 
 and you may take notice that, as the carp is 
 
 •■^-- accounted the water-fox for his cunning, so the 
 
 ^^^£ roach is accounted the water-sheep for his simplicity 
 
 -^^^ or foolishness." This charge of "simplicity or 
 
 ."^^^' foolishness," however, is only partially true of the 
 
 '^^^T roach. In waters where small ones abound, thev 
 
 " "^"^ are greedy and silly enough, and the veriest tyro 
 
 - *, may catch them. Also in semi-tidal waters where 
 
 the stream runs somewhat brackish and the mud 
 
 at the bottom is foul, such as the lower reaches of 
 
 the Yare, the big roach may be taken in great 
 
 numbers by any one who can hold a rod over the 
 
 side of the boat. Such fishing requires but little 
 
 skill (and what is anything without the exercise of 
 
 skill ?) and such roach-fishers rank a very long way 
 
 below the trout-fisher. But where the roach is at 
 
 his best — such places as this river on whose banks 
 
 we stand, whose deep, clear water slips gently over 
 
 trailing weed, and rounds from the foot of a golden 
 
 and green-striped shallow into a slowly eddying 
 
 and blackly deep pool — it is fine work fishing for 
 
 him. With a pole one could leap over the river in HMff/ 
 
 any place, yet that hole a little lower down is fully 
 fourteen feet deep. It holds many an ancient roach 
 of portentous size, whose size protects it from the 
 jack which also inhabit it. 
 
 In fresh, clear water like this, the roach are shy- 
 
 m 
 
 
ii8 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 biting creatures, and it needs considerable skill to 
 catch them. We have seen an angler who could 
 kill a fair basketful of trout on the brightest day at 
 Coquetside, fail to maintain his reputation when 
 roach-fishing in this stream. One's tackle must be 
 of the finest. Many anglers, especially London 
 ones, who are great roach-anglers, use footlinks a 
 single horsehair thick ; but we are incUned to think 
 this a refinement of luxury, for gut is now drawn 
 so fine as to be practically invisible in the clearest 
 water, and it is stronger than hair. The rod should 
 _g^ B be long and light, and the baits, if natural ones or 
 paste, should be perfectly clean and fresh. Yet all 
 these things avail nothing if the angler's eye be not 
 quick, his attention unflagging, and his wrist sup])le 
 and dexterous in striking. 
 
 A clear river roach, his stomach and his strength 
 being unimpaired by gross feeding, fights well for 
 some time ; and supposing he is over half a pound 
 in weight, and you are using fine tackle, a landing- 
 net will be found extremely useful. On the present 
 occasion we have one slung at our back, and it can 
 be unhooked in a moment when required for use. 
 
 There are many ways of fishing for this handsome 
 fish — for handsome he is, with his silver scales, his 
 red fins, and his yellow eyes. You may fish for 
 him in muddy water with worms. You may use 
 wasp grubs, or gentles, or pastes of various mixture. 
 On hot days you may dib for him with a natural 
 fly under the bushes which overhang the still deeps, 
 
 -^J 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 if9 
 
 when you may catch some large ones. Or, better 
 still, you may fly-fish for him wherever he is, with 
 a "black gnat" on your casting-line, and the hook 
 tipped with a tiny bit of white kid glove. This is 
 a very killing way when the fish are playing about 
 on the feed on summer evenings, but it needs a 
 quick eye to see and a quick hand to strike as soon 
 as a tiny circle is made upon the limpid stream. 
 Best of all, however — because the roach is then at 
 his best and strongest, and the big ones are more 
 inclined to take the angler's bait— it is to fish as wc 
 are doing now, in chill October. 
 
 On a mild, still day, and (if the water is much 
 fished) soon after sunrise, when the fish have had 
 a night's rest to make them less suspicious, a good 
 basket ought to be made in fairly stocked waters. 
 
 And now let us delay no longer. The sun has 
 been long enough on the water to rouse the fish to 
 a knowledge that it must be breakfast-time. 
 
 Our float, you see, is a light porcupine quill, and 
 our hook is small and tine ; six inches above it is 
 one tiny shot. Our bait is a piece of paste, the size 
 of a green pea, made of new white bread, carefully 
 kneaded with clean hands until it is tough and 
 sticky. Where we commence the water is about 
 five feet deep, and at the bottom long masses of 
 weed are swaying over smooth yellow gravel. 
 Peering downward, at first we see nothing but the 
 dark-green weeds ; but as our eyes become accus- 
 tomed to the deeper shade, we see, a foot above the 
 
 ■d' 
 
 ^1 
 
 ''^^ 
 
 xi 
 
 ^^^- 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 gravel, in the clear runs between the weeds, a dozen 
 or more fine roach, their heads up the stream, and 
 with gently swaying tails. They look dull-brown 
 objects as they now swim, but every now and then 
 there is a sudden gleam in the water as one of them 
 darts aside to seize some speck of food, and shows 
 his shining flank. We approach the sedgy margin 
 silently and carefully, and, crouching down on one 
 knee, we throw our line lightly up-stream, and 
 watch the white bit of paste as it sinks slowly down, 
 until, supported by the float, it glides along, at the 
 right depth, towards the noses of the eagerly gazing 
 roach. The first one, who is nearly two pounds in 
 weight, sails up to it, and then drops backward 
 down-stream, keeping his mouth just an inch below 
 the bait, and examining it suspiciously. It is a 
 moment of anxious suspense. Will he, or will he 
 not, take it ? No ! he is too cautious. He does 
 not feel quite sure about it, and so he turns aside 
 and lets it pass. Then it floats right on to the nose 
 of a pounder, and he just sucks it nonchalantly in. 
 We strike, and he is hooked, and gamely struggling 
 to reach the weeds, but his fate is sealed, and we 
 lead him into our landing-net, whence he is trans- 
 ferred into our basket. 
 
 When we next cast in, the big roach again goes 
 up to it, but this time he turns tail in great alarm, 
 and darts down-stream and into a bed of weeds. 
 But a half-pound fish lower down rushes in 
 where the wise roach feared to tread, and is duly 
 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 121 
 
 basketed. Then, for three or four swims, we get 
 no bites, for in such clear water the fish are soon 
 alarmed, but after awhile we catch two more small 
 ones. 
 
 Now we will leave this clear reach, and try that 
 deep pool below, where a few tiny circlets on the 
 svu-face show that some big roach are feeding — for 
 the bigger a roach is the more delicately does he 
 poke his nose out of his own element. We cannot 
 see the fish, for the water is too deep and black, so, 
 pushing ourselves into a bed of tall and crackling 
 reeds, we drop our line into the water at the head 
 of the pool, and watch the float slowly circling 
 round in the eddy. Presently it gives a sharp jerk 
 or two ; that is the bite of a small one, and, on 
 striking, we find that our bait has disappeared. At 
 the next swim, just as our float reaches the tail of 
 the pool, it stops, and slowly sinks. TJie hook has 
 either caught in the bottom, or it is the bite of a 
 big fisli. We strike, and find that we are fast in a 
 good one. It gives two or three vigorous dashes, 
 just like a trout, and then submits to be turned 
 shorewards. At the sight of the landing-net, how- 
 ever, it makes a further and prolonged effort, 
 which causes our slender rod to bend and spring 
 with great vivacity. With our fine tackle, and 
 hampered as we are by the reeds, the slightest 
 flurry might cause us to lose it, but we are cool 
 and patient, so in another minute the fish is safe 
 within the circle of the net His weight is within 
 
122 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 an ounce of two pounds, therefore we may call him 
 a very good roach indeed. 
 
 In the course of the next half-hour we catch 
 three or four more, and all good ones. Then, as 
 we pull out a small one about six inches long, we 
 see a shadow dart out from under the bank, and 
 a gleam and twist in the water. That was a jack 
 of four or five pounds in weight, and evidently on 
 the feed. In spite of the fineness of our tackle, we 
 will try for him, so we tie three or four hooks to 
 the end of the line, and, with the small roach for 
 bait, we improvise a spinning tackle. Casting it 
 into the water, we work it close to the bank. In 
 an instant there is a swirl in the water, and a flash 
 of green and gold — for jacks have now a bravely 
 mottled flank ; and as the jaws of Esox I/ucius close 
 upon the bait with a savage tug, our thin gut line 
 is severed, and flies back in the air in glistening 
 coils, and the jack retires to his den — oh ! with 
 toothpicks gratis, — while we repair our tackle and 
 meditate upon the folly of too vast an ambition. 
 
 Yet a little lower down-stream, and we come to 
 a spot where it flows broad and shallow, with lanes 
 of clear water between long quivering tresses of 
 weeds, which are being slowly combed by the 
 sunken leaves and twigs which the current forces 
 through them. In these lanes of water the roach 
 are well on the feed, and every swim we get a bite. 
 In two hours we have caught a goodly number, many 
 of them half a pound in weight, and two of them 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 123 
 
 over a pound each. Then they cease biting, and 
 after trying in vain for some time, we look round 
 to ascertain the cause. The eastern sky has grown 
 pale and cold, and there is a thin line of dark, 
 hard-edged cloud resting athwart it. We also 
 become sensible of a keenness in the air, and we 
 lind that the wind has gone round to the east. 
 The ripples already shimmering on the water tell 
 us that a strong easterly wind is springing up, and 
 so goodbye to our fishing. 
 
 We wander downward, just throwing in now and 
 then for form's sake, and note the few things the 
 autumn winds and rains have left us. Here is a 
 late tuft of the yellow loosestrife ; there the green 
 blossoms of the ivy, which wreaths round that 
 slanting pollard. Yonder a bed of tall nettles, 
 covered with the fading yellow of the parasitic 
 dodder, and here the greenish spikes of the mercury 
 goose-foot, or Good King Henry. On tliis marsh 
 the tall bulrushes bend their rich brown heads to 
 the easterly air, and in this small, rush-fringed 
 lagoon the floating duckweed is scattered by the 
 rising of a mallard. 
 
 On this mud-bank is the seal of an otter, and the 
 track of his broad foot, together with the tail part 
 of an eel off which he has breakfasted. Across the 
 river a water-rat swims under the water, its com- 
 pressed fur gleaming with silvery air-bubbles, and 
 the ubiquitous water-hen flutters from the sedges. 
 
 All around are the glowing reds, and browns, 
 
124 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 and yellows of the sad, sweet autumn time. 
 Leaves, fragrant in decay, flutter against us ; 
 starlings chatter in the reeds, and rise in a whirl- 
 ing cloud ; and the rooks wheel and tumble in the 
 grey sky above us. 
 
 In our hearts there is a restful peace, tinged with 
 a pleasant melancholy ; and so we walk on in full 
 content, and come to a tiny, straw-thatched and 
 moss-covered cottage, set in its little garden, close 
 by the water's edge. Here live an old couple, all 
 by themselves, cheered only by the occasional visit 
 of a child or grandchild. Old Morris was a farm 
 labourer ; then, as he grew old, a stone-breaker ; 
 and now he is too old and too rheumatic for that. 
 It is a wonder how the old couple live. They have 
 a plot of garden in which they grow a few potatoes, 
 but their crop has been bad this year ; and we know 
 from one who sometimes befriends them that times 
 are hard with them, and that they have lived for a 
 week together on the fish caught by the old man, 
 who was a deft angler in his youth. There he is 
 now sitting on a stool by the waterside, and 
 patiently waiting for a bite, with greater interest, 
 we cannot but know, than we ever did ; for his 
 dinner depends upon the anxiety of the fish to take 
 theirs. He is shivering with the cold, and looks 
 anything but comfortable. On the grass behind 
 him lies one small fish, and he is not likely now to 
 catch any more. He does not see us, and he is as 
 deaf as a post, so we turn out the contents of our 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 125 
 
 ^ 
 
 basket to add to his one fish — reserving, however, 
 a brace of the best for ourselves. 
 
 When old Morris discovers the addition to his 
 store, will he think, we wonder, that the miracle of 
 the loaves and fishes has been repeated I and with 
 what additional fervour will his good wife thank 
 the Lord when she finds half-a-crown in the belly 
 of the biggest roach ! 
 
THE LINK 
 
 r'.'?* 
 
 /S: 
 
 Very bright and pleasant are the pictures which 
 cross the mental view of the Angler in his hours 
 of rest. The hard-worked lawyer, politician, or 
 merchant may throw himself back in his easy-chair 
 after dinner, and escape from the cares of his 
 business to wander in green fields and by flowing 
 streams. To him there appear pictures so vivid 
 that he smiles to himself as he thinks of the deep 
 impression made upon his mind by the beauty he 
 saw in those bygone days of sport, and free, wild 
 wanderings. One picture may arise a hundred 
 times, but it is none the less vivid for that, and 
 none the less welcome. He can live over again 
 that gloomy, windy day by the mountain tarn, 
 set amid the rugged rocks, when the trout rose 
 so freely, and the weight of his creel was almost 
 more than he could bear on his homeward journey. 
 Again he rambles through the feathery meadow- 
 sweet and luxuriant grass, full of daisies and 
 buttercups, by the side of a southern trout stream, 
 and sends the May-fly to yon eddy where the big 
 trout lies. Once more he sees the salmon surging 
 np-stream at the end of seventy yards of line 
 
 J^S 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 127 
 
 ^ 
 
 and his frantic bound out of the brown water. 
 Once again he lies in dreamy contentment by the 
 side of a lilied pool, and watches his float slide 
 away with the bite of a carp, or duck briskly with 
 the dash of a perch. 
 
 And his helpmate, if she be spirit of his spirit, 
 as well as bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, 
 will rejoice to see the wrinkles on his forehead 
 grow smoother, the lines about his mouth relax 
 from their sternness, and quiver with the play 
 of a smile ; and as his eyes close she will know 
 that he has fallen asleep on a mossy bank in a 
 woodland glade, and that the murmur of family 
 talk is to him the pleasant sound of a rippling 
 stream by which he has been wandering, and the 
 glare of the gas is transformed into the flicker 
 of the sunshine through the fluttering oak leaves, 
 or the glitter and reflex from the intermingling 
 wavelets. 
 
 She is glad to see this, and she is not jealous 
 of his love — that to him is second nature — for 
 the angler's life and the angler's joys. She knows, 
 too, cunning woman, that when he wakes from 
 that refreshing dream and fancy, he will be 
 amiably disposed to grant her her heart's desire, 
 whether it be a new bonnet, or to take the children 
 to the pantomime. Those for whom we chiefly 
 write will know this is no fancy picture, and they 
 will know also that such reveries are refreshing 
 alike to the mind and the body 
 
 
128 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 Too often, alas ! the power of indulging in such 
 reveries is wanting. The nerves are so keenly 
 strung from the high pressure to which they have 
 been subjected, that they cannot relax and rest 
 even for a moment, and the brain has been so 
 busy that it cannot throw off the habit of work. 
 In such a case, involuntary reverie and thought 
 such as we have described are impossible ; and 
 then, we who write, and many like us, we are 
 glad to say, step in to the rescue, and present 
 with friendly force to the rebellious brain the 
 soothing medicine of a picture in words. This is 
 our mission, to bring back to jaded hearts the 
 time when 
 
 '• The glad spring green grows luminous 
 With coming summer's golden glow, 
 And merry birds sing as they sang to us 
 In far-off seasons long ago." 
 
 Then away to the Linn with us, and hey for a 
 merry day ! and a breath of the freshest air, and 
 a ramble by the bonniest burnside in the North 
 Country. 
 
 There is the Linn, and at first sight there is 
 not much to see. A steep hillside, thickly covered 
 with heather, stretching up to the wild moorland 
 above, and broken into rocky ridges, is cleft by 
 a deep ravine, which appears to be filled to over- 
 flowing with trees and shrubs. From the foot of 
 the ravine and out of the dense underwood, a 
 stream steals rapidly away like a fox from a covert 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 129 
 
 wnen the hounds enter. This is the Linn. You 
 had better put your rod together outside, for there 
 is not overmuch space inside, and it is often a 
 difficult matter to put it together where the trees 
 grow close, and the top joint will catch in the 
 branches. 
 
 It may seem a strange kind of day that we 
 have selected for an angling ramble. There are 
 many fishers who would laugh us to scorn for 
 sallying out with a rod this day, for it is a brilliant 
 blazing summer's day, and the water in the burn 
 is as clear as crystal. " No trout would look at 
 a fly on such a day." No, friend, but they will 
 look at a clean red worm if it be handled as we 
 mean to handle it. We intend to catch a fair 
 quantity of trout, clear as the water is and cloud- 
 less the sky. Therefore, if you would learn a 
 wrinkle, look at our tackle. Our rod is short 
 and rather stiff, not made for throwing a fly, but 
 excellently adapted for pitching a worm into a 
 far-away eddy between rocks and roots, and the 
 very thing for holding a fish by the head without 
 giving him an inch of line, in places — and there 
 are many such in the Linn — where to give a fish 
 line would be to lose him. At the end of our lino 
 are six feet of fine gut, the iast few links of gut 
 so fine that it is no thicker than horsehair. The 
 hook is of extremely fine and beautiful steel, and 
 sharper than any needle. Were the water a little 
 darker, we should use the Stewart tackle, which, 
 
13° 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 as an "all round" worm tackle, is better than 
 any other.* It is made of three small hooks, tied 
 on the gut at interval of half an inch, and facing 
 opposite ways. To bait this, each hook is passed 
 right through the worm laterally, so that it hangs 
 in loops between them. The worm hangs in such. 
 a tempting way that the trout takes no notice 
 whatever of the hooks, and with this tackle he 
 is hooked at once, and there is no delusive 
 nibbling. In all streams we consider this to be 
 the besb worm tackle, except when the water is 
 so supernaturally bright and clear as it is to-day. 
 Now, our single hook of excessive fineness is the 
 best. Our worms are small, and of a clear red, 
 betokening that they have been well scoured in 
 moss. 
 
 Now we enter the Linn, and ere we have gone a 
 
 * In a review on the Academy, Mr. T. T. Stoddart took 
 objection to this recommendation of the Stewart tackle, 
 and says : " I have been a practical angler for more than 
 half a century, and lived on the most eligible portion of 
 Tweedside for forty years. During that long period, 
 worm-fishing in clear water, in the months of June and 
 July, has been my study and delight ; and the conclusion 
 I have arrived at is in favour out and out of the single- 
 hook tackle. By it, in clear, still stretches of a river, 
 or from a lake, on the brightest of days, large trout may 
 be taken ; whereas the three-hooked tackle, recommended 
 by the late Mr. Stewart, will be found quite inefficacious. 
 In streamy water, also, under corresponding circumstances, 
 the single hook, with the shank bent back a little, I have 
 found to be more trustworthy than the other." 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 131 
 
 Qu 
 
 hundred yards its exceeding beauty grows upon us. 
 To say that it is indescribable would imply that it 
 is a folly to attempt to describe it ; but as the very 
 object of our article is to describe the Linn, that 
 "the old place may bring the old time back," we 
 will not say that it is indescribable, and we will 
 select a pen made of the quill of a wild goose, shot 
 in its upper portion, to aid us in our task. 
 
 We have said that the Linn was a deep ravine, 
 through which there flowed a brawling burn. At 
 its entrance we passed into a larch wood, where the 
 air was laden with a sweet resinous odour, and the 
 light was mellowed by the " tender living light," 
 the pure and perfect green, the delicate shining 
 emerald of the fresh larch foliage. In the early 
 spring every one of these larches hangs out a brave 
 show of buds of the palest, lightest green, just like 
 the spray of a fountain, so ethereal do they look, 
 quivering in the sunlight ; but now the green is 
 fuller and deeper, but yet none the less bright and 
 fresh. Under foot there is little vegetation, but 
 the foot sinks deep in a brown coating of fir- 
 needles. Down on the left the brook brawls and 
 sparkles, sending quivering shafts of light up to us 
 from its myriad reflecting surfaces. A green wood- 
 pecker stiffens its tail against the bark of a tree, 
 and taps violently and resoundingly against the 
 wood ; and then we can see the long narrow tongue 
 shooting out and in, picking off" the insects dis- 
 turbed by his " tapping at the door." 
 
132 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 ^f 
 
 Out of the laich wood we reach the wilder part 
 of the ravine. A rude path leads by the stream, 
 and crosses it every now and then by means of 
 a rude and picturesque wooden bridge. On the 
 other side the rocks rise in craggy ledges, cracked 
 and seamed and furrowed, as if nature had done 
 her utmost to rive the hill asunder in some fierce 
 throe of agony. Dwarf oaks grow wherever there 
 is a crevice large enough to hold their roots ; the 
 rowan trees strew their foliage of airiest lightness ; 
 and here and there the " lady of the forest," the 
 " silver birk," rears its graceful form — its white 
 and shining stem a fair contrast to the rugged 
 rocks, and its drooping tresses to the sturdy 
 oaks. The underwood is thick and luxuriant. 
 Tall brackens rise boldly up through interlacing 
 brambles, and between the path and the bum is 
 a fringe of hazels, into which a squirrel has un- 
 wisely retreated, and in his haste to escape from 
 us executes wonderful feats among the too pliant 
 branches. The bed of the brook is wide, as be- 
 comes a mountain brook which, after heavy rain, 
 is a raging torrent ; but at present the water twists 
 and turns around boulders of every size, and every 
 hundred paces pours down in silvery cataracts over 
 high ledges of rocks into deep, bubbling pools 
 below. These rocks and boulders are piled and 
 strewn in the wildest confusion. Every now and 
 then the stream disappears, to reappear welling 
 from beneath some cavernous rock. Here the 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 133 
 
 ;!:^^ 
 
 jJ 
 
 /C7i. 
 
 brook id divided into a score of channels — like 
 black snakes writhing in shining folds ; and there 
 it gathers in a deep frothing pool, underneath a 
 forest of broad, cool, harts-tongue ferns, and 
 washes the long, brown moss lazily up the slipperji 
 rock. 
 
 We select a pool to commence with, and, lying 
 down on a slab of rock, we peer into it. Half a 
 dozen trout are visible in tiie clear water, with 
 their heads up-stream, and they are as yet un- 
 suspicious of our presence. With a twitch of the 
 wrist we jerk our worm against the upper rock, 
 and it falls naturally on to the fringe of moss, and 
 is washed off into deep water by the ripple. There ! 
 we have hooked a trout ; he went at it furiously, 
 and now he is in our basket. The rest have dis- 
 appeared under the stones, and we pass on to the 
 next pool. There ! that is the way to catch them. 
 Keep well out of sight ; throw in at the top of the 
 pool, and let the worm float downward; and that it 
 may float the more naturally, you should have no 
 shot on your line ; and the hotter and brighter the 
 weather is, the more trout you will catch, unless 
 rain should be imminent, when your chance of 
 ikv'ii Bport will be very small indeed. You will only 
 catch one in each pool though, so pass on, and, to 
 fish that next pool, crouch on your hands and 
 knees behind that boulder, and cast at a venture 
 into the still, deep water above, not allowing so 
 much as the point of your rod to appear above it, 
 
134 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 for the trout seem floating in air, so clear is the 
 stream. 
 
 Is not every yard of ground a perfect study l 
 Look at that large, sloping rock above you. On 
 it grow the greenest mosses, glossy harts-tongue 
 ferns, the black maidenhair spleenwort, and the 
 graceful green spleenwort. Its broad surface is 
 stained with many shades of grey, brown, ani 
 green ; and just at its foot, a clump of forget- 
 me-nots laughs at us with its blue eyes. At the 
 summit, a monster lady-fern waves its handsome 
 fronds in the light summer breeze, while down 
 one side of it the water slides in a black current, 
 broken into silver by opposing points of rock ; and 
 at th3 foot of the waterfall, on a projecting spur, 
 sits a white-breasted water-ouzel, flipping its tail, 
 and singing its robin-like song. 
 
 To-day we have little ditiiculty in picking up a 
 trout from each likely pool, and so we scramble on 
 over the uneven ground, getting used to the murmur 
 of the water, so that it becomes a silence in which 
 we can hear the hum of that cloud of gnats, golden 
 in the sunlight, which quivers above us. 
 
 And now the ravine grows narrower, and its sides 
 higher and more precipitous. The brambles and the 
 thorns are fewer, but the ferns are doubly luxu- 
 riant. Every crest and coign of vantage is crowded 
 with lady-ferns, and some on the edge of the rock, 
 which, from some cause or other, have met with a 
 premature death, hang over in clustered tresses of 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 135 
 
 v^a*^s 
 
 golden brown. The shield-fern vies with the lady- 
 ferns in luxuriance, but not in beauty, and the com- 
 mon bracken now gives place to his nobler congeners. 
 Then, with a sudden transition from the wildness 
 and the tropical luxuriance of the ferns, we come 
 upon a meadowy interspace, margined with oaks, 
 and flecked with sunshine and shadow, sleeping 
 quietly in a sunny haze and silence. Across this 
 there runs a tiny tributary stream, scarce six inches 
 wide in parts, but every few yards falling over a 
 stone into a little pool — a pool not much larger and 
 deeper than a good-sized saucepan. Yet watch. 
 We drop our worm on the top of a puny waterfall, 
 and it is carried souse into the pool below, a troutlet 
 darts at it from under the bank, and is hooked. 
 Each pool seems to hold just one trout, about six 
 inches long, and if one is caught its place is supplied 
 a day or two afterwards. In the space of twenty 
 yards we catch four small trout in this manner, and 
 each in its own little pool, where hitherto he was 
 monarch of all he surveyed. 
 
 Beyond the glade the ravine becomes still nar- 
 I'ower, the rocks become barer, but are painted with 
 stripes of brilliant green, where runlets of water 
 trickle over cushiony moss. The waterfalls increase 
 in height and grandeur, and the water is always 
 white with foam and sparkling with air-bells, each 
 of which seems to hold captive a bit of sunbeam. 
 We become sensible of a louder roar, and then we 
 come to the end of the Linn, and its crowning 
 
 iW 
 
 fl/. 
 
136 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 beauty bursts upon us. Far above our heads tower 
 the overhanging rocks, the foliage of the trees on 
 either side intermingling in the middle. From a 
 heiglit of fifty feet the bvirn flings itself over the 
 rock in a splendid cascade, and plunges with a 
 sullen roar into the boiling caldron beneath. From 
 thence it slips away between two huge fern-crowned 
 boulders, to be again hurled over a smaller fall, 
 over which a slender plank and handrail serve as a 
 bridge. Seated on a rude seat we watch the foam- 
 ing water, and seem to lose our individuality in its 
 overpowering ego sum. 
 
 Hark ! what is that bell-like note which has 
 sounded more than once down the stream ? It is 
 like the cry of an otter-hound. Ah, there is no 
 mistake about that splendid crash of music. It is 
 a pack of hounds hunting an otter, and every hound 
 is joining in the mellow chorus, which is answered 
 in sharp and quick' excitement by the rocks around. 
 A dark object bounds over that rock into the pool 
 above. It is the otter, and a fine fellow he is. 
 With sinewy and cat-like steps it advances towards 
 us, and, seeing us, stands irresolute for a moment, 
 glaring savagely. Hunted to death ! Poor beast ! 
 we cannot help feeling some pity for it. There can 
 be no escape now. A sheer wall of rock before and 
 a baying pack behind. Now the hounds and men 
 appear on the scene, toiling and panting. The 
 otter plunges boldly into the pool below the great 
 fall. The downpour of water catches it, and whirls 
 
1 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENfR. 
 
 137 
 
 it over and over, driving it pitilessly from its last 
 hope — that dark hole in the rock behind the fall. 
 As it rises exhausted on the verge of the pool, the 
 hounds are upon it, and, after a short, brave struo-crle 
 for life, the otter is killed and the hunt is over. The 
 echoing shouts of the men and the belling of the 
 hounds die away from the crags, and the silence of 
 death hangs over the beautiful Linn. 
 
 We loiter slowly homewards, enjoying the plea- 
 sant time, and knowing that, although our ramble 
 is ended, " the tender grace of a day that is dead " 
 will abide with us while life lasts. 
 
AN ANGLER'S HOLIDAY. 
 
 I. — Home. 
 
 If the reader will but agree with us in certain pre- 
 mises, we shall feel much more comfortable in our 
 mind with regard to his opinion of our book. First, 
 then, is it not true that the fiercer and intenser a 
 pleasure is, the sooner does it ' ' sate its novel force," 
 the more quickly are we tired of it, and the less 
 wishful are we for its repetition? This much 
 granted, it follows that our quieter pleasures give 
 a greater sum of pleasure on the whole, and a more 
 healthy relief from the labour of life. Then, there 
 are undoubtedly two kinds of pleasure, one which 
 ends as it begins — a pleasure alone ; and the other 
 which rests and recreates, — gives health and energy, 
 and in its effects is almost never-ending. As an 
 example of the former class, we would instance the 
 pleasure we derive from the perusal of a book, the 
 listening to an opera, or the social gathering ; as 
 the best instance of the latter, the quiet idyllic 
 interest of country life, and the pursuits of the 
 angler and the naturalist. If you agree with us 
 thus far, we are quite satisfied, and we are content 
 to prose on about the poetry of the woods and fields, 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 139 
 
 \ ^ 
 
 the lakes and streams, just as a grand-dad talks of 
 the feats of his youth, or the lover prates of the 
 charms of his mistress. 
 
 Confession is good for the soul, they say, and at 
 the risk of drawing down upon our heads some 
 strong iTidignation, we must confess that our earliest 
 love was for that which some people call nature ; 
 but as that term has become somewhat hackneyed 
 and indefinite in meaning, we prefer to call it the. 
 oibt-of-doors. We never took well to confinement 
 During our school-life the blue sky seen through 
 the barred windows, and the pigeons or the rooks 
 which circled under it, or the top branches of the 
 chesnuts tossing in the wind, were more frequently 
 our objects of contemplation than the pages of 
 our books. The unrest and the longing, which was 
 never satisfied save in the open air, by the glancing 
 stream or on the far-seeing hill-top, have followed 
 us through life ; and though through the dull 
 winter these feelings may be dormant, yet as the 
 fair spring grows into fairer summer, they arise 
 with a poewr not to be controlled, and away out of 
 doors we must go, and be once more blest in the 
 possession of that which contenteth us. 
 
 There are certain pleasant spots in England 
 which, from their own natural beauty and the 
 associations which boyish romance and youthful 
 friendships have endowed them with, have such a 
 charm that when a holiday-time comes round eaclx 
 year, we are constrained to revisit them, and put 
 
 
 -^fc 
 
 ■'^ 
 
140 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 oflf for yet another year the pilgrimage to fresh 
 fields and pastures new which in the winter time 
 we have planned. As the race for pelf grows 
 swifter, the time for a holiday is more hardly 
 snatched, and yet more keenly longed for. With 
 ns a habit has arisen of discussing on Sundays, 
 at dessert, the manner in which the next vaca- 
 tion shall be spent. It is pleasant to talk so, 
 although the fulfilment of these plans falls far 
 short, as a rule, of their conception. Whatever 
 we plan, though, as the time for starting grows 
 near, we feel that mere rest is the great desi- 
 deratum, and so we dive at once into the stillness 
 and fragrance of a quiet, restful, country holiday. 
 What it is like we will try to show you, if you 
 will only care to read. 
 
 June blazed forth her hottest, and then strove 
 to quench her heat with many showers. After a 
 fortnight's rain the glass became more settled, and 
 it seemed to us that there was every prospect of 
 some continued fair weather. So as July grew 
 apace we resolved to visit the home we had not 
 seen for a twelvemonth, ere the June roses had 
 lost their glow. It was a long journey. Starting 
 in the afternoon, we stayed the night at a manu- 
 facturing town, and then we started westward, 
 through a country that steamed under a soft, warm 
 rain, to the pleasant house that nestled where tho 
 border hills of Wales curtseyed to the rich Shrop- 
 shire plain. After the dwarf vegetation and hard- 
 
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 W*'- 
 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 \\\ 
 
 m 
 
 pt 
 
 
 looking woods of the north, it was delicious to see 
 the fat, green hedges panting under their load of 
 glistening rain-drops, the luxuriant grass fields, and 
 the massy woodlands. There was a sense of plenty 
 and cheerfulness that was very suggestive. Then 
 the hills rose blaa and cloud-like ; streams, lakes, 
 woods, and farmhouses became well-remembered 
 landmarks. At the stations were faces that were 
 familiar to us even though their owners' names 
 had escaped us. More real and pleasant grew our 
 thoughts 
 
 '■ Of deep shadows ou the grass, 
 Of meadows where we saw the cattle graze ; 
 
 Where, as the breezes pass, 
 The gleaming rushes bend a thousand ways ; 
 Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass , 
 Or whiten in the wind ; of waters blue 
 That from the distance sparkle through 
 Some woodland gap ; and of a sky above, 
 Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move." 
 
 Yonder the silver sheet of the mere — well re- 
 membered and much loved — shone like another sun 
 midst the bowery woods, and there was a quiet 
 gliding stream where many a grayling has fallen 
 victim to our skill. And there was the station 
 where we were to alight, and the waggonette in 
 waiting. In the centre of the platform was the 
 Pater waiting for us : his tall, sturdy form stem- 
 ming the hurrying crowd of passengers as carelessly 
 and easily as a boulder in a stream. Bless him ! 
 
 
142 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 his welcome of his "boy" is a keen one. We will 
 sketch his portrait by-and-by. 
 
 We drove through the country lanes towards 
 Rosesbower as the rain-clouds lifted, and the sun, 
 peeping saucily from behind his mask, drew out 
 the fragrance of a thousand flowers. In front of 
 us were three tall poplars, bowing lazily anc] 
 whitening creamily in the wind that had sprung 
 up to play with the sun and chase the rain. These 
 poplars were the landmark which showed the posi- 
 tion of our home, but the lanes wound in and out 
 so much that they were now this side and now that, 
 and often behind us. One lane was deep and 
 high-hedged, so that we drove along through a 
 leafy tunnel, and here the honeysuckle lingered 
 yet in wonderful profusion, covering the hedges 
 with masses of white and yellow, blush-pink and 
 crimson, giving forth the sweetest and most grateful 
 incense. We drew full breaths again and again 
 with huge and childish delight, and great gratitude 
 to the Giver of Good. There came into our minds 
 a passage from a book which we always take with 
 us into the country, "The Flowering Plants of 
 Great Britain," by Anne Pratt, which is so appre- 
 ciative of the honeysuckle that we quote it : — 
 
 "When the honeysuckle first puts forth its leaves 
 the landscape is looking dreary. The thorns, with 
 bronzed stems, hang dripping with rain-drops ; the 
 dark leaves of the dark-leaved privet glisten near 
 the red twigs of the cornel ; while perchance some 
 
 1^^W"^^rS :^^.=i=^-^-.—.2«:,M \ m 
 
r 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 143 
 
 "sSiXS 
 
 bough of the yellow osier seems like a golden rod, 
 or some catkin of willow or hazel gives a little 
 brightness to the scene. Brown leaves, with an 
 occasional yellow spray, hang on the youngling 
 oaks, and the rich crimson leaf or stem of the 
 bramble winds among them. But the honeysuckle 
 leaf has about it the hopes and associations of 
 spring-time. It is the herald of thousands of 
 green leaves which shall quiver on the stem and 
 resound to the pattering rain-drops of April, and 
 be brightened by April rainbows. Its spray is to 
 the foliage like the daisy to the flowers and the 
 robin to the birds— the first, and therefore the 
 fairest of its clan." 
 
 Not less welcome than its leaves in the spring 
 are the full ripe blossoms of its luxuriant summer 
 dress. 
 
 Then we entered upon a heavily-timbered lawn, 
 where the sleek red cattle stood rejoicing in the 
 damp coolness, scarce troubling themselves to move 
 off the gravel path out of our way. 
 
 As the trees opened out, we came in sight of 
 Rosesbower, and well it deserved its name. Origi- 
 nally it had been an old farmhouse, and it had 
 been added to here and there by buildings of 
 various styles of architecture, until it had assumed 
 a delightfully quaint and rambling look. Along 
 the two principal sides of the house ran a verandah 
 supported by wooden pillars, and along the top of 
 the verandah and these pillars roses red, roses 
 
 
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 r-^- 
 
144 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 white, and roses yellow grew in the greatest pro- 
 fusion, and with the happiest effect of colour. 
 
 Near one part of the house a large wild cherry- 
 tree grew on the shaven lawn, the red fruit trembling 
 multitudinous among the leaves. On the left part 
 of the house a lime-tree flung its sheltering branches- 
 over one end of the croquet-lawn, and to the right 
 stretched the flower-gardens, resplendent in colour, 
 and behind all were dark firs that hid the out- 
 buildings beyond. It was a fair scene, but its 
 greatest beauty was that it was home. 
 
 The home of one's childhood has a sacred charm 
 about it that is never wholly effaced, even by the 
 comforts of the new home a man forms when ho 
 marries and settles down. Hajipy are they who 
 have thus two homes, and both of them pleasant 
 ones ; and pleasant is the time when the offshoot 
 can spare its tenants for a visit to the older home. 
 
 There in the doorway stood the mother, her 
 hands quivering with the tenderness of the welcome 
 she had ready for her first-born, who to her was a 
 boy still, notwithstanding he had married a wife 
 and had a household of his own. Father, mother, 
 brothers, sisters, well it is when nothing occurs 
 daring the many months of absence, and through 
 the hurry of the selfish turmoil of increasing cares, 
 to mar your loving welcome, or dim your fond and 
 admiring glances with aught but the mist of glad 
 tearlets. W ell may a man strive his utmost to deserve 
 the pride yon feel in him and his achievements. 
 
 \ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 145 
 
 Well, Tve were at home, and maternal solicitude 
 suggested something to eat, and a most prolonged 
 and charming lunch it was, with much gossip and 
 laughter, while the rain-drops fell from the eaves 
 on to the carpet of rose -petals, which the showers 
 had scattered on the lawn, and the scent of Gloir 
 de Dijon and Marshal Niel tickled our nostrils 
 gratefully. 
 
 Then we wandered out and about, despite of the 
 wet under foot, visiting and making friends with 
 the cattle, the horses, and the dogs, and pacing 
 the garden walks, duly admiring the gardener's 
 chefs-d'oeuvre, startling the cushat from the ivied 
 '!'/ tree at the end of the kitchen-garden ; getting 
 wet through with the sudden showers ; changing 
 twice, and getting a mighty appetite for dinner; 
 and afterwards enjoying a cosy chat in the Pater's 
 sanctum, a room that opened with glass doors on 
 to the verandah. So we looked out westward over 
 the undulating meadows and copses to the blue 
 border hills that now stood out sharp and clear, 
 and then receded and were blurred Avith a yellow 
 curtain of rain. The purple rain-clouds grew 
 ragged and golden at the edges, the gloaming crept 
 up from the weather-gleam, and the night fell 
 peaceful and soundless, save for the recurrent 
 grating cry of a corncrake in the long grass of 
 the hayfield, and the scream of the whirling 
 swifts. 
 
i46 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 •^^ 
 
 jJ 
 
 II.— Up with the Lakk. 
 
 The window of our bedroom was left open, and 
 the cool night air, fresh from the rain-wet woods, 
 filled the chamber, so that our sleep was healthy 
 and therefore dreamless and light. At four o'clock 
 the next morning we were broad awake, and look- 
 ing out westward over the fair country. The fields 
 were silver-grey with inmimerable raindrops, but 
 the clouds had gone away to the northward, and 
 a grey-blue sky and hazy weather-gleam foretold 
 the coming of a hot day. The breeze came in 
 gentle puff's, bringing to one's nostrils the fra- 
 grance of the roses, and the heavier and richer 
 odour of the meadow-sweet, which, in the meadow 
 yonder, shook its cream-white clusters over the 
 ripening hay. The sparrows twittered and chir- 
 ruped with great industry on the eaves, and the 
 starlings preened themselves on .the dovecote. 
 
 About two hundred yards from the house was 
 a pool, small in size and shallow, but full of carp, 
 which were at all times most diffictilt to catch. 
 One side of the pool was bounded by the lane, 
 and on the other was a field containing a savage 
 white bull, the terror of all trespassing anglers. 
 All day long the country urchins sat on the lane 
 side of the pool and fished for small carp of two 
 or three inches in length, and their persistent 
 efforts effectually frightened the bigger fish, so that 
 
^.^^^J^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 H7 
 
 te>' 
 
 none could be caught on ordinary occasions. The 
 previous evening a younger brother named Herbert, 
 a lad of seventeen, had arranged with us that we 
 should try for them early in the morning ; and 
 hence it was that we dressed hastUy and " any- 
 how" (oh, the deUght of being able to dress 
 "anyhow"!), and left our room with the inten- 
 tion of waking Herbert. Our quarters were in a 
 portion of the house separated from the rest of 
 the inmates by a distinct staircase and doors ; 
 and when past these, we had no clear idea where 
 his room lay. So we went prospecting, creeping 
 stealthily with stockinged feet, lest we should 
 rouse the house, and yet it seemed to xis that 
 every oaken plank we stepped upon had a loud 
 and distinctive creak. Listening at one door, we 
 heard a dual sound of breathing ; at another, there 
 was no sound at all. While standing uncertain, 
 a third door opened, and out came Master Herbert, 
 ready for the fray. Our first visit was to the 
 larder, for it is a golden rule never to commence 
 the day upon an empty stomach. 
 
 We were soon at the pool, on the surface of 
 which thin wisps and veils of mist still slumbered. 
 A heron stood in the marginal weeds, and was so. 
 incredulous of visitors so early, that he blinked 
 and blinked his sleepy eyes at us in wonder, and 
 only arose when we were within ten yards of him. 
 Our hooks were baited with red-worms, and our 
 lines were dropped quietly mto the water, sup- 
 
 Mj 
 
148 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 ported by the tiniest floats. While we waited and 
 watched for the first bite, we drew in huge draughts 
 of the exhilarating morning air, with an additional 
 zest, because we knew that the day would turn 
 out scorching hot. All around was very quiet and 
 still, and we noticed what a different nature 
 characterises the stillness of the morning and that 
 of the night. In both, the silence is efjually pro- 
 found away from the houses; but while at night 
 the quiet is in accordance with the dying day 
 and the darkness, in the morning it is in keen 
 contrast with the quivering brightness, the intoxi- 
 cating freshness, and the vigour which impels to 
 action. 
 
 A float moves a little, then dips slightly, and 
 then lies still, as if no fish had touched the bait. 
 Patience ! he is at it still. Now it slides away 
 with quickening pace, and then dips under water, 
 towards a tree-root. Strike, and hold him by the 
 head ! Give him the butt, for he is in dangerous 
 proximity to the sunken branches. Now lead him 
 into the rushes. He is landed, a fine carp of two 
 pounds weight. 
 
 So we went on, now one and then the other 
 hooking a fish, until ten fine carp lay on the bank. 
 The mists arose from the water, the pearls vanished 
 from the meadow-grasses, the insect hum grew 
 louder, and the thrushes sang in the poplars, the 
 sky brightened into its clearest blue — and the fish 
 ceased biting. It was seven o'clock, and we had 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 149 
 
 not done badly, yet, like Oliver, we asked for more 
 and were admonished. The tiny sprats of carp 
 commenced biting vigorously, and the frequent 
 dips of our floats inspired us with delusive hopes. 
 We had been fisliing from the lane, but seeing 
 that the bull was feeding quietly in a far corner 
 of the field, with his head turned away from us, 
 we climbed over the gate and went on with our 
 fishing. Presently we heard a tramp and a bellow, 
 and lo ! there was the bull close upon us and 
 charging valiantly. One of us scrambled headlong 
 over the gate, just in time to dispense with the 
 bull's assistance ; and the other, whose line was 
 fast in a root at this inopportune moment, jumped 
 waist-deep into the pool, wading out at the other 
 side. Our fishing was at an end, and, laughing 
 heartily, we gathered up our spoil and departed. 
 
 The Gipsy was still sleeping the sleep of the 
 just, and when she was awakened she was very 
 incredulous of our early rising, seeing that in 
 the town we were always loath to get up in the 
 mornings. 
 
 f 
 
 III. — The Portrait of an Angler. 
 
 Up and down the avenue of laurels, and under 
 the shadow of the firs, where the blackbirds are 
 chuckling, and the doves cooing, he walks. His 
 hands are clasped behind him, and his head is 
 
ISO 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 (^ 
 
 bent in meditation while he awaits the summons 
 to breakfast. He is tall and broad-shouldered, 
 and is gathering flesh, as becomes a man of his 
 years. His broad, high forehead bespeaks intel- 
 lect ; his mouth and chin have the impress of 
 firmness, but in his eye there shine the kindness 
 of heart and liberality of judgment which have 
 made him valued as a friend, and sought for as 
 a counsellor, through the country-side. As an 
 angler he is one whom old Izaak would have loved, 
 for with him angling is an idyllic pastime, a con- 
 templative man's recreation. He has no care for 
 the more exciting branches of the art. He cares 
 but little for the toils of salmon-fishing, or the 
 excitement of landing the savage pike. More to 
 his taste is the quiet ramble by the side of a trout - 
 stream, the seat in a punt, gudgeon-fishing, or a 
 atUl, calm evening by a pool-side, angling for 
 tench. He himself would tell you that he is an 
 angler because of the opportunities it affords for 
 pleasant and profitable reverie. 
 
 It was very little matter whether he caught fish 
 or not when he went a-fishing. ' ' Atte the leest 
 he hath his holsom walke, and merry at his ease, 
 a swete ayre of the swete savoure of the meede 
 floures that niakyth him hungry ; he heareth the 
 melodyous harmony of fowles ; he seeth the younge 
 swaunes, heerons, ducks, cotes, and many other 
 fowles and theyr brodes, whyche me seemytli 
 better than all the noyse of hounds, the blaste 
 
 Q3 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 i-Ji 
 
 of homys, and the crye of fowlia that hunters, 
 fawkeners, and fowlers can make. And if he take 
 fysshe, surely there is then noe man merrier than 
 he is in his sjiyryte." 
 
 So the ramble in the country, its pleasant sights 
 and sounds, the chance meeting with a friend of 
 kindred tastes, and the conversations, rich and 
 rare, into which those who know him well are 
 irresistibly beguiled, make the days pass pleasantly 
 and happily. There is a certain old-fashioned 
 quaintness in his manner which he must have 
 caught from his favourite /Spectator. His friends 
 call him Sir Roger de Coverley, and the name is 
 an apt description. Piscator says that " angling 
 is somewhat like poetry — men are to be born so ; 
 I mean with inclinations to it, though both may 
 be heightened by discourse and practice ; but he 
 that hopes to be a good angler must not only bring 
 an inquiring and observing wit, but he must bring 
 a large measure of hope and patience, and a love 
 and propensity to the art itself ; but having once 
 got and practised it, then doubt not but angling 
 will prove to be so pleasant that it will prove to 
 be, like virtue, a reward to itself." 
 
 From what we have observed, we doubt that the 
 angler whose portrait we are sketching was born 
 to the art ; we think he was rather led into its 
 exercise by the delight he takes in its accessories ; 
 therefore he is, as a rule, not a successful angler. 
 His pursuit of the fish themselves is not keen 
 
15- 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 enough for that, and he is too often led aside by 
 some extraneous object. His float may be carried 
 down, and the fish may entangle his line in tlie 
 weeds, the while he is unconsciously peering at the 
 petals of a flower through a magnifying-glass ; his 
 rod may lie on the bank of a stream while the 
 minnows are nibbling the feather ofi" his flies; and 
 he will be absorbed in the study of gravel sections 
 '^4 or rock strata laid bare by the winter torrents. 
 When he returns to angling consciousness, he will 
 extricate his line from the weeds, or put fresh flies 
 upon his line, with a quiet smile, and without the 
 least impatience. 
 
 While, however, his fishing excursions bear but 
 little immediate fruit, the ultimate result of them 
 and his quiet meditations are many steps in the 
 world of science, and clear, intelligent articles in 
 the Quarterlies, written in the study in which there 
 is such a collection of somewhat old-fashioned 
 fishing-tackle. 
 "^^^ The laurel avenue is his favourite walk in leisure 
 
 hours. At his heels sedately trots an old retriever ; 
 the sparrows scarce trouble themselves to get out 
 of his way ; and a white cat springs upon his broad 
 shoulders from an overhanging bough, and sits 
 there in triumph as he continues his walk. 
 
 " God never did make a more calm, quiet, inno- 
 cent recreation than angling," and surely he never 
 made a better angler and man than he who now 
 obeys the sound of the breakfast-bell. 
 
 
 /- 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 153 
 
 IV. — On a Cottage Door. 
 
 m\ 
 
 We will wager a pot of honey to a strawberry 
 that you never fished off a cottage door. Three of 
 us did so one day, and this is the way of it : — 
 
 We had planned an expedition to a pool which 
 will be no stranger to those whom we may number 
 among our unseen friends. It is a pool on the 
 smnmit of a Welsh hill, and full of carp. The 
 weather was so hot for several days that we could 
 not think of going there, for we knew that the carp 
 would not bite. So we waited patiently ; and, in 
 the meantime, we fished up an old eel-spear, and 
 went eel-spearing in the canal, with very fair suc- 
 cess ; or fly-fished for roach in the evenings, in 
 a slowly-moving stream which ran through the 
 meadows about a mile from the house. Then we 
 wandered about the lanes and the woods, and 
 gathered wild flowers, and dried and pressed them, 
 until the multitude of those which demanded at- 
 tention, from their extreme beauty or singularity, 
 increased so that wi? grew confused, and eventually 
 gave up their individual study, and admired them in 
 the concrete. Yery pleasant pictures were afforded 
 by those broad and shady lanes. Many portions 
 were grassy all across ; all had luxiiriant tangles of 
 brambles, ferns, grasses, and flowers, over which 
 butterflies flitted on brilliant wings. They were 
 bordered with tall thistles, swaying under the 
 
 A. 
 
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 k 
 
154 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 clinging, seed-eating goldfinches ; briars, where 
 the yellowhammer sunned his golden coat ; fox- 
 gloves, whose red-purple bells bent 'neatli the 
 weight of a big bumble-bee ; dark beds of nettles, 
 from whose uninviting depths that handsome but- 
 terfly, the red-admiral, rose, hour-old from the 
 chrysalis, and flashed his scarlet bands in the face 
 of the dull "meadow-brown;" clumps of wild 
 geraniums, purple and red, nodding and bowing 
 to feathery grasses ; and clusters of meadow-sweet, 
 white and intangible as summer cloudlets, and 
 lading the hot air with a cloying fragrance. Then 
 there were such magnificent hedges : slender hazel 
 rods, thickets of bronzed thorn, glossy -green hollies, 
 and tangling briony, all so full of bird-life that the 
 Gipsy, who had led a town life, was astounded. 
 Criticising once a book we had written for boys, 
 she had said : " They find birds' -nests and butter- 
 flies 80 pat— just as if they had been placed ready 
 for them to find. It is not likely or natural." To 
 which we had replied : " A country boy who has his 
 wits about him, and has a taste for natural history, 
 knows exactly where to look for what he wants, 
 and will, in all probability, find it ; so that there 
 is nothing wonderful about it." But she was still 
 incredulous, and accused us of drawing the long- 
 bow. Now we had our revenge ! After a pre- 
 liminary investigation of the neighbourhood, we led 
 her out of doors, and commenced, first of all, with 
 the verandah itself. In the roses, round the first 
 
 -A^- 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 15s 
 
 supporting pillar, was a wren's nest, from which 
 the young ones had flown ; on the next was a fly- 
 catcher's, with eggs in — a second laying ; on the 
 third was another flycatcher's, with young ones 
 in ; on the fourth, a chaffinch's ; on the fifth, a 
 sparrow's ; on the sixth, another flycatcher's, and 
 so on, nearly every pillar bearing a nest. The 
 shrubs in the garden and orchard were similarly 
 tenanted. Thrushes' and blackbirds' nests were 
 very common. On a ledge of the orchard wall 
 were five young flycatchers being fed by the parent 
 birds, and an interesting sight it was. The old 
 birds — graceful, grey creatures they are — flew each 
 to its own post — one the top of a stake, and the 
 other a spade standing in the ground near to 
 a gooseberry bush — and, after turning its head 
 quickly to this side and that, with eyes watchful 
 and twinkling, would dart, swallow-like, at some 
 insect, often seizing it at the first dart, but some- 
 times twisting cleverly about for a few moments 
 in pursuit ; then it would bear its prey to the row 
 of fluttering winglets, and clamorous, wide-gaping 
 mouths on the ledge. It was a busy and pretty 
 sight, and the Gipsy dated her first liking for 
 natural history from it. 
 
 In the stack-yard, which was thickly carpeted 
 with the scarlet pimpernel, was a lark's nest be- 
 tween two stones, and a thrush's built on a cart- 
 wheel ; and in a hole in the bank of the lane was a 
 robin's nest — whereby hanss a tale. 
 
156 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 The eggs had all been taken except one, and the 
 robin hatched that one, and the pair of old birds 
 were very assiduous in their attentions to their 
 only child. One day we found the nest gone, and 
 shortly afterwards, passing that way, we saw one of 
 the old birds lying in the hole left by the removal 
 of the nest, dead. The body was quite warm, and 
 bore no marks of violence ; and the Gipsy said it 
 had died of a broken heart, on the place where its 
 home had been— and, i' faith, she may not have 
 been far wrong. 
 
 The heat increased, and as the heat increased so 
 did the flies, so that rambling about the lanes and 
 through the woods became almost unbearable. Yet 
 it was wrong to grumble, for the hay was ripening 
 fast, and was nearly ready to cut ; and the corn 
 grew straight and high and strong in the ear, so 
 that the fields were as level as the sea in a calm, 
 and had as many lights and shadows, and opaline 
 changes of colour, and soft flushes of sunset. The 
 horizon narrowed and lay suffused in a blue shade ; 
 the hills melted into indistinct outlines ; the colours 
 of the landscape grew richer and deeper ; the hol- 
 lows of the dark woods were lined with foxgloves ; 
 and the fresh green of June was gone for a twelve- 
 month longer. 
 
 Then men waded knee-deep in the grass, and cut 
 long lanes for the reaping-machines to get to work. 
 The cheery clatter of the machines, and the swish 
 of the falling hay, sounded over all the country- 
 
 4Mw 
 
 hm ft 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 157 
 
 
 l) 
 
 n 
 
 side. Men grew swarthy red in the fierce heat, 
 and the harvest beer was issued out all day long 
 in amazing quantities. We worked in the hay 
 in the mornings with the men, racing with each 
 other to turn over our lines of cocks the quickest. 
 For the afternoons we had rigged up a hammock 
 under the limes, and there we swung and read, or 
 dozed to the music made by 
 
 " The moan of doves in immemorial elms, 
 And murmur of innumerable bees " 
 
 in the lime-trees overhead — trees which were full of 
 sound as an Julian harp, from the multitudinous 
 insects which were attracted by their honey-wet 
 leaves. And then 
 
 " By night we lingered on the lawn, 
 For under foot the herb was dry, 
 And genial warmth ; and o'er the sky 
 The silvery haze of summer drawn ; 
 
 And calm that let the tapers burn 
 Unwavering ; not a cricket chirr'd, 
 The brook alone far off was heard, 
 
 And on the board the fluttering urn ; 
 
 And bats went round in fragrant skies. 
 And wheei'd or lit, the filmy shapes 
 That haunt the dusk, with ermine capes 
 
 And woolly breasts and beaded eyes ; 
 
 While now we sang old songs that pealed 
 Prom knoll to knoll, where, couched at ease 
 The white kine glimmered, and the trees 
 
 Laid their dark arms about the field." 
 
158 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 But what of the cottage door ? Ah ! well, we 
 had forgotten all about it : it shall have another 
 chapter all to itself. 
 
 Y. — Amoxg thb Cakp, 
 
 The heat grew sultry and oppressire ; the men 
 laboured mechanically in the hay-fields, the fly- 
 catchers which had been industriously foraging from 
 their stations en the standard-roaes, grew tired and 
 quiet. A small black cloud came from over the 
 Wrekin, the rounded crest of which stood out clear 
 and sunny beneath it. Speedily the heavens were 
 overcast, and a dark, eerie stillness reigned over 
 the landscape. The forked lightning flashed whitely 
 down to the earth, and redly back again to the 
 clouds ; the heavens opened, and a deluge of rain 
 descended that drove us aU indoors. 
 
 From the shelter of the verandah we watched 
 the storm, which awed the most careless of us by 
 its grandeur. The three tall poplars waved white 
 against the gloomy canopy, and trembled under 
 the pealing and crashing of the thunder. The rain 
 beat savagely upon the 'plaining branches, and 
 sprang up again in angry jets from the pools. The 
 birds sat iinaiLing in their nests, or skulked low 
 down in the hedges. The flycatcher sitting on her 
 neat in the verandah let us touch her without 
 moving ; she was so fearful of the tempest that she 
 
 ^^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 159 
 
 ^/ 
 
 seemed to be glad of our company and protection. 
 Hay-making was suspended. The hay ah-eady cut 
 had been gathered hastily into cocks, and would 
 not take much harm ; but it was feared that the 
 wheat would be much beaten down by the weight 
 of the rain. 
 
 When the fierceness of the tempest had passed 
 away, a steady rain set in, hiding not only the 
 hills, but the near woods in its " mournful fringe." 
 At night it grew finer, and we ventured out on 
 the lawn with a lantern to pick up the worms 
 which we imagined would, after rain, be crawling 
 about in great numbers. To our astonishment 
 there were none ; the heavy rain had apparently 
 frightened them, so that they had sunk deeper in 
 the earth ; for while gentle rain will bring them 
 out in great numbers, " heavy wet" does not agree 
 with them, but drives them deeper in. 
 
 We were rather puzzled to know how we should 
 obtain bait for the morrow, until we stumbled 
 against an old box in which the gardener had stored 
 some rich mould for Ms flower-pots. Upon empty- 
 ing this we found great numbers of capital red- 
 worms. To make assurance doubly sure, we got 
 some gunpowder, and making a big " devil," sallied 
 forth and stormed a wasps' nest in an adjoining 
 lane. 
 
 The morning broke with a bright blue sky, across 
 which the clouds were being rapidly driven by a 
 strong breeze from the south-east. It was not the 
 
 ^,,»,-..~*-#'-'»j 
 
 
l6o 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 u 
 
 best of days for carp-fishing, but we started, driving 
 to the town, and then stoutlj'^ facing the five-mile 
 walk np-hill to the pool. Over meadow, through 
 brake, through brier, over streams, and up crags, 
 we pushed our way, passing well-remembered spots 
 which had known no change, and brought back to 
 U3 scenes of our happy boyhood with startling 
 clearness. The jay flew chattering through the 
 wood as of old, the pheasant flustered, and the 
 rabbit scuttled. On the same bank grew the same 
 thick growth of Blechnum ferns, the redstart built 
 in the same hole of the grey stone wall, and every- 
 thing was so fresh and beautiful with the old fresh- 
 ness and beauty, that we began to believe that we 
 also had not changed ; and by the time we reached 
 the lovely pool on the hill-top, we were prepared 
 to enjoy ourselves with the old keenness, and it 
 seemed just as if it were a Saturday half-holiday 
 years ago. 
 
 There were three of us — the writer, his young 
 brother Herbert, and one whom we will call the 
 Senior — full of quips and cranks and merry jests, 
 complaining loudly of the steepness and difficulty 
 of the way, and stopping very often to gather the 
 wild strawberries which grew in remarkable pro- 
 fusion all the way, peeping with timid blushes from 
 their sheltering, half-concealing leaves. Herbert 
 was but seventeen — a tall, pleasant lad, clever and 
 thoughtful beyond his years, and with a most mad 
 propensity for punning; and the worst of it was 
 
 ^^ 
 
'~i^/^s^' 
 
 v;^- >W 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 i6i 
 
 S\ 
 
 that his puns were so apt, and uttered with snch 
 quaint gravity, that one was compelled to laugh at 
 them. 
 
 Before us lay the pool in its sheltered hollow, 
 reed surrounded, with inner belts of rushes and the 
 smooth water horse-tail ; its surface intersected 
 with waterhens and coots, a heron in the shallows, 
 and wild-ducks playing on an iris-island. The very 
 water was greenish in colour, and then it had a back- 
 ground of alders, and willows, and black fir-forest. 
 
 Our rods were soon together ; but an unforeseen 
 difficulty arose. The water of the pool was un- 
 usually high, and had flooded the belt of willows 
 around, covering the few standing-places there 
 ever had been. It was far too cold to wade, and it 
 really seemed as if we could not get at the pool to 
 fish it. At the only open space it was too shallow. 
 At last we discovered a spot at the lee-side of the 
 pool, where, by breaking down the branches of 
 the dwarf willows, and placing a line of stepping- 
 stones, we could just make room for one to stand. 
 Even then there was not sufficient room to swing 
 the rod backwards for a throw-out, and the wind was 
 80 strong that it was difficult to throw in its teeth. 
 Herbert had brought with him a salmon-rod, which 
 had been given to him, and which he had never 
 before used. Knowing the usual difficulty of reach- 
 ing out, he had wisely brought it with him, and he 
 was able to commence fishing at once — his float 
 lying twenty feet beyond ours, which reposed ttn- 
 
 L 
 
1 62 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 comfortably just outside the rushes. While we were 
 debating what we should do, Herbert's float moved 
 away through the dancing ripples with a most 
 decisive bite. He struck, and the carp, firmly 
 hooked, dashed out towards the centre of the pool, 
 taking out line like a salmon, and making the 
 splendid rod bend and spring delightfully. After 
 taking out fully fifty yards of line, he allowed 
 himself to be turned, and came zigzagging back 
 with sullen resistance, until he was close into the 
 rushes, and then he proceeded to dash backwards 
 and forwards, catching up both our lines, which 
 were still in the water, and getting them into a 
 pretty tangle. Herbert played him very steadily, 
 though he was much excited, and at last he led 
 him up a sort of drain, and we closed in behind 
 him and lifted him out — a splendid fish of six 
 pounds in weight. Leaving Herbert to re-bait, we 
 rushed about seeking some means of getting at the 
 pool. Not far off" was a small cottage, which, upon 
 examination, we found to be uninhabited. The 
 garden presented a sad appearance, currant and 
 gooseberry bushes running wild, and the beds over- 
 grown with weeds. The door of the cottage was 
 open, and we conceived and put into execution a 
 capital idea. We took the door off" its hinges, and 
 collected a quantity of loose bricks. Transporting 
 these to the pool, we speedily constructed a plat- 
 form on which there was just room for the three of 
 us to stand. 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 163 
 
 1^ 
 
 ^'^. 
 
 )J^ 
 
 ■■'fTPf-S 
 
 We had no lack of bites. Barely five minutes 
 passed without one or other of us having a bite. 
 T]ie pool, in all probability, had not been fished 
 for some years, and the carp were not shy. But 
 we missed a great many. Our floats were neces- 
 sarily very close together, as we were fishing in a 
 small bay ; and when the float began to slide away 
 with the peculiar motion of the carp-bite, if we 
 struck too soon we missed the fish to a certainty, 
 and if we gave it the proper time it entangled us 
 with our neighbours' lines, and spoilt the chance 
 for a time. Herbert had the most bites, as his 
 bait was the farthest out, and he caught the most 
 fish. Then, whenever a fish was struck by one of 
 us, the others had to "up stick " and away, to give 
 room for the carp to dash about in, and to aid in 
 their landing. It was excessively inconvenient, but 
 excellent fun, and a very novel position. For a 
 time we had very good sport, catching fish of two 
 to four pounds in weight, but none so big as the 
 first one. Then they ceased biting ; and no wonder, 
 for the bay had been thoroughly disturbed, and the 
 writer began to speculate if he could not find fresh 
 fields and pastures new. At the windward side of 
 the pool it was far too shallow to fish it from the 
 bank, but a line of rickety posts and rails ran out 
 into the pool, enclosing a space where the cattle 
 were allowed to drink and bathe. As this part of 
 the pool was sheltered from the wind bj?^ the trees 
 and hillside, it was calm and smooth, and rippled 
 
i64 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 only by the back fins of the huge carp sailing about. 
 
 The writer thought he would scramble out upon 
 
 these rails, and he proceeded to do so. As he went 
 
 to the shore-end of the rails, he saw many large 
 
 ' ill- carp with their noses to the bank, in only six inches 
 
 -.^^^^ of water. They were grubbing away in the mud in 
 
 ; ^^^'^ search of food, but when he placed his bait at their 
 
 , ^^r i-^ very noses they took no notice of it, save to scurry 
 
 > *fc§f,-' away with a huge wave and upheaval of mud. 
 
 . '^■^ It was very ticklish work scrambling along the 
 
 ^"-> ' rotten rails, but at last he gained the farthest point, 
 
 /' and there, with some two feet of water and some 
 
 six feet of mud below him, he balanced himself on 
 
 a rail an inch wide and fished for carp. Grave 
 
 misgivings crossed his mind as to how he should 
 
 land the fish when he hooked them : but he was 
 
 spared the risk. Great carp of ten pounds weight 
 
 came wallowing at his very feet, gasping and sucking 
 
 with their round fleshy mouths, and turning away 
 
 from the worm which was all but put down their 
 
 very throats. It was very tantalising to see such 
 
 big fellows utterly impervious to his blandishments, 
 
 and he could not forbear striking at one of them 
 
 with the butt-end of his rod, seriously endangering 
 
 thereby his seat upon the rail. Not a bite did he 
 
 get. He was out of the wind, and the sun blazed 
 
 hotly upon his back. The rail was cutting, very ; 
 
 and he saw that his companions were again catching 
 
 fish. So he crept back again and rejoined them. 
 
 During another lull in the biting we came ofi" our 
 
 \^ \ 
 
 
 t^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 165 
 
 ) - 
 
 A 
 
 M 
 
 ■'7% 
 
 platform to get some lunch and stretch our legs a 
 little, laying our rods down to fish for themselves, 
 Herbert being told oil" to keep an eye upon them. 
 Suddenly he rushed forward, exclaiming, " I have a 
 bite ! " and we watched him take up his rod and 
 play a large fish. While he was doing so another 
 fioat had disappeared without our knawledge, and 
 a " scurr " of a reel and a s^jlash in the water told 
 us that a rod had disappeared into the pool. It 
 dived clean out of sight, and the first we saw of it 
 again was its top bobbing up full sixty yards out. 
 The reel kept the butt-end under, and the top just 
 emerged now and then as the fish ceased to pull for 
 an instant. It was our rod — plague upon the pro- 
 nouns !— not the plural " our," but the singular 
 " our" of the author (if we use "I," we may be 
 accused of egotism) ; so " we," not wishing to lose 
 a valuable rod, rapidly undressed and plunged into 
 the pool. We swam after the rod, and, after fol- 
 lowing it full a hundred and fifty yards, we lost 
 sight of it. Just then the butt-end struck against 
 our legs, and, diving down, we seized it. There 
 were quite forty yards of line out, and the fish was 
 still on. Now commenced a most exciting struggle. 
 Holding the rod in the one hand, we swam with the 
 other, and, not without some trouble, we landed 
 ourselves, and eventually the fish, which was three 
 pounds in weight. 
 
 A goodly heap of fish lay side by side upon the 
 grass — seventeen in number, and all good-sized 
 
 
 •^^iM" 
 
1 66 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 r\ 
 
 K^ 
 
 ones. There were quite as many as we could carry, 
 so we left oif fisliing and rambled about gathering 
 wild- strawberries, chasing conies, seeking for young 
 wood-pigeons wherewith to make a pie, and generally 
 behaving ourselves in a very silly, boyish, yet happy 
 way. In truth, the youngest of us was by far the 
 sedatest, and looked down with calm superiority 
 upon our elderly frolics. 
 
 A great part of the wood had been cut down since 
 the old times, so that we could see away over a 
 forest of foxglove to the wild Welsh hills. Silent 
 and stiU they lay in the swift-chasing sunshine and 
 shadow. Their lower sides were green with irre- 
 gularly mapped-out fields, and dotted with lonely 
 farm-houses, from which the smoke crept lazily 
 upwards, or whirled downwards before a sudden 
 gust of wind. The sheep were so distant and small 
 that their motions were not observable, and they 
 gave no life to the view, so that far as the eye could 
 see all was still and lonely. A tiny village, clustered 
 round an ancient church, seemed at that distance 
 dead and deserted. 
 
 The hiU-tops arrested the flying clouds that broke 
 against them, and streamed up the glens like rivers 
 with an upward current. The rounded outlines of 
 the nearer hills changed in the distance to the 
 bluff crags and bold projections of the Snowdon 
 mountains. Over the valley the raven floated from 
 his nest on the inaccessible clifi", and his shadow 
 fell on the sunny fields below. The ordered con- 
 
 
ygr^K-. 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 167 
 
 :t 
 
 fiC 
 
 fusion, the solidity and the grandeur of the many- 
 hills, and the loveliness of their intersecting glens, 
 Eipoke of half-savage wildness and half-barbaric 
 freedom ; yet the denizens of those sequestered 
 farms held themselves but as serfs in bondage to a 
 rich landowner. They claimed the independence 
 of the Cymri, yet bowed down slavishly to the will 
 of their landlord — and why % Because they must 
 live, and poverty falls with the snow in these wild 
 hill villages, and springs up with the stones in their 
 ploughed fields — and as poverty teaches so do they 
 learn. So that, to him who looks under the surface, 
 the fair freshness of the hill country is too often 
 but a painful foil to the narrow and straitened life 
 beneath. 
 
 We had but to turn around, and there before us, 
 for mile on mile, stretched the greater portion of 
 four fine counties : rich plains, massy woods, silver 
 winding streams, and landmark hills such as the 
 Wrekin, the Breidden, Hawkstone, Longmynd, and 
 others. There peace and plenty reigned ; and com- 
 fortable homesteads, with well-filled stackyards, 
 spoke to the gold that came from the bosom of the 
 earth. 
 
 Around us the wind sighed loudly in the fir-trees, 
 and the ripples washed among the reeds. There 
 was no sound of man or domestic animal — nothing 
 save our own voices, and the croak of the coots, 
 and cackle of wild-ducks, and noises in the wood 
 which were hard to assign to their natural causes. 
 
1 68 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 - / 
 
 :i 
 
 The excitement of the sport being over, the place 
 seemed uncanny, and we quickly divided our spoil 
 into three bundles and started homewards. We 
 were heavily laden, and long ere the five miles 
 were passed we were thoroughly fagged. The 
 waggonette was waiting for us, and the Gipsy was 
 there too. " So you have caught some fish at last ! " 
 she cried ; " I am glad to see that you can catch 
 them sometimes." She is very incredulous, is the 
 Gipsy, about our piscatory feats. 
 
 
 ■ / 
 
 VI. — Kitten- FISHING. 
 
 "Little things please little minds " is a proverb 
 which will perhaps explain the present doings of 
 three boy-men who are sitting under the verandah. 
 Possibly, also, the hot sun has turned their brains . 
 
 A few days ago we were all passing through the 
 farmyard, when Herbert ran in advance of us into 
 a building, and presently out of the holes in one of 
 those diamond-shaped places in the wall, where 
 alternate bricks are left out for the purpose of 
 ventilation, there peeped the heads of six kit- 
 tens, gazing inquisitively down upon us. The 
 Gipsy uttered a cry of delight, and very soon 
 had gathered all six of them in the folds of 
 her dress. They were very pretty little kittens ; 
 one a pure white with one spot, which was named 
 " Spot ; " two of a golden brown, which were 
 

THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 i6q 
 
 always mistaken for each other, and were col- 
 lectively named "Bronze ;" a tabby, a black, and 
 a grey one of great beauty, called "Chin," from 
 its likeness to chinchilla fur. They were intended 
 to be brought up about the farm-buildings to keep 
 down the mice, and they had never been in the 
 house. The Gipsy took them under her especial 
 care while she remained at Rosesbower, and the 
 consequence was that they were always in the house, 
 curled up on the chairs one wished to sit down 
 upon, or chasing the croquet-balls, or climbing up 
 the standard-roses trying to catch the flycatchers. 
 The grey one was the Gipsy's especial favourite, 
 and Herbert got into her black books because he, 
 one day, floured it all over, and took it to her as a 
 new kitten, and she began to pet it, and did not 
 discover the deception until her hands and dress 
 were all over flour. 
 
 Now, as we (the singular) lie in the hammock 
 studying (well, reading a novel !), the six kittens 
 are all on the lawn, wild for play, and there are 
 three men with fishing-rods on the verandah, and 
 to the ends of their lines are tied corks ; and with 
 these corks they are angling for the kittens, which 
 seize the bait, and tug away at it, and run out lino 
 most bravely. Nor do they let go until they arc 
 dragged in to the very feet of the anglers. It is a 
 very fair imitation of fishing, and it has this ad- 
 vantage — that the anglecs like it as well as the 
 anglers. The Gipsy is present, and is looking very 
 
 [- 
 
170 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 doubtfully at the sport. She thinks it hurts the 
 kittens' teeth, and is half disposed to interfere. 
 
 Dear me ! this is very pleasant. A light wind 
 has set the hammock a-swinging, the bees hum 
 drowsily in the limes, and — ah, yes ; we are not 
 sleepy, but it is pleasant to close the eyes — the 
 translucent green of the leaves above us, and the 
 flicker of the sunlight through them, is rather 
 dazzling. 
 
 " You've been asleep for an hour, and the dinner- 
 bell is ringing." 
 
 "Eh! what? Impossible! Who put all the 
 kittens in the hammock? There is one asleep across 
 our throat. We were in fairyland, but 
 
 ' A touch, a kiss— the cliarm was snapt; 
 There rose a noise of striking clocks, 
 And feet that ran, and doors that clapt, 
 And barking dogs, and crowing cocks.' 
 
 You call us from the shades Elysian to the clang of 
 the dinner-bell and a smell of roast mutton. Shame 
 upon you ! " 
 
 VII.— The Meres. 
 
 We made two excursions to the Mere district, at 
 EUesmere. For the enlightenment of those who 
 are not acquainted with this lovely district, we 
 may mention that in the north of Shropshire, in 
 a prettily undulating and well-wooded country, are 
 
\ 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 171 
 
 seven lakes, or meres, of various sizes. The largest 
 is at EUesmere, and gives its name to a veiy quiet 
 and sleepy town on its banks. It is about 120 acres 
 in extent, and although it is a good deal fished, yet 
 it still abounds in all kinds of fish that love still 
 waters. In our younger days the meres were our 
 favourite places of resort. In no other place was 
 there so much natural history to be done, so many 
 interesting facts to be observed, and so much sport 
 to be had. We boated on their waters ; we caught 
 large pike and perch out of their weedy depths ; 
 and in their tall marginal reeds the reedwren built 
 its purse-like nest, the coot and the wild-duck bred 
 there ; and the untidy, soaking-wet nests of the 
 great-crested grebe were not uncommon. Over the 
 adjoining woods the osprey and peregrine had been 
 known to seek their prey ; the woodpecker and the 
 wryneck, the sparrow-hawk, the kestrel, and the jay 
 all nested in the old trees ; and the keepers were 
 indulgent to well-behaved boys — such as, of course, 
 we were. Hence our visits to the meres were very 
 frequent ; and whether we floated on their stilly 
 bosoms on hot summer days, or skated around their 
 margins, watching the tracks of wild creatures on 
 the snow, we always came away having learnt some- 
 thing fresh and reaped some new enjoyment. 
 
 Hence a holiday in their neighbourhood could 
 not be spent without again visiting them, for the 
 sake of auld-lang-syne. We wished, too, to show 
 the Gipsy the pleasant haunts of our boyhood, of 
 
 1 
 
172 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 w 
 
 which she had so often liearcl us speak. So one 
 day we drove her there. We halted on the top of 
 a hill called the Brow, to show her the fairest view 
 she yet had seen. We were on the highest corn- 
 growing land in England, and it was a " far view " 
 that unfolded itself to our gaze. The fair English 
 plain ; the bold bluffs of the Wrekin, the Briedden, 
 and the Caradocs ; the fringe of Welsh hills ; the 
 sheets of water shining out of the hearts of the 
 woods, showed themselves to the best advantage on 
 that still summer day. Then we drove down a 
 steep descent, and entered the old-fashioned little 
 town, which looked as if neither it nor its inhabit- 
 ants had hurried themselves for many a century. 
 
 Encircled by woods, the lake lay calm and glassy, 
 and the swans " floated double, swan and shadow." 
 There was not a quiver on the broad surface of the 
 lake, save that caused by the prow of our boat, as 
 we rudely broke into the calm. The Gipsy was 
 enchanted, and we were satisfied with the impres- 
 sions our beloved Mere had produced. 
 
 We tried fishing, but, with the extraordinary ill- 
 luck that always accompanies us whenever we take 
 the Gipsy to watch us fishing, we had no sport, a 
 perch of six inches long beiiig our only capture. 
 The carp we had caught a day or two before had 
 nearly re-established our lost reputation as an 
 angler ; but the failure this time, lost us that which 
 we gained by the carp, and the Gipsy spoke most 
 contemptuously of our capabilities. We said it 
 
 u 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 173 
 
 
 was too hot and still. She replied that we had last 
 told her, as an excuse, that the day had been too 
 cold and rough. So we were silenced 
 
 At our next visit we were more fortunate. Three 
 of us went, all of the male sex, and for convenience 
 we will distinguish ourselves as Piscator, Viator, 
 and Herbert. A sailing-boat was placed at our 
 disposal, and as we embarked and proceeded to set 
 the canvas, we feared there would be no wind ; but 
 soon across the mere there shot a broad line of 
 light, and we knew that its surface was there gently 
 rippled by a shaft of wind that came down between 
 the gap in yonder wood. Then, as we cast adrift 
 from the buoy, the surface of the water around us 
 was turned into curling ripples, as the first indi- 
 cations of the breeze caught the floating particles 
 and whisked them about, the sails filled, and ere 
 long we were curtseying to a nice breeze, and the 
 mere seemed to contract in size as it was covered 
 with dancing wavelets. Viator steered, Herbert 
 managed the sheets, and Piscator put his pike- 
 rod together, and mounted one of those American 
 kill-devils — spoon-baits painted red one side, and 
 with a tuft of red wool dangling behind. Such 
 baits are quite as killing as the natural bait 
 on Ellesmere, provided there is a good breeze. 
 Piscator let some thirty yards of line run out, 
 and then the bait trailed astern, — Viator letting 
 the wind slide out of the sails, to prevent our 
 "oing too fast. 
 
 i/- 
 
174 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 
 U 
 
 ,fS 
 
 t^^3 
 
 V\ 
 
 " I say," exclaimed Viator, " what are we to do 
 if you hook a big pike ? " 
 
 " Bring the boat up into the wind as soon as 
 you can," replied Piscator, raising his rod so that 
 the bait might spin close to the top as we were 
 passing over the weeds. 
 
 We dodged in and out of the islands, admii-ing 
 the grand old church on its wooded hill, sailed 
 past the Oatley woods, which resounded with the 
 busy tapping of a woodpecker, past the terraces of 
 the Hall gardens, by the park where the drinking 
 deer stared at us, large-eyed, and a stoat was busy 
 hunting the rabbit burrows, and then we came to 
 a place where the weed — that pest the anacharis — 
 came to within a foot of the surface. 
 
 " Haul in your sheet ! " cried Piscator, " and 
 take us quickly over tliis part," Viator obeyed, 
 and we skimmed quickly over the green tresses of 
 weed that undulated beneath our keel. We could 
 see the spoon-bait spinning and glittering about 
 six inches below the surface, and every now and 
 then jumping out with a noisy skip. Just before 
 we came to where the boat-houses peep from the 
 shelter of the giant trees, the boat passed over a 
 clear space between the weeds, and immediately 
 there was such a rush and splash in the water 
 as startled us considerably. We could see the 
 mottled flank of a goodly pike as he seized the 
 spoon in his jaws, and turned again into the weeds, 
 which parted hastily before him. 
 
 0^> 
 
 
 
 

THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR 
 
 175 
 
 ^ivi^ 
 
 " Let her lufF ! " shouted Piscator. We were 
 going before the wind, and going at a good pace, 
 but Viator put the helm hard over, and, hauling 
 in the sheet at the same time, he brought the 
 boat into the eye of the Avind with astonishing 
 quickness, and at the very imminent risk of a 
 capsize. Then Piscator found himself in a 
 queer position. He was amidships, the pike 
 was well forward of the bows, and the line was 
 rasping against the taut luflf of the foresail. He 
 rushed forward into the bows, and, holding 
 on by the jib as well as he could, he played hie 
 fish very skilfully, considering that he had two 
 motions to fight against — that of the pike, which 
 poked hither and thither among the weeds, masses 
 of which hampered the line, and threatened to 
 break either it or the rod ; and the motion of the 
 boat, which refused to " lie to,'' and was kept work- 
 ing about in a series of short, uneasy tacks, now 
 heading over the line and then shooting away from 
 it, so that Piscator was kept constantly reeling in 
 or letting out line. It was important he should 
 keep a taut line, that it might cut through weeds, 
 and not "bag" under them, in which latter case 
 he would infallibly lose his fish. At last he was in 
 despair, and said, " Hang it all, I will jump over- 
 board ; it can't be more than shoulder deep, and 
 lean then play him properly." Herbert sounded 
 with an oar, and found it was more than seven 
 feet deep, so that idea was abandoned. Just then 
 
 ^ 
 
 a? 
 
176 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 ^ 
 
 the pike came wallowing to the surface dead-beat, 
 with gaping jaws and glaring eyes. Viator steered 
 right up to him, and Herbert caught him by the 
 gills and hauled him on board. It was a well-fed 
 fish of eight pounds in weight, which is a good 
 weight for EUesmere. 
 
 Piscator and Herbert insisted upon getting a 
 small boat, and rowing round the mere again and 
 again, hoping to catch more pike. Five times the 
 rod bent with the sudden rush of a fish, but three 
 only were boated. The others broke away. Those 
 that were caught were three, four, and five pounds 
 in weight respectively. 
 
 Viator preferred sailing about alone, although 
 the boat was rather large for him to manage. He 
 coasted the beds of white and yellow water-lilies, 
 whose large leaves heaved uneasily as the ripples 
 raised by the breeze caught tliem at a disadvantage. 
 
 Presently the wind dropped, and the pike left ofi" 
 running. Viator was becalmed in the middle of the 
 mere, as " idle as a painted ship upon a painted 
 ocean." The otliers joined him, and then we all 
 bathed, diving in off the boat's side with great ease, 
 but clambering back again with infinite difficulty. 
 Then came dinner at the "Red Lion," and as the 
 landlord was accustomed to anglers' appetites, we 
 were not ashamed of ourselves. 
 
 After dinner we went to a brewery and bought a 
 bag of grains, and, taking our seats in a punt, we 
 rowed to certain mooring-stakes which projected 
 
 m: 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 out of the water at the mouth of a quiet bay. 
 Emptying our bag of grains into the water to act as 
 ground-bait, we baited one line with paste, another 
 with worms, and rigged up a tliird with a large 
 float and live-bait tackle, upon which the first small 
 roach caught was impaled. The grains attracted 
 the roach, and the roach attracted the perch and 
 pike. With our rods projecting over the side, and 
 the smoke curling up from the pipes of peace, we 
 set ourselves to enjoy the quiet of the evening. 
 
 Behind us was the calm circle of the bay, frinped 
 with reed3 and rushes, and decked with the yellow 
 flower of the flag and the white water-crowsfoot. 
 The water-lilies, white and yellow, the arrowheads, 
 and the pink fleshy spikes of the persicaria, filled up 
 the whole of the bay ; and in the clear interspaces 
 the water-hens, coots, and dabchicks swam, nodded, 
 and dived, with great disregard of our presence. 
 Before us lay the lake, placid and mirror-like, its 
 surface only disturbed by the water-fowl, or the 
 circles of the rising fish. A little way off a shoal of 
 tench had come to the surface, and were splashing 
 and sucking with great clumsiness and much noise 
 The swallows and martins wheeled and darted 
 above us, or descended and dipped in the water 
 with delicate touch ; and from the church-tower 
 the swifts darted with great rapidity, swept around 
 us with piercing scream, and were far away. Ever 
 and anon there came from the distance a swell of 
 dance-mufiic that filled the listening air with sweet 
 
 ^^ 
 
178 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 snatches of sound. We wondered whence it came, 
 and enjoyed it the more for its mystery. 
 
 Herbert was fishing with paste, and his float 
 began to show symptoms of liveliness, dipping with 
 the quick bites of small roach. As the evening 
 advanced the roach that he caught were bigger, 
 and the perch came on the feed, so that Piscator 
 saw his float sink with their quick vigorous bite 
 more and more often, and wished that the Gipsy 
 were with him to see what fine sport he was enjoy- 
 ing. Yiator alone was dissatisfied. The pike-rod 
 had been assigned to him, and as yet he had had no 
 runs. He began to grumble. 
 
 " It is all very well for you fellows to give mo 
 this wretched rod. You knew that I should not 
 catch anything. It is just an instance of that sel- 
 fishness which all you fellows who call yourselves 
 anglers always show. It's my belief that my float 
 frightens the fish. Where is my float ] " 
 
 It was about two feet under water, sailing away 
 towards the lilies, and the point of the rod was 
 giving ominous twitches. 
 
 " Strike, you duffer ! " exclaimed Herbert. 
 
 Viator took up the rod and gave such a tre- 
 mendous strike, that if the line had not been free, 
 and run off the reel, fish and fisher would have 
 parted company. As it was he hooked him safe 
 enough, and after a nice little tussle, during which 
 Viator meekly received much good advice, and some 
 vituperation, from Herbert and Piscator, the pike 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 179 
 
 was safely got on board. It was prime fun to see 
 Viator. The man who professed to look down upon 
 fishing and fishers with supreme contempt, was 
 boyishly pleased with his captiu-e. He turned it 
 over, tried its weight, poked it with his finger, 
 and stroked it again and again with great pride 
 and afiection, to the amusement of the otiier two. 
 After that, too, he paid most assiduous attention 
 to his float, but it did not disappear again in like 
 fashion, and he had to be content with his one 
 fish. 
 
 The embracing woods grew dusk about the mere, 
 the reedwrens sang sweetly in the reeds, and as 
 the sun grew crimson in the west, the full moon 
 rose large and silvery over the eastern woods, and 
 cast a broad stream of light across the water. The 
 gloaming began to gather fast, and we left the mere 
 to seek the origin of the dance-music, which still 
 went on. Ascendhig the hill, on the summit of 
 which is the bowling-green, and paying sixpence 
 each for admission, we found that we had Ughted 
 upon the annual festivity of the EUesmere Ladies' 
 Club. And a very grand afiair it was. Vigorous 
 dancing was going on upon the green, which was 
 resplendent with ladies in full dress, with the 
 single addition of hats or bonnets. The general 
 efiect was marred by the appearance of the young 
 men, who, as a rule, wore tall black hats, blue or 
 red neckties, and frock-coats, the tails of which 
 flapped ungracefully as the wearers danced. 
 
 v-^'\ 
 
i8o 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 The three fishermen felt ashamed of their rough- 
 aud-ready costume— straw hats and boating flan- 
 nels : but conquering their natural modesty, Viator 
 and Herbert secured partners ; and Piscator, re- 
 flecting that the Gipsy could not see him, secured a 
 pretty girl, and was soon whirling about the smooth 
 lawn as madly as any of them. 
 
 VIII. — COEDYRALLT. 
 
 We stood upon the summit of a cliff", and far 
 below us the sacred river Dee flowed, with a 
 current that from this height seemed to bo tran- 
 quil and smooth, but we knew that the occasional 
 glitter and sparkle told of a rapid, and that the 
 patches of snow-white foam were boiling cascades. 
 
 Immediately below was the precipitous rock, 
 seamed by many crevices, and broken by many 
 crags, between which the dark yew trees grew and 
 the ivy climbed. Below the rock was a steep 
 descent, thickly wooded with oak, intermingled 
 with larch ; and there beneath its fringe of trees 
 the river ran — ^the sacred Dee, by which all good 
 Cymri swear. From the mountain springs beyond 
 Llyn Tegid, or Bala lake, the river takes its rise. 
 It flows through the lake from one end to the 
 other, with a separate current they say, which 
 is abundantly proved by the siipposed fact that 
 while salmon abound in the river, and gwyniad in 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 l8i 
 
 ^j 
 
 the lake, yet never are any salmon found in the 
 lake out of the centre current, and never are the 
 gwyniad found in the current of the river. From 
 the mountain-guarded lake the "Deva, wizard- 
 haunted stream," hurries along, past Druid's stone 
 and ancient abbey, towering hills and level meads, 
 through the happy valley of which we shall speak 
 hereafter ; and here it is under the wooded cliffs of 
 Coedyrallt, whence it slips away with broadening 
 current under the flying arches of the PontycysyUte 
 Aqueduct, past the old city of Chester, to the sea. 
 
 A vertical sun poured down a flood of light that 
 streamed downwards below us over the warm, grey 
 rooks, dashing from leaf to leaf of the glossy ivy, so 
 that the face of the cliff shone as if it were covered 
 with the silvery spray of a waterfall, and falling 
 upon the tree-tops that in rounded masses stood 
 out from mysterious depths of shade, cool and 
 green, on the slope to the river. On the other 
 side of the stream, open meadows rose gradually to 
 the base of other hills ; down the river valley to 
 the left, beyond the woods of Wynnstay, were the 
 inner Welsh hiUs, rising one beyond another with 
 faint blue outlines, while in the foreground tho 
 steep conical hiU of Dinas Bran rose ruin-crowned 
 and boldly. 
 
 The sun was hot, and a south-west breeze scarcely 
 cooled the air ; the faint scent of the larches rose 
 up to us from the steaming wood ; the river 
 murmured with a sleepy murmur ; no white cloud 
 
 W^ 
 
 ••»<?'£ 
 
1 82 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 floated in the sky, no sound was heard save the 
 lowing of the cattle standing knee-deep in the 
 shallow^ ; it was noon on a hot summer's day, and 
 we sat on the top of a cliff viewing a fair scene — 
 what wonder then that one of us, feeling within 
 himself the poetry of the scene, and unable to 
 express it in his own words, broke into the words 
 of another? Seated with his back against a rock, 
 and his eyes half closed, he repeated with soft- 
 syllabled voice, "The Lotos Eaters," and part of 
 it was very apt : — 
 
 " All round the coast the languid air did swoon, 
 Breathing like one tliat hath a weary dream ; 
 Full-faced above the valley stood the moon, 
 And like a downward smoke the slender stream 
 Along the cliff to fall, and pause, and fall did seem. 
 A land of streams ! Some, like a downward smoke. 
 Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go ; 
 And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke, 
 Rolling a slumberous sheet of foam below. 
 They saw the gleaming river seaward flow 
 From the inner. land : far off, three mountaiu-tops. 
 Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, 
 Stood sunset-flush'd ; and dew'd with showery drops, 
 Upclomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse." 
 
 " Where is Herbert ? " cried the Gipsy, who was 
 of a more practical turn than any of us. 
 
 Viator, who was spouting the poetry, looked dis- 
 gusted at the interruption. Herbert's absence did 
 not warrant the spoiling of the displav of his best 
 recitative powers, he thought. But the Gipsy had 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 183 
 
 " There were cool messes deep, 
 And through the moss the ivies crept ; " 
 
 and as we went down and down, scrambling and 
 falling over stones and tree roots, passing through 
 a forest of the most luxtiriant hartstongne ferns wo 
 ever saw. From every little crag and mossy bank 
 they waved their long, graceful fronds, and looked 
 so green and damp and cool that it was a feast to 
 the eyes to dwell upon them. As we neared the 
 river, and the woods were moro open, the glades 
 were covered with strawberries, and we picked and 
 ate them greedily. 
 
 
 some reason for the question. The rustling of yew 
 branches and the shaking of ivy tendrils below us, 
 indicated the whereabouts of Herbert. He had 
 seen a stock-dove fly to a ledge below him, and from 
 her movements suspected that there was a nest 
 there ; so down he went, to the imminent risk of 
 his neck, and presently came up again, clinging to 
 the ivy like a cat, and with two nearly fuU-grown 
 stock-doves slung in his handkerchief. 
 
 " What are you going to do with those, yon 
 naiighty boy 1 " quoth the Gipsy. 
 
 "Eat them," replied he laconically ; "I'll cook 
 them myself in the tool-house." 
 
 We sought a steep path that wound delicately 
 around and under a crag, and by its means wo 
 reached the foot of the cliff, and plunged at once 
 into a bath of coolness and freshness. 
 
 
1 84 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 Then we reached the river, and, as it was too hot 
 and bright to lish, the men left the ladies in a cool, 
 sequestered spot to rest themselves, and went down 
 the stream until they came to a place where it was 
 possible to bathe, and, after that most refreshing 
 operation, they rejoined the ladies, and we ate our 
 lunch. Afterwards, Viator, who was no fisherman, 
 elected to stay with the ladies and gather flowers 
 and fern3, while the other two, Piscator and Her- 
 bert, went up-stream and fished the streams turn 
 and turn about. Many clouds had now come over 
 the sky, and the fish were rising more freely. At 
 the first stream Herbert tried, he caught three 
 nice troub, all on the tail-fly, which was one of his 
 own make, and consisted merely of a dun-coloured 
 hackle, ribbed with yellow silk. 
 
 We were much bothered by the samlets, which 
 took our flies greedily, and it was a nuisance 
 pulling them out only to throw them in again. 
 The river is the ieau-ideal of a trout stream. 
 Rapid and stream alternate with deep and eddy- 
 ing pools, and there is every variety of lying and f 
 feeding ground for the trout. 
 
 All the fish we caught were hut of a medium 
 size, except one, and over the taking of that a mis- 
 adventure occurred. While Herbert was wading 
 in mid-stream, a man in a coracle — those queer 
 canvas boats used by the Welsh fishermen — came 
 floating down the stream, casting his line to right 
 and left, and fishing every yard of the stream, 
 
 ^ti 
 
 ^^'^ste^E' 
 
 j^f^i 
 
■«r>S?~! 
 
 ft 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 185 
 
 1 
 
 retarding his downward progress meanwhile by 
 working liis paddle with one arm in a figure-of- 
 eight stroke, or resting it against the gravel. 
 Herbert unceremoniously stopped him, and, after 
 a little palaver, the man consented to Herbert's 
 taking his place in the coracle, while he waded. 
 No sooner was Herbert installed in the coracle 
 than he went floating down-stream at a great rate, 
 working wildly and vainly with his left arm to 
 retard his speed, and casting as wildly with his 
 right, while Piscator followed him along the bank 
 laughing heartily. At last Herbert stopped himself 
 a little by resting the blade of the paddle against 
 the stony bed of the river, and was enabled to 
 cast more scientifically. As his flies swept behind 
 a boulder, and over the surface of a small eddying 
 pool, there was a rise, and he found he had 
 hooked a big trout, which rushed off up-stream 
 at a great pace. Herbert lifted his left arm to clear 
 his line, which had fouled the reel. In doing so 
 he dropped the paddle and released the coracle, 
 which careered down-stream as fast as the trout 
 went up. The line was nearly off the reel; 
 neither rod nor line could stand the double strain, 
 so only one course suggested itself, and that was 
 to step out of the coracle into the river, which 
 was there about knee-deep. Coracles, however, 
 are dangerous things. This one shot from under 
 him as he arose from his seat, and he floundered 
 headlong into the water. Piscator, seeing that 
 
 \V'ViV/, 
 
 
1 86 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 - \l 
 
 
 he rose to his feet all right, ran on to intercept 
 the coracle, which was half full of water ; and 
 Herbert, looking about as handsome as a wet 
 cat, played and landed his trout without much 
 difficulty. 
 
 The afternoon passed pleasantly away, like all 
 trout-fishing afternoons should do. There were all 
 the elements of enjoyment : a sunny sky crossed 
 by soft clouds, a south-west wind that, blowing 
 down Bala lake, had raised the river to a fishable 
 height ; the dipper flew from stone to stone, and 
 dived in the quick current ; more than one king- 
 fisher flashed its brilliant hues along the stream ; 
 the ring-dove cooed in the wood, and flew down to 
 the river marge to drink ; the sand-martins wheeled 
 in mazy evolutions over the pools ; the pert water- 
 wao^tails ran over the sandbanks, and were as proud 
 of their tails as a peacock ; and the river babbled 
 over flashing shallows, and moaned in dark pools 
 that slowly eddied under overhanging branches. 
 No pen can describe the fresh beauty of the scene ; 
 the blue of the distant reaches of the river was as 
 intense as that of the sky ; the green of the shady 
 hollows of the wood was ethereal in its vividness ; 
 the flowers were like fixed butterflies, and the 
 butterflies like winged flowers. No one can better 
 know the poverty of language than he who attempts 
 to picture the exceeding beauty of a scene like that 
 and a day like that. His labour becomes but a 
 repetition of vain words, which cease to have any 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 187 
 
 \ - 
 
 'rtt.;i 
 
 meaning when we compare them with the things 
 they are meant to describe. The sky is blue, the 
 woods are green, the earth is fair — is all that he 
 can say ; and although in each new scene, and each 
 time the old is viewed, there is a newness and 
 freshness which were never felt before, yet only 
 the same old words can be used, and the full heart 
 which pants for utterance, that it may show its 
 appreciation and gratitude for all this loveliness, 
 is baffled and beaten back by the weakness of 
 words. 
 
 We came unexpectedly upon the rest of the 
 party. The three ladies had perched themselves, 
 like fairies in a pantomime, in the crevices of a 
 heavily-foliaged crag ; and there, among the long, 
 creeping plants and ferns, they comfortably nestled 
 at various altitudes, watching the efforts of Viator, 
 who stood on a sloping rock in the river beneath 
 them. He had cut himself a long hazel rod, and 
 had rigged up a line from the materials we had left 
 in our baskets, which were in his charge. Pro- 
 curing some worms by turning over the stones, he 
 had set himself to angle for eels in a sullen-looking 
 pool. His shoes and stockings were off, and the 
 bulging out of his coat pockets told where they 
 were. He stood up to his ankles in the water, in 
 a very insecure position, on the slippery, sloping 
 rock ; and, upon Herbert thoughtlessly giving a 
 shout to startle him, his feet flew from under him, 
 and he sat down in the water and commenced 
 
 
 
 
 -^^ 
 
1 88 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 sliding down to the deep pool, till he was stopped 
 and unceremoniously dragged back by his coat 
 collar— first himself, then his rod and line, then 
 a small, active eel, which gave him a great deal of 
 trouble to unhook and secure. 
 
 It was long past our dinner hour, we had some 
 distance to drive, the coachman was plunging down 
 through the woods in search of us, and we were 
 reluctantly compelled to leave the river and the 
 cool shade. 
 
 " Well," said Viator, " I don't care for fishing at 
 all, but such a day as this goes far to make one a 
 fisherman. It has been a perfect day— it is more 
 than a pleasure to live, it is an ecstasy— barring 
 wet coat-tail pockets— on such a day,"— and more 
 to the same effect, to which we listened indul- 
 gently. 
 
 IX. The Happy Valley. 
 
 It was somewhat singular that just as we sat 
 down to write this chapter, which concerns the 
 pleasant Vale of Llangollen, the post should 
 bring us a letter from an "old chum"— one who 
 spent his boyhood in that valley, and who is now 
 settled far from us, writing to us but seldom. 
 In his letter he says : — 
 
 "I was at Llangollen again yesterday, and was 
 much reminded of our old haunts and walks. The 
 
 ■41^-. 
 
 ^ 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 189 
 
 
 .lU-^ 
 
 Eglwyseg rocks seemed to hover like a cloud, ' so 
 near and yet so far ; ' near, because I could see not 
 only the bold escarpment, but also ' by faith ' the 
 minute stones and bywalks and ledges in the crags ; 
 far, because time always forbids my going up there. 
 The air of those old rocks, and the associations of 
 the river Dee, have had a great effect on my mental 
 constitution." 
 
 Four years of our boyhood were spent in the 
 happy valley ; and in company with the writer of 
 the letter, we had explored every nook and cranny 
 of the hills and glens, and fished every yard of 
 river and canal within the circle of mountains that 
 hem in the vale. We made friends with the hill 
 farmers, and were heartily welcomed by them when 
 our rambles led us to their homesteads. 
 
 And thus it was that we won the heart to love 
 and remember the beautiful valley. Our rambles 
 were such pleasant ones, we caught such store of 
 fish, obtained so many birds' eggs, climbed so often 
 above the clouds, dived into the deep pools of the 
 river, saw so many rare and lovely things in nature, 
 gained so much pleasant information, and enjoyed 
 such boisterous health during that time, that we 
 christened it the Happy Valley. To us it was no 
 misnomer, for it was a happy valley to us, and 
 through the rose-coloured spectacles of our youth 
 it seemed a happy place to those that dwelt there. 
 Tt was little matter to us whether we breathed the 
 delicious enjoyment and life of a bright June day, 
 
1 90 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 or trudged over the moorland in face of a sn(jw- 
 storm ; our rude health and careless minds relished 
 each alike. 
 
 Like the meres, the Vale of Llangollen was a 
 place that the Gipsy ttind see; and so, one sunny 
 day, a party of us drove in a waggonette, passing 
 on our way the massive structure of Chirk Castle, 
 and driving through avenues of mighty trees, which 
 cast their shadows upon a forest of bracken, where 
 tlie deer stood and gazed at us. 
 
 Following the Dee upwards, we entered the 
 narrow gorge which gives entrance to the vale, 
 and has scarce room for the river, the railway, 
 canal, and a couple of roads to squeeze tlirougli. 
 On either side the hills rose steep and thickly 
 wooded, and some distance below us the river ran 
 between rocky, tree-covered banks. Before us the 
 village! lay, picturesque and irregular. To the left 
 was the long, steep range of the Berwyns, with 
 the bold Geraint, or Barber's Hill, jutting out ; to 
 the right was the sugarloaf of the "Castle Dinas 
 Bran " hill, and beyond that the white limestone 
 terraces and the purple moorland of the Eglwyseg 
 rocks ; and far in front were the mountains and 
 glens that were the fairyland of our boyhood. 
 
 We had a long summer's day before us, and wc 
 determined, after taking the ladies to the top of 
 Dinas Bran, otherwise Crow Castle, to leave them 
 to their own devices, and visit as many of our old 
 fishing haunts as possible. Passing over the old 
 
 f-';^ 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 191 
 
 •«^>, 
 
 ;v »~ 
 
 stone bridge, with its angular buttresses, whence 
 we used to " dip" for the large troiit that lived in 
 the deep, black pool below, known as Llyn Dhu, 
 we hired a couple of donkeys, and mounting the 
 two ladies thereon, we breasted the hill. A strong 
 wind blew, and when it caught us sideways it 
 seemed as if donkeys and all must be blown over, 
 so that we men hati to lend our aid to prop up the 
 animals ; and, speaking for ourselves, we can say 
 that at certain critical moments, when we were 
 rounding exposed corners, the Gipsy's grip upon 
 our coat collar would not have disgraced a Cornish 
 wrestler. The summit gained, we sought a sheltered 
 corner under the lee of the ruins, whence we could 
 gaze on the valley of the Dee, spanned in the dis- 
 tance by the aerial flight of the aqueduct. Meadow, 
 wood, and stream in their most beautiful aspect 
 met our view, but our gaze lingered more on the 
 rocka to the left. On the opposite side of a valley, 
 three-quarters of a mile broad, rose the stupendous 
 terraced cliffs of the Eglwyseg rocks, rising in snow- 
 white steps, severed by green moss and greener 
 fern, reminding us of the old time when we used to 
 find the nests of the rock-dove and the kestrel in 
 the clefts of the crags, or in the dark yew bushes 
 that clung to the face of the cliff. The ring-ouzel 
 and the ston^chat were also common there, and we 
 frequently found their nests. Then if we wandered 
 away over the wild moorland that stretches in one 
 unbroken mass of purple heather from the summit 
 
 
 
192 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 of the highest cliff, we would find the broken sheila 
 of eggs dropped by pigeon or crow in their flight, 
 or laid on the ground ; and in the marshy spots the 
 nests of the lapwing and curlew. 
 
 The whirring of grouse, the laugh of the kestrel, 
 the croak of the raven which we startled from the 
 carcase of a dead sheep, the cry of the curlew, and 
 the plaint of the lapwing — these wore the sounds 
 that met our ears and enchanted us in the days 
 of our youth, and ring in our ears in tlie night 
 watches now, so that we long to be " off and away 
 to the muirs." 
 
 I 
 
 '^ 
 
 " Crawling up througK burn and bracken, louping down 
 
 the screes ; 
 Looking out frae craig and headland, drinking up the 
 
 simmer breeze. 
 Oh, the wafts o' heather honey, and th^ music o' the 
 
 brae !" 
 
 On these moors are lonely tarns, which we were 
 satisfied held big fish, though we seldom caught 
 any ; and piled-up cairns, redolent of ancient 
 story ; so that there were all the elements of 
 romance ready to hand for us. 
 
 The hand of the spoiler is already at work upon 
 the fair face of the cliffs. The limestone quarries 
 rend and tear it in many a place where we have 
 striven in vain to climb the weather-beaten rock. 
 In one place — now vanished — was a sort of natural 
 stair, blocked at the top by a huge stone, under- 
 neath which was a crevice wide enough for a slim 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 193 
 
 lad to crawl through. This place we named 
 " Mouse-hole," and on the top we erected a hut, 
 in which, on holiday afternoons, we sat, like gods 
 at ease, watching the puny world below. 
 
 Nor, when we crossed over to the otlier side 
 of the ruins, and, facing the sturdy buffets of the 
 wind, looked over the assemblage of hills — green 
 in the foreground, and broken with iron-grey slate 
 quarries, and, in the distance, blue and uncertain 
 in outline — was the scene less suggestive. 
 
 But a truce to these memories, which, though 
 sweet to us, are of little interest to you. Behold 
 us, tlierefore, on the banks of the narrow, clear 
 canal, beginning, as we began in our pinafore 
 times, to angle for gudgeon. There were plenty 
 of caddis worms, or " corbets," as we called them 
 formerly, creeping about at the bottom of the 
 water, close to the margin ; and, drawing one ovit 
 of its case, we put the plump, white grub on our 
 hook. The gudgeons were nosing about on tlie 
 gravel in companies of a dozen or two ; and as 
 the bait floated by them, one darted aside at it 
 with a silvery flash, and was twitched out. In a 
 short time we had caught a dozen of all sizes, 
 from that of a minnow to six inches in length. 
 Having thus procured plenty of bait, we turned 
 our fly-rod into something more like a spinning- 
 rod, by substituting a stouter top joint, and then, 
 rigging up some spinning tackle, mounted on gut, 
 we baited with a gudgeon, and commenced to trail 
 
 
194 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 t 
 
 the bait in the canal, walking slowly the while 
 along the bank. In this way we had formerly 
 taken many small jack, from two to four pounds 
 in weight, and ere long we found that we could 
 repeat the old performance. Cunningly guiding 
 the glittering bait along a lane of water between 
 two masses of weed, a jack darted out from under 
 one of them, and hooked himself fast. He was 
 three pounds in weight, and our fly-rod gave a 
 decent amount of play ere he was grassed, or, to 
 speak more correctly, gravelled. The next capture 
 was a little larger, and came from beneath the 
 stonework of a bridge, and further on still a 
 smaller one was brought to book. It was a pretty 
 sight to see tlie fish dart and rush in the air-clear 
 water, and dive under the green weeds. 
 
 In this manner we walked along the canal until 
 the scene grew very wild and picturesque. Closo 
 on the left the river foamed over its rocks and 
 it3 salmon weirs ; on the right the canal became 
 narrower and deeper, and the rocks overhanging 
 it on the other side were fringed with ferns, laced 
 with brambles, and cushioned with moss. Beyond 
 the canal a long slope of green mountain arose, 
 thickly dotted with gracefully drooping birches. 
 Down that glen flows a capital trout brook, and, 
 IE you were to follow it upwards, you would come 
 to the splendid ruins of Valle Crucis Abbey, an 
 in a pool in a garden hard by you would see some 
 gigantic trout swimming about in pampered pride. 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 T95 
 
 A little further in front, the canal issues out 
 of the river, where a semicircular weir of great 
 extent dams up the broad stream. It is worth 
 while to cross the rickety old structure known as 
 the chain-bridge, and to ascend to the Berwyn 
 Station to see the view up the river, which, with 
 its reaches of water seen between distant woods, 
 ohould be drawn by Birket Foster. 
 
 Below the chain-bridge are two gorges, through 
 which the whole river foams ; although their 
 names, the Cow's Leap and the Robber's Leap, 
 indicate their narrowness. Below each of these 
 is a whirling and eddying pool, where minnow- 
 spinning has often proved deadly to the trout. 
 We baited with the smallest of our gudgeons, and 
 in the lower pool, notwithstanding the brightnesn 
 of the day and the clearness of the water, we 
 hooked and landed a trout of a pound and a 
 quarter in weiglit, which is much above the 
 average weight of trout in the Dee. Then wo 
 mounted our fUes, and carefully picking our way 
 over the uneven rocks, we fished the best of the 
 streams and pools down to the "Llan," arriving 
 at the town with a couple of dozen trout, all small 
 — a bag which was by no means a contemptible 
 one for the Dee, which in its open portions is 
 considerably overfished. 
 
 After dinner we again started, while the others 
 stroUed in the garden of the " Royal," and threw 
 pebbles at the rising trout in the still pool above 
 
 fc^. 
 
196 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 \ 
 
 the weir. We hastened on until we came to a 
 deep pool enshrouded with rocks and trees, and 
 after sitting for half an hour over a pipe to let 
 our dinner partly digest, we stripped and plunged 
 in the deep pool off the old diving-rock, while 
 the roach — of which fish there are too many in 
 the quiet parts of the river— darted away from 
 before us in all du-ections. An old feat was to 
 scramble to the top of a rapid above the pool, 
 and then to swim downwards in a rush of white 
 water through a narrow gorge into the eddying 
 pool. We did this once again, and thereupon 
 wondered how it was that we did it so often and 
 safely when we were boys. It struck us as being 
 an exemplification of the old proverb that " foola 
 rush in where wise men fear to tread." 
 
 There was but one tiling more wanting to com- 
 plete the old fishing round, and that was soon 
 done. Wading through a shallow part of the 
 river, and carrying our clothes across, we dressed, 
 and clambering through a thicket reaciied the foot 
 of the canal embankment, and were soon on its 
 banks. Close by was a "basin" or wider space 
 where the canal barges are turned. In this quiet, 
 weedy spot the roach were swimming in hundreds, 
 just the same as if years had not passed since we 
 fished for them before. With a black gnat and a 
 small " coch y bonddu," each tipped with a bit of 
 kid glove, we were soon doing execution among 
 the silver-scaled beauties. They were rising gently 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 197 
 
 all over the still surface, and we threw our flies 
 before the biggest of them, and watched them sail 
 up to the bit of feather and open their mouths 
 just with the intention of tasting — no more ; but 
 ah ! a quick jerk of the wrist, and the steel goes 
 home. 
 
 While the evening breeze sang quietly in the 
 tree -tops, and the sunset flush tilled the fragrant 
 air, the sand-martins flew lower, the bats fluttered 
 above us, and followed with quick turns the wave 
 of our line ; and the peace of the dying day was 
 only disturbed by the wind playing on its harp 
 of fir-trees, the hurried twitter of the martins, 
 the shrill squeak of the bats, and the splash of a 
 captured roach. 
 
 Many other such days, and then, refreshed and 
 strengthened, we rush once more into the toil and 
 turmoil of life. 
 
 ■m 
 
 ^ 
 
 o 
 
 m 
 
ANGLING ACQUAINTANCES. 
 
 It is not of the acquaintances wliicli the angler has 
 among human kind that we write, although much 
 might be said upon such a topic, for angling, like 
 poverty, makes us acquainted with strange com- 
 panions. There is another class of acquaintances 
 of which the angler should know more than he 
 oftsn does know — the beasts and the birds with 
 which his waterside rambles bring him into con- 
 tact. The angler's friends among men are usually 
 pleasant felloTS, for "birds of a feather flock 
 together," and, if he but knows them aright, the 
 birds and the animals are pleasant friends too. 
 Every angler should be a naturalist, or have, at 
 least, an intelligent knowledge of the more in- 
 teresting of the component parts of that great 
 thing called Nature, which makes angling what 
 it is. It is astonishing how much the interest 
 of a ramble is increased by such a knowledge. 
 Depend upon it, the difference between " eyes and 
 no eyes" is greater than is at first apparent, and 
 to no man is this more important to be under- 
 stood than the follower of the gentle craft. 
 
 Angling acquaintances, then, of the sort of 
 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 199 
 
 
 )' 
 
 which we wi-ite, may fairly be divided into two 
 classes : those which live upon fish, and are 
 anglei-s themselves, forming one ; and those whose 
 presence by the waterside is an attribute of it and 
 brings them constantly under the angler's notice' 
 forming the other. The birds are plenty, the 
 animals few. Of the latter, the only two that 
 come within the province of such an article as 
 this are the otter and the water-rat. Compara- 
 tively few are the anglers who, in the course of 
 their rambles, have met with the former. It 
 is only when the dusk falls greyly over the river, 
 or the early dawn is breaking, that he whose 
 inclinations lead him to the river-side may hear 
 a light plunge, and see a dark body glancing off" 
 a grey rock into the circling water. The otter 
 is nocturnal in his habits, and few men linger 
 sufficiently late by the river-side, or rise suffi- 
 ciently early, to keep him company in his fishing 
 rambles ; or even if they do so, they rarely move 
 along the bank with that quietness and caution 
 which is needful ere you may catch a glimpse of 
 him on the bank. We believe the otter is much 
 les3 rare than is generally supposed. It* was our 
 practice in our younger days to be much at the 
 river-side in the early morning hours, and many 
 a time have we seen and heard otters when it 
 was believed that there were no such animals 
 in the river. They move with such exceeding 
 stealthiness that a keen observation is needful to 
 
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200 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 II 
 
 ^ 
 
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 I! 
 
 detect them, and it is well known that country- 
 folk have but libtle keenness of observation where 
 country sights and sounds are concerned. On 
 many of the "Welsh rivers they are tolerably 
 plentiful, and also in the wilder streams of the 
 north of England and Scotland. 
 
 According to Stoddart, the otter has much in- 
 creased of late years on the Tweed; and so far 
 from the spread of cultivation having been any 
 check to it, it appears to have aided it in its in- 
 crease, from the fact that the greater number of 
 drains and culverts have afforded it more and safer 
 places of refuge than formerly existed. 
 
 The long, lithe body and short legs of the otter 
 will indicate, even to him who looks upon it for 
 the first time, that the animal belongs to the group 
 comprising the ferret, the polecat, and the weasel 
 — but while all its confreres live upon flesh, to 
 the otter all days are Fridays, for it lives almost 
 entirely upon fish. Indeed, our forefathers were 
 much in doubt as to whether the otter was not 
 a fish itself ; and so little has their doubt been 
 resolved by certain of their descendants, that the 
 Roman Catholic Church still allows its flesh to 
 be eaten on Fridays and fast days. 
 
 In length the otter is, from its snout to the tip 
 of its tail, about three feet four inches, and its 
 tail takes up a third of its length. It weighs, 
 when full grown, from twenty to twenty- four 
 pounds, and even more. Pennant gives an in- 
 
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 l'^lSSS«jas3l5ife< 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 20 1 
 
 ^ 
 
 stance of one which weighed forty pounds. As 
 befits an animal which lives so constantly under 
 water, it is peculiarly constructed. Its head is 
 broad and flat, and it has a broad muzzle, with 
 a thick, overhanging upper lip. Its body is long 
 and low, and much flattened horizontally. Its 
 tail is flat and broad, and acts like a rudder ; and 
 its limbs are loosely jointed, so that the otter 
 can quickly turn in any direction while it swims ; 
 and its broad feet are webbed. In general colour 
 the otter is of a rich brown, but its body is 
 covered with two distinct and very ditt'erent coats 
 of fur, ' ' the shorter being extremely fine and soft, 
 of a lightish grey colour, and brown at the tips ; 
 the longer are stiffier and thicker, very shining, 
 greyish at the base, bright rich brown at the 
 points, especially at the upper parts, and the 
 outer surface of the legs." 
 
 So much for the outer appearance of our shy 
 and retiring friend. During the night he wanders 
 boldly about the streams and rivers, "seeking his 
 prey from God ; " in the daytime he is " at home " 
 in a deep burrow in the river's bank, in the inter- 
 stices of a crag, or mid the tangled roots of a tree, 
 whence it would be hard for spade to oust him. 
 The mouth of the burrow is as near as may be 
 to the usual level of the river, but we do not 
 think it is actually below water, as some authorities 
 assert. In this snug abode, on a couch of leaves, 
 he sleeps comfortably until the sun goes down, and 
 
202 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 
 sfr> 
 
 here the female brings forth her litter of four or 
 five when the land brightens with spring. 
 
 And now let us look at a summer's night and 
 day from the otter's point of view. 
 
 It is a deep, slow reach of river, running between 
 close-wooded banks, where the oak and ash are 
 seamed by the silvery birches, which look ghost- 
 like in the coming twilight. The fire of sunset has 
 departed, leaving but a sullen red in the clouds, 
 which hang low in the west. The gloaming steals 
 darkly over the river, and faint wreaths of mist 
 rise from the quiet bays. The brown owl flits 
 between the stems of the oaks, the water-hens 
 come nodding from the thickly-herbaged banks, 
 the trout rise with noisy splashes, and the circles 
 sail down the smooth stream and mingle with 
 others. 
 
 '• The day has ended, 
 The night has descended." 
 
 How does the otter in his deep hole— where day 
 and night it must be pitch-dark — tell when the 
 day changes into night ? Yet, as the daylight 
 fades, he starts from his heavy sleep, and showing 
 his teeth as he yawns — and a capital set of teeth 
 they are — he uncoils himself from his bed of dried 
 leaves, and sets out on his evening stroll. As he 
 creeps through the marginal bushes, he comes 
 suddenly upon a water-hen, at which he makes a 
 playful snap, tearing out some of her wing feathers. 
 He leaps down upon a mvid-bank, and finds himself 
 
 ^^ 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 203 
 
 face to face with a heron, standitig solemnly upon 
 one leg, intently watching a shallow. The two 
 rival anglers watch each other with dubious looks. 
 The otter snarls at the bird, and the latter gives ' 
 a startled leap and a half-peck at the intruder. 
 The ottar is inclined for hostilities, but he is 
 afraid of the sharp and threatening beak of the 
 bird. Just then, however, he catches sight of an 
 object which is of more interest to him at present 
 than a combat. It is the snout and neck of an eel 
 projecting from the muddy bank. The otter slips 
 into the water, and ere the eel can withdraw into 
 its fastness, it is in his cruel gripe, and is drawn 
 out of the mud and carried to the opposite bank, 
 where, as the beast is hungry, it is eaten up —head, 
 and till, and bones, and all. The otter then takes 
 to the water, and, after cruising about a little, he 
 sees another eel swimming with slow and sinuous 
 motion. This he has no difficulty in seizing, but 
 instead of being despatched hke the former, it is 
 carried to the bank and left there, where, if by any 
 chance he should return hungry, it will be ready 
 for him. A large trout next claims his attention, 
 and in that wide reach of water the fish is more 
 than a match for the beast, although the latter 
 carries on the chase with great perseverance, 
 swimming under water, and folh)wing the trout 
 in all its darts and windings with astonishing 
 rapidity, rising now and then to the surface to 
 breathe. But he cannot corner the trout, which 
 
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 :,j^ 
 
204 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 is a cunning old stager, and will not poke its head 
 into a hole. The otter gives it up at last, and 
 seeing an unwary chub rising at a moth, he seizes 
 it, and carries it to a rock, where, after taking a 
 bite from its shoulder, he leaves it as he left the 
 eel. The otter longs for trout, and trout he will 
 have, and he knows where to get them. 
 
 A good-sized burn runs into the river from out a 
 craggy, wild, and wooded dene, where it leaps over 
 a score of waterfalls, and eddies into a hundred 
 pools. Up this the otter takes his way, pushing 
 through bramble and brier, and splashing over 
 stream and shallow in a very businesslike way. 
 He comes to where the burn, fast sweeping over 
 a slanting rock, spreads out into a clear, deep 
 pool. The otter gazes into the pool with eyes 
 that in the dark glare luminously, and sees a 
 large trout poising itself midway in the clear 
 water. With an almost noiseless plunge the beast 
 dives into the pool, and, quick as thought, the 
 fish pops under a stone. The otter kicks the 
 stone away with his paw, snaps up poor trouty, 
 and in a few minutes has eaten a considerable 
 portion of it. So up the brook he goes — " the 
 dainty old thief of an otter" — capturing a fish 
 here and there, eating some, and leaving others 
 with barely a bite taken out of the shoulder. 
 The moon rises large and red over the hill, and 
 sends bright sheets of light between the oak trees. 
 The robber growls at the bright-faced moon, for 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 205 
 
 she sends strange shadows upon the earth, which 
 make him tremble with fright. 
 
 He at last begins to retrace his steps towards 
 the river, for it is close upon dawn, and daylight 
 must see him in his "hover," as otter-hunters call 
 his burrow. Hark ! what is that noise that is 
 borne upon the chUl morning breeze ? He stops, 
 and listens intently. It is repeated. He knows 
 it too well. It is the twang of a horn, and close 
 upon it is the belling of a hound. The otter- 
 hunters are afoot, and, as he still listens, the 
 loud chorus of hound-cries rings through the wood. 
 He knows that they have found his scent or 
 " drag," and have cut oflf his retreat from the 
 river. There is no place in the pool where he 
 can conceal himself, so he turns tail and bounds 
 through the wood, following the stream upwards, 
 fear lending speed to his feet, until he reaches the 
 open fields. Crossing these at a gallop, he strikes 
 the head of another burn, and tearing down tliis 
 he regains the river. Even as he does so he is 
 overtaken, and surrounded by his pursuers in the 
 shallow stream. An eager sportsman dashes up to 
 his waist in the water, and seizes the otter by his 
 tail in the approved method, but he is not quick 
 enough. Ere he can swing the poor hunted beast 
 clear of the water, the latter has turned round and 
 made his teeth meet in the arm of his would-be 
 captor, who lets him go. The otter slips past the 
 hounds and regains the deep water, and shortly 
 
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2o6 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 
 f 
 
 afterwards his home, where he gathers hunself uj) 
 panting and weary, and whence the united eflbrts 
 of his enemies fail to dislodge him. 
 
 Otter-hunting is a sport which still flourishes in 
 the west and north of England, and very fine sport 
 it is. It is necessary to rise early, or the scent of 
 the otter will have disappeared. Hard running, and 
 plenty of it, jumping, wading, and even swimming, 
 combine to render it a laborious and healthy exer- 
 cise. 
 
 The otter does not confine himself exclusively to 
 fish diet. When fish are scarce, he will travel far 
 inland, and, pressed by hunger, attack poultry, 
 and also lambs or sucking-pigs. But such in- 
 stances are very rare, and as a general rule the 
 otter has no worse sin to answer for than that of 
 killing fish ; and we think there are few anglers 
 so bigoted, and such poor naturalists, as to be 
 jealous of, and to wish to exterminate, this wUd 
 and interesting species. 
 
 The otter may be tamed and taught to catch fish 
 for its master, and many instances of its doing this 
 have been recorded. It shows great attachment to 
 its young, and is very fierce in their defence, even 
 attacking and driving away those who have tiied 
 to capture the young ones. Occasionally it will 
 make its way to the sea, and even swim a good 
 way out from land in pursuit of fish. Much more 
 might be written about the otter, but other angling 
 acquaintances claim our consideration. 
 
 i^l. 
 
 
 'JSS'M 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 207 
 
 Next in order on our list, but with a very wide 
 gap between it and the otter, comes the water-rat 
 or water-vole ; and as it is such a small animal, we 
 will add to its importance by giving it its proper 
 Latin name of Arvicola amphibms. It is a little 
 creature, much prettier than the common rat ; and 
 with its brown soft fur, and round snout, and 
 black bsady eyes, it is not by any means an ugly 
 object. While walking by the water-side, one hears 
 a splash, and sees a train of bubbles dimpling the 
 surface, and one knows that it is either a water- 
 hen or a water-rat. If it be the latter, it will 
 com<3 to the surface in about a minute to breathe. 
 Every rambler by the water-side knows the differ- 
 once there is in the appearance of the water-vole 
 and the common rat, and he ought also to know 
 the great and important difference there is in their 
 habits. The common rat lives upon fish, flesh, or 
 fowl, when it can get them. The water-rat Uvea 
 entirely upon roots or sub-aquatic plants. They 
 often bear upon their shoulders the sins of their 
 more rapacious brethren, but there is no reason 
 wliy they should be destroyed, save in those places 
 where their habit of burrowing in the banks might 
 be productive of damage. 
 
 In the "Journal of a Naturalist" there is an 
 interesting anecdote of this little animal. The 
 writer says : "A large stagnant piece of water in 
 an inland county, with which I was intimately 
 acquainted, and which I very frequently visited 
 
208 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 %. 
 
 for many years of my life, was one summer 
 suddenly infested with an astonishing number of 
 the short-tailed water-rats, none of which had 
 previously existed there. Its vegetation was the 
 common production of such places, excepting that 
 the larger portion of it was densely covered with 
 its usual crop, the small horsetail (equisetum limn- 
 sum). This constituted the food of the creatures, 
 and the noise made by their champing it we could 
 distinctly hear in the evening at many yards' 
 distance. They were shot by dozens daily, but 
 the survivors seemed quite regardless of the noise, 
 the smoke, the deaths around them. Before the 
 winter this great herd disappeared, and so entirely 
 evacuated the place that a few years after I could 
 not obtain a single specimen." 
 
 When capes and bays of rivers are shady in the 
 gloaming, how often have we seen the heron slowly 
 mnging its way down-stream, turning its head and 
 long neck this way and that, looking for a likely 
 spot to settle, its large, grey shape dimly reflected 
 in the misty water. A bird of weird and ghost- 
 like aspect is the heron, but one which is a favourite 
 with the angler ; for whether he comes suddenly 
 upon it by some lonely tarn-side, standing knee- 
 deep in the shallows, with its neck drawn back, 
 and head resting on its breast, or watches its slow 
 and laboured flight as it awkwardly takes wing 
 from the river-bank as he suddenly approaches, it 
 is an interesting and beautiful object. It awakens 
 
 ^^^ 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 209 
 
 memories of olden times when the heron was the 
 favourite quarry of the hawker. What an excitmg 
 thing it must have been, to have seen the noble 
 falcon swoop upon the huge-winged heron, and to 
 see the bird turn over on its back, and with long, 
 sharp beak and talons fight savagely to the last. 
 
 When the heron is on the wing its flight is appa- 
 rently slow. When you come upon it suddenly, it 
 has a very awkward and ugly way of taking wing, 
 stretching out its neck and hunching up its back 
 in an ungainly fashion. When it is fully on the 
 wing, its neck is stretched out before and its legs 
 behind ; and when it alights, it brings its legs 
 forward with a peculiar "hoist." Although its 
 flight seems slow, the beats of its wings are far 
 quicker than one would imagine, inasmuch as thej' 
 average 120 a minute. How quick, then, must be 
 the vibrations of the wings of smaller birds ! 
 
 The food of the heron is principally fish, and to 
 catch these it stands in some shallow portion of the 
 river or lake, where the water is tolerably quiet, 
 and thus it watches until its prey passes within 
 reach, when out darts its long neck, and the pass- 
 ing trout or eel is caught between the long sharp 
 mandibles. If it be an eel, the heron has often 
 some difficulty in killing it, but it takes particular 
 care to do it effectually by nipping it in the back, 
 for a live eel wriggling about in its inside would 
 be far from pleasant. In default of fish diet, the 
 
 heron will eat the young of water-fowl, mice, frogs, 
 
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THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 u 
 
 etc. It has been known to seize a wounded snipe 
 which had fallen near it, and to swim out for several 
 yards to seize the newly-hatched young from the 
 water-hens' nests. 
 
 Although, as a general rule, the heron is a 
 solitary feeder, it has gregarious breeding habits, 
 nesting together in large companies like rooks. 
 There are several heronries in England, but they 
 are scattered far and wide ; and the heron flies 
 long distances night and morning in quest of food. 
 It builds on the extreme tops of the tallest trees, 
 and as near the end of the branch as possible, for 
 the size of the bird makes it inconvenient for it 
 to penetrate far amid the branches of the tree. 
 It lays its eggs, which are of a light bluish-green 
 colour, early in the spring. It is said that if it 
 accidentally drops the food it is carrying to its 
 young to the ground, it does not take the trouble 
 to pick it up again, but flies off for more. This 
 may arise from the difficulty it has in rising from 
 the ground in a confined space. 
 
 Some years ago there appeared in one of the 
 illustrated papers a birdseye view of a heronry 
 from above. The enterprising artist had climbed 
 to the summit of a tall tree overlooking the 
 heronry, and from thence made his sketch. It 
 was a very novel and interesting sight. The 
 herons were flying about in dire alarm, or swaying 
 uncomfortably on the pliant branches. Many of 
 the nests which were not tenanted by the herons 
 
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THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 iix 
 
 '£L 
 
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 were occupied by squirrels, and by hawks, jack- 
 daws, and other birds. 
 
 But we think the prettiest object of all those 
 which greet the eye of the angler by the river- 
 side is the kingfisher, whether it skims so swiftly 
 along the river, midway between the banks, that 
 it looks like one continuous line of blue, and 
 green, and orange ; or, rarer and lovelier still, 
 when it hovers hawk-like over the water, and 
 then plunges down upon the fish below. No bird 
 is a greater favourite of ours than the kingfisher, 
 and we much regret that each year it is becoming 
 rarer, even on our most preserved streams. Its 
 beauty makes it sought after by every gunner, 
 who finds a ready market for its skin. Many are 
 the times we have stopped in our fishing to watch 
 it sitting on a bough projecting over the water, 
 its orange breast shining brightly against the fresh 
 green of the willows behind it. It sits motionless, 
 until the gleam of a minnow below attracts its 
 attention, and then it dives like a flash of coloured 
 light into the water, to reappear with a silvery 
 morsel in its beak. A toss and twist of its head, 
 and the fish is bolted, and the bird sits motionless 
 again. The kingfisher has been known to perch 
 upon the rod of an angler, when he has been 
 standing still and quiet on the bank. 
 
 The kingfisher nests in holes in the bank. It 
 sometimes takes possession of the deserted hole 
 of a sand-martin, but more often, we imagine, it 
 
 ^ i 
 
 ; A, 
 
212 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 makes a hole for itself. The bank chosen is a 
 soft gravelly one, such as those which often over- 
 hang the outer curve of an eddying pool. The 
 burrow is from two to three feet deep, and often 
 curved. At the end it is enlarged, so as to form 
 a sort of chamber, and on the floor of this are 
 laid six, or eight, round white eggs, of such 
 brilliant whiteness and transparency as to be ex- 
 cessively beautiful. The old birds show great 
 attachment to their home, and return to it year 
 after year. Even if their eggs are disturbed again 
 and again the same year, they will continue to 
 lay. In course of time the deposit of fish-bones 
 arising from the excrements of the birds accumu- 
 lates in the nest ; and as the eggs are laid on 
 these, it has been said that kingfishers purposely 
 make their nests of fish-bones ; but this we do 
 not think is the case. Stevenson, in his " Birds of 
 Norfolk," gives such an interesting account of the 
 discovery and analysis of a kingfisher's nest, that 
 but little apology is necessary for our quoting it 
 here. He says : — 
 
 " The drain or ' dyke,' as it is called in Norfolk, 
 was rather wide, and the hole, which I should 
 certainly have taken for a rat's, was about a foot 
 below the top of the bank, and the same distance 
 from the water. We first took the precaution to 
 introduce some paper into this aperture, spreading 
 it over the eggs, to prevent the soil from crumbling 
 into the nest, and then dug carefully down upon 
 
 ffs' 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 213 
 
 the paper, extracting a large circular piece of turf ; 
 but, in spite of all our precautions, the earth, 
 owing to a long-continued drought, was too friable 
 to be kept from partially falling in. Carefully 
 brushing this away and removing the paper, we 
 discovered the nest, for such with its raised sides 
 it might fairly be called, occupying a round 
 chamber at the upper end of the passage, which 
 sloped gradually upwards from the point of en- 
 trance. From the mouth of the hole to the circular 
 bed was about two feet, and the chamber con- 
 taining the nest itself was about six or eight inches 
 in diameter, and completely filled with the remains 
 of fish, in every stage of decomposition. The eggs, 
 seven in number, exhibiting the usual pinky hue 
 of the yolk showing through their glossy shells, 
 were laid exactly in the centre, and reposed on a 
 strata of fragmentary fish-bones, pure white, and 
 by no means offensive ; but a slightly raised wall 
 of similar substances, of a dirty-yellow tint, crumb- 
 ling to the touch, and alive with maggots, was far 
 from pleasant ; and I doubt not consisted of the 
 recent deposits of the old bird or birds whilst 
 sitting, the bleached-looking bones beneath the 
 eggs being evidently of older date, and dried, no 
 doubt, by the warmth of their bodies. On in- 
 serting a spade beneath the entire mass, in order 
 to carry away as much as possible, we found 
 apparent evidence of this hole having been tenanted 
 for more than one season, since below the white 
 
 
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214 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 bones forming the actual nest was at least an inch 
 in depth of former dejecta. This under layer was 
 also very dark in colour, and very lively, whilst 
 that portion nearest the walls of the chamber was 
 quite dry, and caked into the surrounding soil. 
 Amongst the half-digested portions of bone, I 
 particularly noticed the remains of beetle-cases, 
 and one large fragment of a water-beetle (notonecta), 
 with the claws complete ; but all these substances 
 were confined exclusively to the nesting-chamber, 
 and were not scattered about the passage leading 
 thereto, nor was there a single atom of grass, 
 straw, or such-like material to be seen anywhere. 
 Wishing to preserve, not only the eggs, but the 
 strange bed on which they were placed, the whole 
 mass, on our reaching home, was turned into a 
 muslin bag, and by placing that in a colander, 
 and allowing water to run freely through it for 
 some time, all the earthy particles were soon dis- 
 posed of ; and the maggots were as effectively 
 dastroyed by a single immersion in boiling water. 
 The bones, thus thoroughly cleansed and sifted, 
 were next turned out upon a sheet of blotting- 
 paper, and then laid on a wire sieve to strain and 
 dry, till in a few hours the entire heap looked as 
 white and free from all impurities as the portion 
 on which the eggs had been first seen. On weighing 
 these bones, thus freed from all foreign particles, 
 I found they amounted to exactly 1,080 grains, or 
 two ounces and a quarter and thirty grains." 
 
 s^i 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 215 
 
 /%^ 
 
 
 During a severe frost the kingfisher has been 
 known to be frozen by the claws to his perch, by 
 the water dripping from it after a dive, and to 
 die. What a sad end for the beautiful bird ! 
 
 Next to the kingfisher, the greatest ornament to 
 our streams is the dipper. On some boulder that 
 steins the eddying current it rests, its white breast 
 facing you, and its tad jerking like the robin's. 
 It dives into the water, and reappears a yard or 
 two off; then flies to another stone, repeating the 
 process ; and then, as you approach, it flies onward 
 with a straight flight like that of the kingfisher. 
 In a short time you again come up with it, and 
 you may so keep the same bird before you for a 
 couple of miles. The dipper is a lonely bird, fre- 
 quenting sequestered and secluded spots, and more 
 than two are seldom seen together. 
 
 It nests very early in the year, and builds a 
 large, fine nest, after the pattern of the wren's, 
 domed, and with a small hole as entrance. It is 
 placed in a crevice of a rock, between the roots 
 of trees that overhang the river, and oftentimes 
 in a hole in a wheel, or rock, in the very splash of 
 the waterfall. The eggs are five in number, pure 
 white, very pointed, and somewhat less in size 
 than those of a thrush. Like the kingfisher, the 
 dipper reappears year after year at the same nest ; 
 and when one pair dies, another will take up the old 
 quarters. The dipper has a faint, sweet, piping song, 
 which ounds like the echo of a rivulet's music. 
 
2l6 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 There are two vexed questions concerning the 
 dipper, which have caused a great amount of con- 
 troversy. One is, What does the dipper oat ? and 
 the other is. Can it walk under water? With 
 regard to the former, our observation has con- 
 vinced us that the dipper lives almost exclusively 
 upon insects. Now and then, it is possible he 
 may gobble up a few grains of spawn which have 
 escaped from their bed, but it is clear that if the 
 dipper did not eat them the fish would. Numbers 
 of dippers have been shot through the mistaken 
 idea that they are great devourers of spawn, and 
 they have much decreased in consequence. This 
 is a thousand pities, and we wish to say what we 
 can to stop useless and cruel massacre. Assertion 
 is no use without proof, and no one can prove that 
 the dipper eats spawn, while abundant proof can 
 be adduced to the contraiy. It will be sufficient 
 for us now to quote the opinions of three well- 
 known naturalists. 
 
 Macgillivray says : "I have opened a great number 
 of individuals at all seasons of the year, but have 
 never found any other substances in the stomach 
 than lymnce, ancyli, coleoptera, and grains of gravel.'' 
 
 Gould says • " During my visit, in November, 
 1859, to Penoyre, the seat of Col. Watkyns, on the 
 river Usk, the water-ouzels were very plentiful, and 
 the keeper informed me that they were then feed- 
 ing on the recently deposited roe of the trout and 
 salmon. By the colonel's desire five specimens were 
 
 I- 
 
 c;^te 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 217 
 
 *^.r 
 
 
 y 
 
 shot for the purpose of ascertaining by dissection 
 the truth of this assertion, but I found no trace 
 whatever of spawn in either of them. Their hard 
 gizzards were entirely filled with larvee of phryganea 
 and the water-beetle Qiydrophilus)." 
 
 Buckland says: "It maybe observed that I do 
 not mention the water-ouzel as destructive to 
 spawn : this advisedly, as of late I have carefully 
 examined the gizzards of several of these beautiful 
 little birds, and have found only the remains of 
 water insects in them ; write the water-ouzel the 
 friend, and not the enemy, of the fish spawn." 
 
 We think also that it is quite clear that dippers 
 can walk under water. There is no evidence against 
 it except the assertion of those who say it is im- 
 possible for a bird which is so much lighter than 
 water to be able to walk under it. ] f they would 
 examine the foot of a dipper, they would see that 
 its claws are admirably formed to enable the bird 
 to cling to the stones at the bottom of the stream ; 
 and it is, in fact, by their aid that the dipper 
 manages to walk or scramble, not only under water, 
 but up-stream as Avell. Our own observation of 
 these birds has been keen, and we are convinced 
 that tliG dijjper can, and does, walk under water, 
 and that for three or four yards, and it is some 
 time picking up its insect-food from between the 
 stones. We may be permitted, however, to sup- 
 port our assertion by the following quotation from 
 a paper read some time ago by Dr. J. R. Kinahan, 
 
 /(Ti. 
 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 \ 
 
 before the Dublin Natural History Society, and 
 which we read in " Science Gossip" for 1866 : — • 
 
 " During the years 1849 and 1850, having nearly 
 daily occasion to frequent that part of the river 
 Dodder which passes through the romantic moun- 
 tain glens of Glemismaul and Castlekelly , the great 
 abundance of the water-ouzel, or, as the peasantry 
 there call it, kingfisher, induced mo to study its 
 habits somewhat particularly. 
 
 " The general habits of the water-ouzel have been 
 so well and so often described that they need not 
 detain lis ; but although it is now some years since 
 M. Herbert announced the fact that this bird is 
 possessed of the power of walking under water, on 
 the bottom of streams, and although the truth of 
 this observation has been strengthened by the evi- 
 dence of such men as St. John, Dilwyn, Rennie, 
 William Thompson, and Macgillivray, yet still there 
 are found many — especially among the closet natu- 
 ralists — who prefer to ignore the fact altogether, or 
 else assert that this bird's habits in this respect are 
 identical with those of other divers. 
 
 *' My observations, made repeatedly during many 
 months, and having for their object the elucidation 
 of this very point, enable me to corroborate M. 
 Herbert's account in every particular, except that 
 the bird carries down a supply of air to the bottom, 
 enclosed within its wings, in which he most certainly 
 is in error, led away by a fancied analogy between 
 the bird and diving-beetles ; as I have repeatedly 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 219 
 
 n 
 
 seen them rise to the surface to obtain air, which 
 they do exactly like a grebe, merely raising the tip 
 of the bill out of the water. 
 
 ' ' The bird has several modes of diving : when 
 seeking food, it generally goes down — like most 
 divers — head-foremost, in an oblique direction, or 
 else walks deliberately in from the shallow edge of 
 the pool, the head bent down, and the knees (tarsal 
 articulation) crouched. When seeking refuge, how- 
 ever, it sometimes sinks like a stone, exactly as the 
 great northern diver, C glacialis, has been observed 
 to do ; that is, gradually, the top of the head the 
 last part submerged, without any apparent exer- 
 tion ; sometimes in the midst of its most rapid 
 flight dropping down suddenly into the water like 
 a plummet. Its course is indifferently with or 
 across the stream, rarely against it. 
 
 "It often remains under water, totally submerged, 
 for fifty seconds or upwards, and during that time 
 will proceed from ten to twenty yards. When it 
 comes out, the water may be seen running rapidly 
 oflF its plumage. It swims with great rapidity, and 
 appears to rejoice in the water as its true element ; 
 hardly ever alighting directly on a rock, but, even s 
 after i<s longest flight, splashing slap into the water 
 at the base of a stone selected as a resting-place, 
 and then scrambling to the summit of this. In 
 its motion in the water it more closely resembles 
 "5 the jackass penguin of Cape Horn (Apt. chryso- 
 coma) than any other aqvtatic bird I have had an 
 
 ^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 Ai 
 
 opportunity of studying. Like that bird — especially 
 in the breeding season — the ouzels may be seen 
 at times leaping right out of the water in their 
 gambols. 
 
 "That the bird actually does possess the power 
 of motion under water, the following notes on 
 a wounded bird, made on the spot, abundantly 
 prove : — 
 
 '"November 29th, 1850. — Bohemabreena. — 
 Wounded a water-ouzel, which, as I observed them 
 all to do, immediately made for shore. On my 
 going to seize him, he darted into the water, running 
 slap in. Waded in after him. Under water he 
 looks quite glossy, but does not seem increased in 
 bulk, the glossiness probably arising from the oiled 
 state of the plumage, or else from its peculiar 
 texture. When I first got up with the bird he was 
 perfectly stationary at the bottom, not using any 
 exertion to remain there (this remark applies to two 
 other birds wounded later in the day, which also 
 took to the water). The bird next got under a big 
 stone, and when I poked him out on one side he 
 ran to the other. After the lapse of a minute or 
 so he put his head out of the water to breathe, 
 always keeping the'stone between him and me ; and 
 when I tried to catch him, he would dodge under 
 the water again, and come up on the other side. 
 
 ' ' ' Finding that I was still chasing him, he took 
 to the stream, and went under water faster than I 
 could follow him. He seemed to move entirely by 
 
 lA 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 221 
 
 means of his feet, his wings hanging down behind 
 his tail ; though his motions were so quick, it was 
 difficult to be positive as to the latter part of this 
 obsei'vation. At times he swam in mid- water, xising 
 his wings, crossing the current several times, and 
 seeming but little incommoded by it. 
 
 " ' All at once he turned over on his back — still 
 possessing the power of continuing under water ; 
 struggling to regain his original position, he spun 
 round and round. It appeared as though the 
 wounded wing had suddenly failed him, and thus 
 prevented his preserving a due equilibrium in the 
 water. At length he came to the top, when he 
 immediately righted and swam as at other times. 
 Every time I tried to lay hold of him he again 
 ducked and dived down to the bottom, at first all 
 right, and then the tumbUng began again. When 
 captured at length, I found him merely winged. I 
 was enabled to confirm these observations several 
 times that day, as I obtained seven specimens, five 
 of which necessitated a watery chase before I suc- 
 ceeded in catching them, and one got clear off.' " 
 
 Such testimonj'- should settle the matter at last. 
 We hope it will be a very long time ere the dipper 
 is banished from our trout streams, for without it 
 a great part of their charm would be lost to us. 
 
 Every one knows the common water-hen. Where 
 rivers slowly sweep between rushy banks, where 
 the lake bends into quiet bays, and in the small 
 rushy "pits" in fields, even close to houses, the 
 
 ^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 water-hen' is to be seen making its way through the 
 weeds, or swimming across the tiny bays, jerking 
 its head and making as much fuss as if it were 
 swimming twice as fast as it really is doing. It 
 gives life and motion to many a lake that would 
 otherwise be dull and drear, and its appearance in 
 every small rushy pond adds great interest to the 
 country ramble. The nest of the water-hen is one 
 ^- -1 of the earliest prizes to the bird-nesting schoolboy. 
 
 The large, shallow structure, made of dry flags and 
 water-plants, is generally placed amid the rushes or 
 reeds on the margin of a pool, and is conspicuous 
 enough, but the bird sometimes departs from its 
 usual habits, and builds its nest above the water. 
 We have found one in the crown of an old pollard 
 willow, which slanted over a pool. Though, usually, 
 water-hens live entirely among the coarse herbage 
 by the waterside, and in the water itself, in severe 
 weather, when they are frozen out of their ordinary 
 haunts, thay wiU perch in trees, notwithstanding 
 their webbed feet. We have seen more than a dozen 
 in a small fir- tree by a pool's side. In such weather, 
 too, they will crowd to any spot which is unfrozen 
 in great numbers. While out shooting once we 
 came to a reach of the river Yyrnwy, which was 
 completely frozen over, except a small spot around 
 a willow bush which had fallen into the stream 
 Noticing a peculiar motion of the water about this 
 spot, we went up to the bush, and lo ! at least a 
 score of water-hens flew out. The flurry and con- 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 fusion was so great that, although we firedboth 
 barrels, we killed nothing. 
 
 When disturbed, the water-hen dives, or resorts 
 to the shelter of the herbage ; but when hard 
 pressed, it takes to its wings with an ungainly- 
 flight, its legs hanging down and neck outstretched. 
 When once fairly on the wing, they can fly for a 
 considerable distance, and at night their notes may 
 be heard in the summer-time, as they fly at a con- 
 siderable height overhead. It is supposed that it {" 
 is chiefly the males which have this nocturnal f^ 
 habit. The water-hen dives with great facility, 
 and can remain under water for a length of time. 
 It also seeks concealment by sinking in the water 
 until only its beak is visible above the surface, and 
 remains in that position, holding on by some weed > j 
 or branch, until the danger has passed. 
 
 Instances have been known of its feigning death, <Q 
 after the manner of the corncrake, as a last chance 
 of escape. 
 
 If unmolested, the water-hen will become very 
 tame, and will come and feed with domestic fowls 
 in the farmyard. It rears two or three broods in 
 the year, and it has been observed that the brood 
 first hatched helps to feed and look after the young , 
 of the second brood, but as soon as the third brood }Y\ 
 is hatched the first is sent about its business. If 
 the nest is much exposed, the water-hen will some- 
 times cover it with the leaves of dried flags before 
 he leaves it, but it is not often that this is done. 
 
224 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 and it can scarcely be called a distinguislung habit, 
 as it is in the case of the grebe. 
 
 Less common than the last-mentioned, the coot 
 is yet a well-known bird, and, when swimming 
 in company with the water-hen, is easily distin- 
 guished from it by the white j)atch on its head. 
 In its habits it is like the water-hen, but is shyer 
 and more retiring. It is also stronger on the Aving, 
 and takes long migrations from one part of the 
 kingdom to another. Its nest is also miicli more 
 substantially built, and often floats upon the sur- 
 face of the water, held in its place only by the 
 reeds growdng around it. A strong wind once 
 drove the nest of a coot from its moorings, and it 
 floated hither and thither on the surface of the 
 lake, according to the direction of the wind. Not- 
 withstanding this, the old bird continued to sit, and 
 eventually brought off" her brood. 
 
 The scenery of our larger lakes would not be 
 complete without the presence of the grebes. The 
 larger one, the great-crested grebe, is the rarer, 
 but we think it quite possible that it is the more 
 generally known to the majority of fishermen. Its 
 size and remarkable appearance ensure its being 
 observed ; and then it keeps so carefully out in the 
 open water, away from other birds, that it cannot 
 be overlooked when it is present on the mere. If 
 you row near it, it turns its head suspiciously from 
 side to side, and sinks low in the water, until only 
 its head and long neck are visible above the sur- 
 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 225 
 
 P 
 
 U' 
 
 face then, if you approach nearer, it dives with the 
 quickness of lightning. It is quite impossible to 
 say where it will rise after its dive, for it will swim 
 under water a long way, and twist and turn about 
 if followed. Its nest is simply a mass of black and 
 soaking weeds, almost level with the surface of the 
 water ; and tlie eggs, which are white when laid, 
 soon become stained and darkened by the decaying 
 vegetable matter. When the old bird leaves the 
 nest she carefully covers the eggs with weeds, so 
 that a casual observer would be far from suspecting 
 tliat that ill-shaped mass of wet weed was a nest 
 containing eggs. 
 
 The smaller grebe or dabchick is common every- 
 where, where there are lakes, ponds, or quiet rivers. 
 In its breeding habits it is like its larger brother, 
 but it is not quite so shy ; and if you will only 
 keep quite still, you may watch it at only a few 
 yards' distance ; but if you move but a finger it 
 dives instanter, with a very little splash, and a 
 kick of its legs. If it apprehend danger, it will 
 keep under water for an incredible length of time ; 
 but if it be not nmch frightened, it will pop up 
 again like a cork, and shake the water off itself in 
 silvery drops. It is a very pretty sight to see a 
 pair of old birds feeding their young, in some clear 
 post between the floating vegetation. The young 
 ones are such little black dots, and the movements 
 of all of them are so quick and comical, that one 
 cannot help being interested and amused. 
 
 
 mi 
 
226 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 . ^ 
 
 u 
 
 
 A 
 
 The pretty little snipe -like bird that skims with 
 graceful flight from the advancing angler, or runs 
 along the sandy bays of the stream, or lightly over 
 the lily leaves on the placid pool, is the sand- 
 piper, a bird not uncommon by most of our rivers. 
 It makes its nest in some sly hole in the bank, or 
 even dispenses with a nest altogether, and lays its 
 eggs in a hollow on the ground. 
 
 Such, then, are the chief among an angler's 
 acquaintances, but there are many others he would 
 not willingly pass. The sand-martins sweeping and 
 whirling over the stream, dashing this way and that, 
 and altering their course with wonderful celerity, 
 in the pursuit of their insect prey, and drilling the 
 gravel escarpment with the numerous holes of their 
 nesting-places ; the water-wagtail merrily wagging 
 its tail, and snapping up the insects at the margin 
 of the water ; the gaudy dragon-flies hovering and 
 darting in the blazing sunlight ; the shining water- 
 beetles gyrating, multitudinous, in the quiet pools 
 — these and many others come within the term of 
 the angler's acquaintances. And may they not be 
 the angler's friends too ? Even those which are 
 avowedly destructive to fish, is it too great a stretch 
 of clemency to spare them from slaughter, and 
 show them at least negative friendship ? Live and 
 let live is a good motto. There is enough and to 
 spare for all who are not greedy ; and where the fish 
 are decreasing, it is not from the depredations of 
 those whose cause we plead, but from the folly and 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 227 
 
 wastefulness of man himself. Drains and the refuse 
 of manufactories — these are the causes which lead 
 to the blank days of the angler. 
 
 " He prayeth best who lovetli best 
 All things both great and small ; 
 For the dear God that loveth U8, 
 He made and loveth alL" 
 
It is a true saying, that half the beauty of a thing 
 is lost to those who do not know how to look for 
 its beauty. The man who " knows when a thing 
 pleases him and when it doesn't," is not the man 
 to appreciate a good picture. In like manner, the 
 man who has no more than a surface knowledge of 
 the natural tilings about him, loses more than half 
 the pleasure to be derived from a country ramble. 
 He sees a general dash of colour : a blue, or red, 
 or yellow flower, but no tiling more : 
 
 " A primrose by the river's brim 
 A yellow primrose is to him, 
 And it is nothing more." 
 
 It is something, however, to know the names of 
 the primroses, daisies, and other common flowers. 
 The mere recognition of a score or so of flowers and 
 shrubs increases the charm of a stroll over the 
 meadows, and through the green lanes, and drives 
 away the monotony of a mere " constitutional." 
 It is astonishing how little most people know of 
 the lovely plants and flowers that meet their view 
 every day in the country. Even though a man may 
 be an excellent general naturalist, practical botany 
 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 229 
 
 is, perhaps, the one study he has neglected. 
 Doubtless the dryness of the technical part of the 
 pursuit — the long names and the minute subdivi- 
 sions—have something to do with it, but we think 
 the vadness of the study has more. What is the 
 use, one asks, of beginning when it is impossible 
 ever to get near the end ] There is a great deal in 
 this, and we must confess that our own study of 
 plants has been more with a view to understand- 
 ing their artistic effect, as component parts of the 
 landscape, than from a love of the abstruse and 
 scientific part of the business. In that spirit, there- 
 fore, the following paper is written ; and as our 
 book is chiefly intended for waterside wanderers, 
 we shall confine ourselves to pointing out the more 
 striking of the shrubs and flowers which meet the 
 eye of the angler by lake or stream ; and surely 
 tlie angler, of all men, should know what there is 
 to interest him when sport fails, and fish are not. 
 
 There are few streams whose waters do not 
 reflect the graceful wands of the willow. By 
 ornamental waters, the weeping willows droop their 
 pensile branches ; by sluggish, tortuous streams, 
 tlie white wiUows, crowned with a pollard-top, or 
 grown into a more natural but somewhat ungainly 
 tree, diversify the level landscape, and mark the 
 course of the hidden river ; in hedgerows, the 
 palms, whose yellow clusters herald the grey foli- 
 age ; and in marshy spots, the common osiers grow 
 in fringed companies. The willow, in these its 
 
 /^ 
 
230 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 VjI 
 
 different species, is a well-known and prominent 
 object. Well known ! true ; but how many know 
 the number of species of willow that are more or 
 less common in this country ?— Five or six, of 
 course. No, seventy, or thereabouts, be the same 
 more or less, as our legal friends say. Certainly 
 not less either, for the willow has a bewildering 
 way of striking out an apparently new species now 
 and then ; a freak which may be very amusing to 
 it, but gives no end of trouble to botanists. 
 
 The pollard-willow, with its stumpy, many-leaved 
 head, has often afforded us concealment, as from 
 its overhanging shelter we have fished for chub in 
 the river reach below. 
 
 All the willows have a silvery-grey under-surface 
 to the leaves j and as the breeze sweeps down the 
 river, the willows quiver and whiten as they proudly 
 shake out their garments, while hypocritically bend- 
 ing away from the too-eagerly wooing wind. 
 
 Fairest of all the many -faced clan is the goat- 
 willow, round-leaved sallow, or palm. When the 
 " bleak winds of March make us shudder and 
 shiver," the long wands of the palm stand out stark 
 and bronze by the steel-blue pools. Then the rich 
 red-brown buds open, and with silver- silken lustre 
 the numerous catkins clothe the rods, so that the 
 bushes become like white and shining clouds dropped 
 upon the yellow-green fields. Then, when the 
 primrose peeps, golden-eyed, from the old dead 
 leaves and wind-laid brambles, the silver buds grow 
 
 f\ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 231 
 
 i 
 
 n 
 
 and deepen into gold, and the clustered rods shine 
 brighter in the white spring sunlight than the 
 yellowest hair of blue-eyed children. 
 
 The osier beds are great harbours of insect life, 
 and " wheresoever the carcase is, there will the 
 eagles be gathered together," and so among the 
 osiers tits, warblers, and other birds congregate 
 and nest. 
 
 The dark-green fringe of the alder covers the 
 margin of many a pool and river ; sometimes, where 
 banks are narrow, giving a gloomy look to the 
 scene, but at timas beautifying, with the richness 
 and picturesque solidity of its foliage, what would 
 otherwise be a flat and dreary plain ; but the 
 foliage is too heavy to wave much in the wind, and 
 this lack of motion gives it a sullen look at times. 
 A quiet curve and bay, with alders drooping over 
 it, and a willow in the corresponding promontory ! 
 How often have we admired a scene formed of such 
 simple elements, while our loaded pike-bait clove 
 the deep water, or our roach-float calmly glided 
 past. Many a river in our more level coimties, 
 which is now picturesque and lovely, would, if 
 deprived of its willows and alders, be but a sluggish, 
 uninteresting canal. The glossy leaves of the alder 
 are not so pleasant to the touch as those of most 
 ther trees. They are harsh and sticky, and this 
 is a drawback where they are numerous and one 
 has to push through them. Alder-wood is one of 
 the best for making that " villanous saltpetre," and 
 
232 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 u 
 
 ^ 
 
 ''^ 
 
 
 it is good for wood-carving and turning. It has, 
 when cut, a pale, flesh-coloured tint, which takes 
 polish well. Under water, as piles, it is almost 
 indestructible. 
 
 The alder has another recommendation — it re- 
 tains its foliage far on into the winter. 
 
 Wandering up the banks of a wooded burn, one 
 comes sometimes on an open marshy glade, where 
 the sunshine falls hot, and a delicious incense fills 
 the air. The grateful fragrance comes from that 
 sober-tinted slirub, two to three feet in height, 
 and with lanceolate, yellow-green leaves, • which 
 grows in abundance within a small space. It is tlie 
 sweet-gale, or bog-myrtle. Walk through it, crush 
 the scented essence out of the leaves, and mark 
 how strong the odour is. 
 
 Out of the marshy side of the mere, the king of 
 ferns, the Osnmnda regalis, rears its stately head, 
 growing four or six feet high, and giving a tropical 
 richness to the marsh. 
 
 On those banks of gravel, which often form the 
 inner portion of a river curve, the butterbur has 
 its home. When the sallows are silver and golden, 
 you may see, projecting out of the ground, thick, 
 pink, fleshy spikes or stems. These are the flower- 
 clusters of the butterburs, which make their ap- 
 pearance long before the huge, rhubarb-shaped 
 leaves. In the summer the leaves (the largest of 
 all those of our native plants) crowd thickly together, 
 and it is difficult to push one's way througii them, 
 
 -^^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 233 
 
 for they are stiff and strong. They form an attrac- 
 tive feature in the landscape, hiding, as they do, 
 all the barren spots. Under the shelter of the roof 
 of its leaves, and between the pillars of its stems, 
 the water-fowl feed and take refuge. We are very 
 fond of the butterbur, because of its size and sturdy 
 strength, and its picturesque effect in brook scenery. 
 Its roots extend rapidly, and send up shoots here 
 and there. Where it has seized upon some bit of 
 marshy meadow-ground, as it sometimes does, and 
 gains a headway, it is most difficult to eradicate. 
 
 The queen of the meadows, and not of the 
 meadows alone, but the woodland glades and the 
 shady lanes, is in our eyes the feathery, fragrant 
 meadowsweet. It is not by any means exclusively 
 j(f) a waterside plant, but as it is most abundant in the 
 fertile "haughs" by the river-side, it may well be 
 included in this chapter. In July and August its 
 white blossoms, green-tinged and creamy, quiver in 
 crowded clusters in the summer air. Amid the 
 crowd of gaudy blossoms which at this time burst 
 upon our ken, the meadowsweet looks pure and 
 ethereal — a lily among scarlet roses, sweet seven- 
 teen by the side of painted forty. Often the angler 
 wades knee-deep through it, as it spreads its summer 
 irf\^m snow by the streamlet ; and light as snow-flakes, 
 and as graceful in texture, are its tiny blossoms. 
 In the dew-wet night it gleams ghost-like in the 
 margin of the wood, and loads the gloaming with 
 its sweet yet heavy odour. It dances in the 
 
 t> 
 
234 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 E&, 
 
 
 u 
 
 jnorning breeze, and nods gaily at its distorted 
 reflection in the rii:)pling lake, and the deer inhale 
 its almond scent as they come down to drink. It 
 is a tender and delicate plant, and dies soon after 
 it is plucked ; so, grasp it not, but pass your hand 
 lightly through its blossoms, and provoke it to a 
 greater fragrance. 
 
 In the spring the *' wild marsh-marigold shines 
 like fire in swamps and hollows grey ; " the water- 
 crowfoot lifts its white blossoms over every pool or 
 slow-moving stream ; in the marshy meadows the 
 cardamine, or lady's-smock, makes its appearance 
 in abundance. Its pink-white flowers are so fresh 
 and pleasant, as they nod over the old-year's grass 
 and sprouting flags, that it is a gi-eat favourite of 
 ours, and we welcome its appearance like that of 
 the primrose and violet. 
 
 Every one knows the daffodil : — 
 
 '• A host of golden daflEodils 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze, 
 Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And tumble in the milky wa.y, 
 They stretched, in never-ending line, 
 Along the margin of a bay ; 
 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance ! 
 
 sings Wordsworth, and be sure his eyes rested with 
 pleasure on the golden carpet the dafibdil spreads 
 in the marshy meadow hollows. 
 
 ,^|.=l, 
 '^1/ 
 
 fi 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 J35 
 
 Where mountain streams struggle through long 
 green moss, the smaU yellow umbels of the golden 
 saxifrage, and its yellow-green leaves, struggle 
 through the wet moss like a stream of gold, shining 
 in bright contrast to the vivid green of its mossy 
 cushion. 
 
 In June and July the margin of our rivers is in 
 many places made most beautiful by the handsome 
 purple loose-strife — a plant with a long, narrow 
 leaf, and tall, tapering spikes, a foot long, of rich 
 purplish-red flowers, on a stem two to four feet 
 high. 
 
 In most meadows the silver-weed presents to oiu' 
 notice its large, yellow, velvety flowers, growing 
 close to the creeping stem and pinnated leaves, 
 which, in large masses, shine silvery with the silken 
 down on their under-stirface. 
 
 The forget-me-not has fame enough for its 
 loveliness and its pretty name, and no flower 
 would be more missed than this were it never 
 more to gleam blue and bright from the lusli 
 vegetation of the water-edges. It has, never- 
 theless, rivals by the waterside that run it hard, 
 and of its own colour and semblance. One of 
 these is the brooklime, a common plant, in flower 
 all the summer, and bearing bright blue flowers 
 on a stout, juicy stem, about a foot high, with 
 thick, dark-green leaves. In the water, among the 
 roots of the iris and reeds, it does its best to rival 
 its more graceful neighbour the forgret-me-not. 
 
236 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 Where there are large marshes, many acres 
 are often covered with the snowy white cotton- 
 grasses. It seems a pity the silky globes cannot 
 be utilisad for some purpose ; but, in the mean- 
 time, we are well content to see the marsh flooded 
 with their silver overflow, and shining in the sun- 
 light. Growing in the water, on the borders of 
 slow streams with gravelly bottoms, and in the 
 shallows of lakes, one often sees that singular 
 plant the raare's-tail. It has an erect and jointed 
 stem, growing ten or twelve inches above the 
 surface ; its leaves are linear, or narrow and 
 grass-like, and grow in whorls at intervals up the 
 stem. It is easily pulled to pieces at the joints. 
 Besides its singularity and picturesqueness of 
 appearanc3, it is said to be of use in purifying 
 stagnant water, and absorbing the inflammable air. 
 
 Cats like the great wild valerian, if nobody else 
 does. Its powerful scent has a great attraction 
 for them, and they will roll in the leaves, and 
 smell, and grow almost frantic with excitement ; 
 and if any one were to put a small piece in his 
 pocket, the shyest pussy would court his company. 
 The valerian is one of the most conspicuous of the 
 plants which grow on the river borders, standing 
 as it does from three to four feet high, and with 
 large clusters of pale pink flowers. Its powerful 
 scent is decidedly unpleasant when close, and, in 
 its case, distance is certainly required to add en- 
 chantment to the smell ; but as an item of scenery 
 
 /"~i 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 237 
 
 ■^'^ 
 
 fe 
 
 'f 
 
 ^ 
 
 it is of value, and its presence enlivens many a 
 rushy-margined stream. 
 
 Watercress gatherers should beware not to 
 gather by mistake the marshwort, or fool's water- 
 cress. The general appearance of the plant is 
 similar to that of the watercress, from which, 
 however, its more pointed and serrated leaves, 
 its umbelliferous growth of small white flowers, 
 and the hollow stem, serve to distinguish it. It 
 flowers during July and August. 
 
 In July and August, the pale lilac flowers of 
 the water capitate-mint cluster in shallow water 
 and fringe the islets. The flowers grow in dense 
 whorls at the summit of the stem, which rises 
 from egg-shaped leaves. 
 
 Of those weeds which grow in the water, the 
 anacharis has pushed itself to the chief place. 
 Plague upon it ! it is filling up all our rivers, 
 canals, and lakes, spoiling our fishing and spoil- 
 ing our tempers. We have rot a good word to 
 say for it. We deny it any kind of beauty, and 
 we wish it far away. That thick green scum 
 Avhich so often clothes piles and woodwork in the 
 water with its dark, clinging mass, is the crowsilk. 
 It is said to be a good bait for roach, but we 
 have never had sufficient faith to try it. The 
 duck-weeds and pond-weeds are known to every 
 one by sight, but it is not every one who knows 
 how interesting and singular a close examination 
 discovers them to be. 
 
238 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVEMR. 
 
 JNow we coma to a number of plants wliich are 
 noticeable chiefly for their size. In July and 
 August tha aromatic odour of the heinp agrimony 
 greets us in moist woods, and by the river 
 margins. It is a tall and conspicuous plant, but 
 it certainly has no pretensions to good looks. Its 
 danse clusters of small flesh-coloured flowers are 
 supported on many-branched stems, three and 
 four feet high. The water-dropwort is common 
 enough in all ditches. Its umbels of flowers are 
 greanish-white, its stem? are hollow, and it bears 
 angular fruits as large as marbles. 
 
 The hemlock water-dropwort also forces itself 
 upon our attention by its size. It grows to three 
 and five feet in height, and on its much-branched 
 stetn it bears large, broad, glossy leaflets, and large 
 umbals of white flowers, which appear in July. 
 It is very poisonous. Of a similar size is the 
 common comfrey, which has large, strongly-veined 
 leaves, and clusters of white, or gi-eenish, or 
 pinkish, drooping bell-like flowers. Its fetem and 
 foliage are thickly beset with bristles. 
 
 Every winter fisherman must have caught his 
 line in a certain tall bush, with rigid and dry 
 stems, which when broken are found to be quite 
 hollow. These are the dead plants of the water- 
 figwort, a large and ugly plant, with indented, 
 dull green leaves, and clusters of purplish-brown 
 flowers. The great water-dock, with its long 
 leaves drooping fi-om its tall stem, is not un- 
 
 w^sm- 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 239 
 
 graceful in its effect among the sedges and 
 rushes. 
 
 What a bright bit of colour the yellow flower 
 of the iris, or yellow water-flag, presents on the 
 summit of its sword-shaped, glossy green leaf- 
 stems ; while in the quiet pools beneath it, the 
 beautiful white and yellow water-lilies sleep away 
 the lazy day, and close their flowers and sink 
 under the surface of the water as the gloaming 
 deepens. A lilied bay of a large lake is a very 
 lovely sight, both when the lilies expand their 
 largest and shine their brightest on the mirror-like 
 water in the blaze of a summer's noonday sun, or 
 when they dance merrily on the wavelets, when 
 the north-west wind blows, and the large leaves 
 curl over and expose their grey under-sides. 
 The black coots and water-hens paddle about 
 through the snow-white lilies, and are capital 
 foils to their loveliness and simplicity. We arc 
 very fond of the aroma of the water-lily, but wo 
 have met people who much dislike it. It is well 
 to drop one's float in the spaces between the lily 
 leaves, for big fish often take shelter under the 
 broad leaves from the glare of the sun. Side by 
 side with the water-lilies is often seen a pretty 
 and showy plant with a dense egg-shaped spike 
 of pink flowers rising above the water, on which 
 the lanceolate leaves repose. This plant rejoices 
 in the long name of amphibious persicaria. It is 
 very common in the Shropshire meres. Very 
 
 Ht—L 
 
240 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 rare, but very elegant, is a plant called the water 
 lobelia, which grows in some mountain tarns and 
 in the Cambarland and Westmoreland lakes, 
 where the surface in places is closely carpeted 
 with its matted leaves. It has clusters of light 
 blue flowers, drooping from a stem a foot high. 
 
 Very arrow-like must be the plant which bears 
 the English name of arrowhead and the Latin 
 name of Sagittaria saglttifolia, and its leaves are 
 indeed very arrow-shaped. Quiet pools and bays 
 of rivers are often carpeted with the large, bright 
 leaves, from which in July and August rise whorls 
 of pretty white flowers on a stalk seven or eight 
 inches above the water. 
 
 Amid the rushes the water plantain grows tall 
 and large, with delicate, small, rose-coloured 
 flowers ; and below, among the lilies, the kidney- 
 shaped leaves and white three-petalled flower of 
 the frogbit may often be seen. 
 
 These are but a few of the commoner flowers 
 and plants which meet the eye of the angler on 
 his waterside rambles ; and they are pleasant pic- 
 tures enough, severally and collectively set as 
 they are in a framework of waving rushes of 
 many kinds, reeds brown and feathery, bur-reeds 
 wrth clustered fruits, and reed mace and bulrush 
 with purple and substantial heads. Colour, 
 beauty, motion, lightness, elegance— these are 
 the elements of the picture of which these water- 
 side plants are the canvas and the paints. 
 
 1/ 
 
-^ -. 
 
 BREAM FISHING. 
 
 u 
 
 M 
 
 a 
 
 It is a land of deep rivers, flowing with quiet 
 current through miles of marsh, and by broad 
 lagoons whose banks are fringed with reeds. 
 Three rivers, a score of shallow meres, locally 
 called "broads," and deep, slowly-moving dykes, 
 combine to make this eastern county a very attrac- 
 tive one for the angler and the naturalist. Those 
 who have been in Norfolk will not fail to recognise 
 the locale of the spot we describe. Twenty miles 
 and more inland from the coast stretches a wide, 
 flat tract of country, through which the rivers 
 Bure, Yare, and Waveney flow with sinuous courses 
 to imite at Breydon Water, and debouch into tho 
 sea by the quaint semi-Dutch town of Great Yar- 
 movith ; the Yare, the chiefest of the rivers, 
 carries the traffic of the ancient city of Norwich 
 to the sea ; the Waveney, the clearest of the 
 rivers, runs from the little town of Beccles on 
 the south of the Yare ; and the Bure passes by 
 the pretty village of Wroxham, and the beautiful 
 "broad" of that ilk, and many others, on the 
 north. 
 
 Along the course of these rivers, and generally 
 
 Q 
 
 i/ 
 
 
242 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 ctimmunicating with them by narrow reed-fringed 
 channels, are the sheets of water known as 
 "broads." 
 
 It may be imagined that such an extent of water 
 must harbour many fish, and the surmise would 
 be correct. The chief products are bream and 
 pike. The pike are getting scarcer, owing to the 
 great prevalence of the practice of "liggering," 
 as setting trimmers is called in Norfolk, and the 
 indiscriminate netting of under-sized fish. This 
 unwise mode of fishing has had another necessary, 
 though unfortunate, step ; that is, the closing or 
 preserving of many of the "broads," so that the 
 vast expanses of water which were formerly alive 
 with fishermen, are now silent and lonely, save for 
 the clamour of the wild-fowl ; and the middle- 
 class angler is bereft of his pleasure.* 
 
 The bream, on the contrary, are as numeroua 
 as ever, and the Norfolk angler counts his catch, 
 not by the pound weight, but by the stone. 
 Fishing for bream may be said to be an institution 
 of Norfolk, and to judge by the numbers of London 
 men who annually visit the Yare, at Reedham and 
 Coldham, its fame has spread wide. 
 
 It was our lot to go straight from a trout-fishing 
 county in the west to a residence for some time in 
 Norfolk ; and while we fully appreciated the ad- 
 
 * An Act has just been passed to protect and regulate 
 the fishing on the Norfolk broads and rivers, so that they 
 will soon regain their pristine fame. — Ed. 
 
 ''^^V, 
 
 -1^/ 
 
 '^-i 
 
 % 
 
 r//^ 
 
 ■m»^?*;^^^il 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 243 
 
 vantages of that county for those who were fond 
 of yacliting in tlie summer and pike-fishing in the 
 autumn and winter, yet we looked with great con- 
 tempt upon bream-fishing. We had never seen a 
 bream but once, and that was while we were perch- 
 fiahing in Shropshire, and hooked a large, white, 
 bellows-like fish, which broke away, leaving us to 
 guess that it was a bream ; and we disdained to 
 angle for fish that were reputed to be so slimy 
 that we had to take hold of them with a cloth 
 when captured, and so uneatable that they were 
 only fit for manure. We remember, too, that we 
 felt a repugnance to fishing in such sluggish waters, 
 after throwing a fly on the sparkling, dashing 
 rivers and streams of Wales. For weeks we went 
 about with a moping air, like a kitten in a strange 
 house, longing for the sound of rushing water and 
 the glint and dazzle of a cascade, so wearisome 
 was the smooth, oily flow of the level waters. But 
 at last, when the memory of the salmon pools and 
 the grayling fords began to fade, we grew more 
 content, and soon we discovered that there was a 
 singular beauty in the slow, wide rivers and the 
 flat far-reaching marshes. And it was a cruise we 
 had down the Yare and up the Bure, and a little 
 bream -fishing by the way, that completed our con- 
 version ; and this is how it came about. 
 
 Two of us hired a boat, a tiny large-sailed thing, 
 with a centre-board, and a fast sailer, although 
 somewhat ticklish to handle. We provisioned her 
 
 <^^ 
 
 1?i 
 
244 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 well, particularly in the matter of bottled beer and 
 tobacco ; and we took care to have plenty of fishing 
 tackle with us. We started from Norwich with 
 a light breeze, which wafted us gently along at a 
 steady pace. With our large sail set we glided 
 along with the ease of a dream, at first between 
 trees whose leaves danced merrily in the summer 
 wind, and then between drooping willows, shivering 
 and paling with the gentle violence of the zephyrs 
 even as the water below trembled and whitened 
 with the ripples. On we went with softest motion, 
 the bow of the boat parting the water tenderly, 
 and leaving two long wave- lines diverging and 
 retreating from our troubled wake. The yellow 
 iris flower shone in the long, green ranks of the 
 tall flags, the bulrush bowed its head of regal 
 purple, and the reedmace shook its plumes on 
 either side of us ; and then we were out upon the 
 marshes, which stretched as far as eye could reach, 
 yet it was not by any means a monotonous picture. 
 The marsh itself was beautiful. Here a tract of 
 white cotton-grass, there a patch of yellow, all 
 around greys, and browns, and reds, and greens 
 mingled in wonderful harmony, and vaiying in- 
 conceivably in tint as the shadows of the cloudlets 
 floated over the luxuriant marsh grasses, and the 
 wind swayed them in billowy undulations. There 
 was light and motion everywhere ; not the jarring 
 motion of a crowd in a street, but the silent mystic 
 motion of the northern lights in a winter sky. The 
 
 LI 
 
 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR 
 
 245 
 
 s^' 
 
 fi 
 
 red and white cattle lay and stood in picturesque 
 groups, or waded knee-deep in the grass with bent- 
 down heads and lazily- switching tails. Windmills 
 whirled their great arms over the far-reaching 
 plain, and ever and anon we passed a clump of 
 trees, in the midst of which nestled a small farm- 
 house or inn, with a broad, flat ferry-boat lying by 
 the river bank. 
 
 All down here the river is banked up on either 
 side, so that the level of the river surface is 
 actually higher than the dykes which drain the 
 marsh into it. Hence at the end of each important 
 drain there is a small windmill, which works a 
 pump, and so lifts the water from the marsh into 
 the river. 
 
 The prettiest feature, however, in the whole 
 scene is the presence of numbers of yachts and 
 wherries. The former with their snow-white sails, 
 and the latter with their huge brown or black ones, 
 look very singular indeed in the distance, for, low 
 down as we are, the river is invisible, and the 
 vessels seem tacking and sailing about in the marsh 
 itself. 
 
 The day wore on, and at intervals we passed 
 small boats moored by the bank, the occupants of 
 which were fishing for bream and roach. 
 
 "By the shade of Walton! but they look very 
 happy and comfortable yonder ; and they seem to 
 be taking some heavy fish. We must try bream- 
 fishing ourselves, for, after all, it doesn't seem such 
 
 fi^Mf, 
 
 X 
 
246 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 bad fun ; but then, under such a sky and on such 
 a day, any kind of fishing is idyllic in its appear- 
 ance." 
 
 Presently the breeze died out as the sunlight 
 softened into the evening shades, and we floated 
 listlessly as far as Coldham Hall, a riverside inn, 
 surrounded by tall poplars. We landed here with 
 the intention of staying the night, and moored 
 our boat to the staith. Our curiosity was at once 
 aroused by the sight of a large pair of scales, sus- 
 pended from a cross bar between two poplar trees. 
 Upon entering the inn, we found a supper ready 
 aid, that betokened the expectation of many guests 
 and the satisfying of mighty appetites. We had 
 evidently fallen upon our feet, as the saying is, 
 and our stomachs rejoiced at the sight of such good 
 things. But, the reason, the reason] we inquired; 
 and then we learned that there was a fishing match, 
 and that nearly thirty boats were out engaged in 
 competing for the prizes. Each boat was allowed 
 three rods, and all of them were down the river, 
 a mile away. The match must be over now. Aye ! 
 there they come ; and looking down the long, 
 shining stretch of river, we saw them coming back 
 in a pretty compact body of black dots. In ad- 
 vance of them was a yacht, with all canvas set 
 and boomed out, gliding on like a ghost, impelled 
 by some faint lingerings of the breeze that caught 
 her lofty topsails. Out of the dull grey east she 
 came, with wings outspread, as if in haste to reach 
 
 ../ 
 
 91' i\i 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 247 
 
 
 V 
 
 the sunset west ; and behind her, with dull, material 
 motion, were the fishers' boats, lightening the grey 
 river with the flash of their oar-dips. 
 
 The yacht reached her anchorage in a little 
 lagoon off the river amid the poplars, through the 
 branches of which her red pennant fluttered. The 
 boats came up and the crews landed, each man with 
 a heavy load of silver-scaled roach and bream. 
 Then we saw the use of the big scales. Amid the 
 greatest interest and anxiety, and a vast amount 
 of talk and argument, the various takes were 
 weighed and noted. The winning boat had taken 
 inore than ten stone weight, chiefly of bream, 
 and the largest fish was four pounds. The fish 
 were then spread out on the grass, and a goodly 
 show they made. We were permitted to join the 
 fishermen at the festive meal which afterwards 
 ensued, and we can safely say that we never before 
 or since heard such wonderful angling stories, or 
 met with such apparently skilful anglers. The 
 class of men who composed the assemblage rather 
 puzzled us. Many of them seemed to be small 
 tradesmen, but the majority were of a lower class ; 
 but what their occupations might be when at home 
 we could not guess — artisans of some kind, with an 
 afi'ectation of the sportsman in their dress, which 
 gave them a nondescript look. They were capital 
 fellows, though, and we spent a merry evening 
 with them, and imbibed no end of angling lore. 
 
 "What surprised us much was that they should 
 
 ^^^-^■* 
 
248 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 \ 
 
 W 
 
 "^1 ' 
 
 \ 
 
 
 f 
 
 have such good sport, seeing that during the night 
 a terrific thunderstorm came on with torrents of 
 rain. Standing at the door, and gazing at the 
 brilliant light and the intense darkness which in 
 quick recurrence overspread the marsh, and listen- 
 ing to tlie savage crack and heavy roll of the 
 thunder, and the hissing of the rain on the river, 
 we thought we had never seen such a storm. The 
 tide, which *' backs " the water of the Yare as far 
 as Norwich, had risen to a favourable height for 
 bream-fishing, our informant told us, and for two 
 or three hours the fish had bitten as fast as possible. 
 When the tide is right, and the big bream do come 
 on the feed, the catches are often almost incredible 
 in weight and number, and the largest fish appear 
 to be caught where the water is slightly brackish. 
 
 We fished ourselves the whole of the next day ; 
 and although it was after rain, neither we nor any 
 of the other half-dozen boats out caught more than 
 a dozen small ones each. 
 
 A few days afterwards we found ourselves sailing 
 up the Bure, hastening to keep an appointment to 
 meet some friends, and have a day's bream-fishing 
 near Ranworth Broad. We had hoped to reach 
 Ranworth that night, but the wind died away 
 towards evening, as it usually does in the summer 
 time ; and long before we reached Acle we had to 
 take to our oars. The darkness came on too, and 
 we had rather a weary pull ere we reached Acle 
 Bridge. While rowing along in the deep gloaming 
 
 W 
 
 ■^j;^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 249 
 
 we saw several floats of wood on the surface of the 
 water. We at once jamped to the conclusion that 
 some poacher had been at work setting night lines, 
 and with a laudable desire to frustrate his evil 
 designs, we attempted to haul the supposed lines 
 in. Fortunately for ourselves, we could not move 
 the weight at the bottom, for the pieces of wood 
 turned out to be the floats of the eel nets which are 
 nightly set in the river by parsons who make a 
 regular trade of it, and whose take that night we 
 might have spoiled. We did not guess what the 
 floats were, however, until we came to a turn in 
 the river, where, on the bank, a mysterious frame- 
 work rose from the rushes, and there loomed against 
 the olive sky the large circles of the eel nets which 
 were hung up to dry. 
 
 The next day we sped before pleasant breeze 
 iswiftly up to Ranworth. We were to meet our 
 friends at an inn on the banks of the adjacent 
 Broad, and turning up a wide channel we ran 
 between lofty reeds, between the stems of which 
 the coots and water-hens swam and nodded their 
 heads, and the reed- wren suspended its purse-like 
 nest. We could see the Broad every now and then 
 through narrow openings on our left, and as we 
 seemed to be running parallel to it we conceived 
 the idea of taking a short cut. Entering one of 
 the narrow channels, we steered boldly for the 
 open water, which appeared to be only a hundred 
 yards off. The passage presently dwindled away. 
 
250 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 and we found ourselves charging the reeds and 
 forcing a passage through them. With .tlie way 
 we had on the boat, and the wind dead aft, it 
 seemed as if we should succeed in our endeavour ; 
 and as we passed along, the reeds parted in front 
 of us, and bowed down riglit and left witli a steady- 
 rushing sound ; but one of us was an ornithologist, 
 and as we passed a small hillock, a bird like a 
 landrail, but smaller, flew up. The lover of birds 
 rushed frantically to the mast, and, loosing the 
 halyard, let the sail down with a run, careless 
 whether it went into the water, or the yard hit 
 us on the head. 
 
 " It was a water-rail," was his excuse ; '" and there 
 is its nest." 
 
 Sure enough, there its nest was, like a water- 
 hen's in build, and containing four or five eggs, 
 smaller and lighter in colour than a landrail's. 
 
 "There, that is a prize. Never mind the wet 
 sail ; and III push you out with the oars, if you 
 Avill hoist the sail." 
 
 That was all very well, but it took us a good 
 half-hour ere we reached the blue water of the 
 open Broad. 
 
 An hour afterwards we were moored in a bay of 
 the river. There were four of us, so there was not 
 miich room for movement in the boat. We had a 
 sack of grains as ground-bait, and we threw plenty 
 of it in. Then we set to work, two of us with the 
 old-fashioned red-worm, and the other two with a 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 251 
 
 paste coloured red wdth Judson's dye. One seemed 
 to be as efficacious as the other, but a rather singular 
 circumstance happened to one of the paste fishers. 
 He was a very big, portly man, and he caught 
 nothing but the smallest tish. Wliile the rest of 
 us were pulling out fine fellows of two and three 
 pounds in weight, he continued catching tiny ones, 
 not six inches long. He lost his temper some- 
 what at last, and it certainly was rather trying, 
 especially as his companions were proficients in the 
 art of chaff. Not a minute elapsed without one or 
 other of us having a bite. And then, if it happened 
 to be a good-sized fish, it was held at the top of the 
 water, while a landing-net was slipped under it. 
 Some of the larger ones gave a few vigorous dashes, 
 but as a rule they gave but little play. 
 
 We had a cloth in which to hold the fish while 
 we took the hook out ; but notwithstanding this 
 precaution, we were soon covered with the white, 
 sticky slime which covers the bream as with a 
 garment. We soon gave up counting the fish we 
 caught ; and we should scarcely be believed, out of 
 Norfolk, if we gave the estimated number and 
 weight we ultimately caught. 
 
 In itself, bream-fishing is the most unromantic 
 kind of sport, but the surroundings gave it an 
 adventitious charm. The river was broad and 
 clear, the green flags and reeds bowed in the wind 
 with a pleasant sighing ; the great red A'alerian grew 
 on the bank, and scented the air with its agreeable 
 
 ^>: 'Ji'-^'-* 
 
252 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR 
 
 odour ; the snipe hung in the blue sky like a lark, 
 and the sound of its "drumming" or "bleating" 
 floated about us like the voice of a ventriloquist ; 
 a liawk, probably a marsh-harrier, swept over us, 
 stilling the song of the reed-wrens and the twitter 
 of the bearded tits. Yachts glided by with all 
 canvas set ; wherries rushed past with the white 
 foam spurting up at their bows, and their great 
 sails flapped thunderously as they gybed or tacked 
 at each twist of the river. 
 
 With all these sights and sounds about us, the 
 fish biting merrily, the sun warm and the breeze 
 cool, we enjoyed our bream-fishing amazingly, and 
 felt sorry when the sun sank in the crimson west, 
 and the river grew black in the gloaming. 
 
 One word of caution to the bream-fisher : moor 
 your boat on the concave side of a bend, and not on 
 the convex. The wherries are often compelled to 
 "shave" the corners, or lose the wind, and tack ; 
 and it is a pity to give them the trouble and delay 
 of doing this, for as a rule they do all they can to 
 oblige the angler. 
 
// 
 
 RAIN. 
 
 The two great enemies of the angler are the east 
 wind and the drought, and the latter is the worse 
 of the two ; for though the former makes the fish 
 shy of biting, yet that is not so bad as having no 
 water to fish in. When the rivers are low and 
 clear, the salmon-fisher is in despair, and as his 
 holiday slips away with day after day of dry 
 Weather, he begins to feel the most miserable man 
 in creation. He knows that numbers of salmon 
 are waiting in the estuary, or in the lower pools of 
 the river, for the water to come down in a spate, so 
 that they may make a straight run up to their 
 spawning grounds, but nothing larger than a small 
 parr can go up the fords, over which the water 
 trickles in decreasing volume. And those fish that 
 are in the pools, trout included, grow shy and 
 suspicious, as their liberty is circumscribed by the- 
 narrowing banks, and they are crowded against 
 their fellows. 
 
 The trout-fisher has this advantage over the 
 salmon-fisher : he can seek out some shaded bum, 
 and there practise the mode of fishing described in 
 ovir paper "The Linn," a method which, however 
 
 
254 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 killing in small burns, is not so certain of success 
 in wide rivers. 
 
 A drought ! What a picture the word represents 
 — a sky blue in the summit of its arc, and a dull 
 grey where it clasps the panting earth in its misty 
 girdle. There is no clear defined line in the 
 horizon ; the woods lose themselves in haze ; the 
 hills are less substantial than clouds ; and when 
 out to seaward you look at a low, straight line, 
 taking it to be the limit of the visible sea, you are 
 astonished at seeing a vessel sailing along far abw'e 
 it, apparently in the air. The sunshine is a blind- 
 ing glare, pervading every nook and corner of the 
 parched and dusty landscape. There is the maxi- 
 mum of sunshine and the minimum of shade ; the 
 grass is burned off the brown hill-side, and even 
 the grasshoppers are too lazy to jump and too hot 
 to chirp. The foliage of the trees acquires a dull, 
 dead tint of green, and the leaves droop and curl, 
 thereby letting wider sun-shafts strike the glades 
 below, that should be soft and moist, but are hard 
 and dry. 
 
 The river-beds are great tracts of white stones, 
 simply darkened as with varnish where the water 
 trickles over them, but none the less visible, so 
 transparent is the stream. Like as a skater upon 
 clear ice, seeing the deep holes over which he 
 glides, and the masses of waving weeds below him, 
 deems the ice to be thinner than it really is, and is 
 more apprehensive of danger, so do the trout in 
 
 'C 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENTR. 
 
 ^. 
 
 this preternaturally clear water sea evil even where 
 none exists. They have the same feeling of inse- 
 curity as a sailor would have in a ship with a glass 
 bottom, or a nymph sleeping in a satyr-haunted 
 wood. If a rod be waved over the stream, the fish 
 darb away with the greatest expedition. 
 
 We remember one exception to this shyness of 
 the trout during a drought. A big trout had taken 
 up its position in a wide part of the canal which 
 runs through the charming vale of Llangollen. Its 
 weight was over four pounds, and it was regularly 
 besieged by anglers, who tried for it with all sorts 
 of bait ; but it took no notice of them, and went on 
 feeding and swimming about in a circumscribed 
 spot without evincing the slightest fear of its many 
 visitors. A friend of ours, yclepfc Jones, was de- 
 termined to catch this trout, and after many 
 failures he grew desperate, and resolved to fish for 
 it through the night, as a last chance of catching 
 it off its guard. The sun went down and the dark 
 came on ; and minnow, worm, and fly had been 
 tried in vain. The night was a dark one, and 
 Jones mounted a huge white moth, and sent it to 
 where he imagined the fish to be, but he found 
 that he had got his line fast in the branches of the 
 bushes that grew on the opposite side of the canal. 
 He tugged and pulled, but he could not loosen it. 
 He did not wish to break his line, and he fancied 
 he could see his white moth dangling a short 
 distance above the water. He sat down on the 
 
 "^t^f 
 
 ^ 
 ^^»'* 
 
 tl 
 
256 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 brink to consider, and lit his pipe. It was very 
 warm and still, and he fell into a doza, in a very 
 insecure position. His pipe fell into the water 
 and went out with a fizz, without arousing him ; 
 then he heard a loud splash, and no wonder, for he 
 had fallen into the water. He scrambled out again 
 dripping wet, and missed his rod, which had lain 
 across his knees. As he was wet through, he 
 waded through the canal to unfasten his line, but 
 to his astonishment he found that had gone too. 
 Then he heard a sound some distance off which he 
 well knew. It was the sound of the line beino- 
 rapidly run off a check reel. Running along the 
 bank, he was able to distinguish his rod movin"- 
 along the water at a good pace. He dashed in 
 and seized it, and after a long and arduous fio-ht 
 he succeeded in landing the big trout, which 
 had sprung up at his fly as, it dangled over the 
 water. 
 
 Nor is it on running streams alone that the 
 drought has such an eflFect. The lakes and pools 
 lower, and their muddy margins, emit unhealthy 
 vapours. The tench and the carp nose about the 
 surface of the water, gasping with their leathery 
 mouths. The pike hangs motionless, though you 
 work your gudgeon to his very nose ; the perch 
 swim in scornful circles round your worm ; and 
 the littlo roach jump and play around your float. 
 Only the leaves of the water-lilies and the arrow- 
 heads look cool and green, and the water rises in a 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 257 
 
 ledge around the edge of each, as if wishful, yet 
 
 afraid, to overflow it. 
 
 But this is all about drought, not rain. True, 
 but we describe the subject of our paper by 
 antithesis. But do you wish for rain ? then, see, 
 the haze is lifting from the weather-gleam, the 
 distant woods assume a shape, the hills stand out 
 bold and clear, sound travels far, the flies are 
 doubly annoying, they seem to sting where they 
 alight upon your flesh. The gnats throng close to 
 the earth, and the swallows follow them ; the dust 
 eddies in the roads, and the birds shake themselves 
 and twitter in tha bushes. The clouds gather, — a 
 silence falls over all. Pat comes the first drop, and 
 then down it comes, the blessed rain. The leaves 
 of the trees expand and shake under its downpour, 
 the branches sway and bend under the beating 
 drops, and there is a sound through the woods as 
 of a mighty wind. 
 
 " How beautiful is the rain, 
 After the dust and heat ; 
 In the broad and fiery street, 
 In the narrow lane, 
 
 How beautiful is the rain ! 
 
 How it clattei-s along the roofs, 
 
 Like the tramp of hoofs ; 
 
 How it gushes and struggles out. 
 
 From the throat of the overflowing spout ! 
 
 Across the window-pane 
 
 It pours and pours, 
 
 u 
 
258 
 
 THE ANGLEI^S SOUVENIR. 
 
 m 
 
 "% 
 
 And swift and wide, 
 With a muddy tide, 
 Like a river down tlie gutter pours 
 
 The rain, the welcome rain ! 
 
 The sick man from his chamber 
 
 Looks at the twisted brooks ; 
 
 He can feel the cool 
 
 Breath of each little pool ; 
 
 His fevered brain 
 
 Grows calm again, 
 
 And he breathes a blessing on the rain. 
 
 In the country on every side. 
 Where far and wide. 
 Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, 
 Stretches the plain, 
 To the dry grass and the drier grain, 
 How welcome is the rain ! ' 
 
 The brooks rise and lose their transparency, and 
 presently rush down in a yellow flood to the rivers 
 which ere long renew their strength, and roll majes- 
 tically between their receding banks. Tlie country 
 springs at a bound from death to life. The fresh 
 greenness of the vegetation is a positive delight. 
 The air is cool, and laden with the life-giving 
 incense which arises from the steaming plants, 
 and all nature is grateful for the relief brought 
 by the welcome rain. 
 
 Now, too, is the time when the rustic angler is 
 in his glory. His hazel bough and coarse line are 
 as effective in the muddy waters as the most 
 finished appliances of the wealthy angler. A worm 
 
 ^- 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 259 
 
 dug out of a manure-heap is as killing as any bait 
 ever devised, and it will go hard with our rustic 
 angler if he catch not a fair dish of trout for his 
 supper. If the stream is unpreserved, every likely 
 hole has its visitor, and many are the trout who 
 have no reason to bless the oncoming of the rain. 
 
 Birds, beasts, fishes, and man welcome the rain 
 in summer, but in the colder months of the year, 
 ah ! it is altogether a different story. We write 
 now in the month of November, and we have had 
 four weeks of almost incessant rain. We have 
 tried to drill ourselves into a cheerful state of 
 mind, but as one swallow does not make a summer, 
 so all our writing has not persuaded us that this 
 present rain is of the same nature as summer rain. 
 
 " The day is cold, and dark, and dreary, 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
 The vine still clings to the mouldering wall. 
 But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 
 And the day is dark and dreary." 
 
The art of angling does not seem to flourish among 
 the lower classes in the country. Your true labour- 
 ing man is not, as a rule, either a lover of nature 
 or a follower of the gentle craft. When labourers 
 are boys, they will fish in noisy companies by somo 
 pool-side ; and sad it is to see them, for their 
 language is foul and their voices discordant. The 
 rustic youth is not, as a rule, by any means a fine 
 specimen of human nature. He has not the qxiick- 
 ness and intelligence of the town boy, neither has 
 he any perception of the beautiful about him. 
 Hence, as the raw material is seldom the stuff of 
 which anglers are made, it is not wonderful that the 
 finished product should seldom pass his days by 
 the river-side, and enjoy the " innocent and calm 
 recreation " which seems so peculiarly suiteble for 
 a country life. Perhaps it is that the dull mono- 
 tony of his daily labour so deadens his perceptive 
 faculties that he cannot see pleasure in angling, but 
 sees a great deal in leaning on a gate, or drinking 
 bad beer in the public-house. The case is somewhat 
 difierent with the corresponding class in our towns. 
 Town-life gives a greater activity of mind and in- 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 261 
 
 *• __^- 
 
 J 
 
 telliganca of purpose ; and there is, by the law of 
 contrast, a greater stimuhxs to seek fresh air and 
 freedom in country rambles and fishing excursions. 
 
 When the rustic is an angler, however, he is 
 generally a character well worth knowing. He has 
 a store of practical wisdom, is full of old sayings, 
 quaint and pregnant with meaning ; is weatherwise, 
 and knows something of birds and beasts ; perhaps 
 has studied botany, especially as connected with 
 the art of healing ; and, finally, has a simple, quiet 
 way with him, which is very attractive. 
 
 It is easy to sketch his picture. 
 
 A thunder-cloud is creeping over the small vil- 
 lage that nestles, red-roofed and picturesque, in 
 a typical English valley, blotting out the bright 
 blue sky, and shading the farmyard, so that the 
 frightened fowls run under the hayricks to be out 
 of danger. 
 
 The village street is deserted, save for two dogs 
 standing panting at opposite doorways. Look in 
 at one of the windows, in which are a few articles 
 that betoken that there resides the village cobbler. 
 By the open window the cobbler sits, with his 
 last upon his knee, and hammering away as if he 
 thought of nothing but business in the world. He 
 is a man of middle height, thin and bent, not with 
 any great age, for he is only fifty, but through the 
 nature of his calling. His hair is grey, and some- 
 what straggling and curly. As he hammers away, 
 his brow is bent and his look troubled, as if the fate 
 
 ^M, 
 
264 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 near where he lived, and at a very early age he 
 angled in it, with a hazel-stick for a rod, and a 
 crooked pin for a hook, catching occasionally a 
 gudgeon, a small roach, or a ruffe, and jilenty of 
 minnows, which he was sometimes fortunate enough 
 to be able to sell for bait to the village doctor, who 
 was a fisherman, and who lent him his bait-can. 
 Then he set his heart upon a real rod and line, 
 such as the gentlemen fishermen used, but not so 
 expensive. His mother was willing to gratify his 
 wish, of course ; and by dint of saving a penny now 
 and a penny then, and by going without a new 
 gown, which she sadly needed, she managed to buy 
 him a cheap rod and line. From that time forward 
 he was an angler, and as his love for the pastime 
 grew, so did his knowledge of the true and the 
 beautiful. 
 
 Thenceforth he was above the grosser vices of his 
 coevals ; thenceforth he grew up a man superior to 
 his fellows, and rose so much above them as to 
 become a tradesman in a small way on his own 
 account. 
 
 It is fishing which has made life happy for him. 
 
 He married young, and he was fond of his wife, 
 but she does not enter into or understand his tastes, 
 and so he leads a separate life, as it were, into 
 which he retires when things go wrong, or his wife 
 is cross. 
 
 With his small wants and his unselfish nature, 
 the past has been a happy time in spite of its hard- 
 
'-^»T:vi '^"'' 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 265 
 
 
 ships and struggles ; and as he thinks of it lovingly 
 and half regretfully, the rain ceases, 14x6 clouds 
 part, and show a more brilliant blue in their rifts 
 than there was before. The cobbler seizes his rod 
 from the corner, and a bag of worms from a nail in 
 the back kitchen, and, paying a deaf ear to the 
 remonstrances of his wife, he sallies forth to his 
 favourite spot ; and there behold him, as he sits on 
 a fallen log, watching his float twirl in the golden 
 eddies. The spot he has chosen is a good one, and 
 is also prettily situated. The river is a navigable 
 (me, and its water is dammed up at intervals by 
 means of locks. Just below one of these the fisher- 
 man sits. Above the lock the river flows wide 
 and deep, and between banks heavily fringed with 
 willows, which are green or silvery as the breeze 
 shakes the upper or the under side of the long 
 narrow leaves into view. Their branches trail in 
 the water, which is tinged yellow with the rain. 
 
 The river narrows suddenly to the lock, which is 
 an old massive structure, black and moss-stained. 
 Below the lock is a deep pool, and it is on the bank 
 of this that the rustic fisherman takes his seat, on 
 the yellow-ringed stump of a sawn tree, close under 
 the lower gate of the lock. Through the crevices 
 of the gate the water spouts in jets, which, near 
 the top, are bright as mother-of-pearl, flashing in 
 the sun, and lower down are tinged with gold, which 
 shines in strong contrast to the jet of the dripping 
 timber. ^* 
 
 ^^ 
 
 
266 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 
 -V 
 
 From a subaqueous sluice the water pours and 
 bubbles in its baste to join the eddies wliicli whirl 
 about the lower pool, widening and circling more 
 slowly as the distance increases from the flood- 
 gate. 
 
 Behind the angler rises a sloping sward of green, 
 broken only by the soft grey trunks of numerous 
 beech trees, until it reaches the oak-crowned ridge 
 of the hill. In the autumn this beech slope pre- 
 sents a wonderful maze of colours. The bright 
 yellow and scarlet of the dying foliage above, and 
 the more sober red and brown of the beech-mast 
 on the ground, burn and glow like a stormy sunset. 
 It is no less beautiful now. The massive foliage of 
 the trees is fresh and green after the rain. Every 
 leaf holds a raindrop, and every raindrop holds 
 a morsel of light. The sun brightens the Avhole 
 mass, so that the myriad diamond and emerald 
 sparkles are toned down by quantity into a gleamy 
 and quivering lustre. 
 
 The river rushes on through the fair English 
 landscape, by bowery woods and coppiced hills, by 
 nestling villages and undulating parks ; but no- 
 where does it pass a happier or more contented 
 man than the cobbler, who sits watching his float 
 as it is carried this way and that way by the con- 
 flicting streams. 
 
 It is almost needless to say that his bait is a 
 worm. Rustic anglers rarely use any other. His 
 rod is a home-made one, for he cannot afford to 
 
 \. 
 
 
 W^Jiei 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 267 
 
 ll -V 
 
 #L. 
 
 ^m 
 
 buy one equal to what he is now able to make. 
 The bottom piece is of ash, the second joint is of 
 hazel, and the top is made of a piece of lance- 
 wood, which once formed part of a gig-shaft. 
 
 He sits and tishes patiently, but, to his astonish- 
 ment, he catches no fish save one little percli. 
 After a while iie guesses tlie cause. A pike must 
 be prowling about, and must be got rid of before 
 the smaller fish will bite. He puts his hand into 
 his large pooket and pulls out a stout line, a large 
 float, and a wooden reel with a sharp peg attached. 
 He drives the peg into the ground, and lays the 
 line down while he goes to a small pool in a 
 meadow a couple of hmidred yards away, where 
 in a few minutes he succeeds in catching a small 
 roach. With this he baits a live-bait hook. Then, 
 throwing in this pike line, he goes patiently on with 
 his fishing, and in less than a quarter of an hour 
 the pike float disappears with a nish as a pike 
 seizes the bait. He gives him plenty of time to 
 gorge, for he has seen many a pike lost by striking 
 too soon, while none are lost by giving them 
 plenty of time. At last he lays down his pipe 
 and takes up the set line. He hauls in the slack, 
 and then, when he feels the line taut, he gives a 
 slight strike to make sure ; and then, with little 
 ceremony— for he does not believe in giving the 
 fish too much play — he hauls in a pike of fully 
 six pounds in weight. This is a stroke of luck 
 wliich he did not expect, and he is pleased accord- 
 
 Jf 
 
 i^^ 
 
 ^^B^^,. 
 
 •S^i& 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 "^u 
 
 ingly. Now that the tyrant of a pike is removed, 
 the other fish begin to bite well. Every now and 
 then the float gives a sharp dash with the bite 
 of a perch, wriggles away with the slow bite of 
 an eel, or slides away under the seductive influence 
 of a chub or roach. If, in any interval betweei'i 
 the bites, his mind is troubled with the thought 
 of his present monetary embarrassments, the cloud 
 is dissipated by the next movement of his float. 
 Meanwhile, his good wife, when she discovers 
 where he has gone, and that his work is unfinished, 
 is growling and scolding at her husband in his 
 absence. But as evening approaches she re- 
 members that he left without his dinner, so she 
 despatches the youngest of their children, a flaxen- 
 haired, blue-eyed little thing, and her father's 
 especial favourite, to him with bread and cheese 
 and a bottle of beer. 
 
 This adds to the angler's happiness, and with his 
 child by his side and a goodly pile of fish at his 
 feet, " he cares for nobody, no, not he." 
 
 The long evening draws on towards dusk. The 
 sun goes down, and the air is so clear that the blue 
 of the western sky is scarce hidden by the pale 
 pink of the sunset flush. The air is full of a sleepy 
 sound ; the hum of insects — of myriads of tiny 
 wings vibrating in golden clouds ; the wood-pigeons 
 in the oak copse ; the cattle lowing in the meadows ; 
 the splash and gurgle of the river ; and the rustling 
 of the leaves in the wind which rose at sunset. 
 
 Hi 
 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 269 
 
 As he loiters slowly liomeward through the 
 glamour of the twilight he meets the clergyman 
 of the parish, a man who is himself an angler, 
 and is fond of doing a good deed in a quiet way. 
 He asks the cobbler a few questions about his 
 sport, and then insists upon buying the pike and 
 
 it ^ a brace of the biggest perch of him for 5s. ; so the 
 cobbler goes home with a light heart, and a present 
 
 ' which will appease his wife. 
 
 ' We confess to having very great sympathies with 
 
 the rustic angler and his class, and we have drawn 
 his portrait lovingly. Let the rich see this moral : 
 don't, by over-preserving, close yoiir rivers to the 
 poor fellow, and so deprive him of his pleasure, 
 and, what is of more importance, so valuable an 
 aid to his inoral well-being. 
 
 
 fm. 
 
A MONSTER PIKE. 
 
 Very few anglers are "all round" men— i.e., 
 devote themselves to the pursuit of all branches 
 of angling alike. Most men cherish a liking for 
 some particular branch of their art until it grows 
 into a hobby. Thus we have the different classes 
 of fly-fishers, bottom-fishers, salmon-fishers and 
 trout-fishers, pike-fishers and roach-fishers, barbel- 
 fishers and gudgeon-fishers: and each class stands 
 by its favourite pursuit, and declares it to be the 
 only true kind of angling. I can tuni my hand 
 to all these branches on occasion, and enjoy them 
 all, but above all do I like pike-fishing. That is 
 my hobby, and in that do I glory. I would rather 
 have one day's pike-fishing than have a dozen days 
 of any other kind of fishing. The pike is such a 
 savage brute,— he rushes at jonv bait with such 
 vigour and ferocity, his jaws close so firmly upon 
 the fish which has lured him, he shakes his head 
 so fiercely, and fights to the death with such 
 tenacity and pluck, that one feels great pride in 
 subduing him. The captive trout or salmon gives 
 more dashing play, no doubt ; but then these 
 seem to be the struggles of mad terror, and a 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENTR. 
 
 271 
 
 ?S^ 
 
 8^ 
 
 'iP^ 
 
 frantic desire to escape. The pike, on tlie other 
 hand, shows no terror ; he fights you as an enemy 
 would, with a great pleasure in the fight ; and if 
 he succeeds in breaking away from you, he will 
 even dash at your bait again, although his mouth 
 may be lacerated by the former struggle. When he 
 dies, he dies not in pitiful terror, but in splendid 
 rag3. One experiences no uncomfortable feelings 
 of compassion, but rather a sense of well-won 
 triumph. Then there are so many ways of fishing 
 for him. You may troll with a dead-gorge bait 
 in weedy pools beset with sunken roots and 
 branches ; and then you have a delicious feeling of 
 siispense for ten minutes or so while he gorges the 
 bait. You may spin for him, your bait sliding 
 over masses of tangled weed, and from out the 
 lanes of clear water you will see his swift and 
 splendid rush that sends your heart leaping into 
 your mouth with excitement ; you may fly-fish for 
 him with a huge fly, or trail a spoon-bait after 
 your boat as you row round the mere during 
 an autumn gale ; and you may sit at ease in yoiir 
 l^unt, on a warm August day, and watch your 
 large float bob with the movement of your live- 
 bait, and then dive down suddenly with the 
 "run" of a pike. In all and each of these ways 
 you wUl find much enjoyment and good sport. 
 
 The worst of it is that good pike-waters are 
 very hard of access nowadays. As a general rule 
 they are strictly preserved, and where they are not 
 
 
27: 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 so are overfished and poached, so that they are 
 scarcely worth a visit. Very oft3n the bast sport 
 is to be had in deep pools in trout rivers, where 
 the pike has made his home unnoticed, and where 
 nobody thinks of fishing for him. 
 
 In spite of a commandment against envying one's 
 neighbour's possessions, I always envy the man 
 who has a good pike pool or river all to himself 
 and his friends. For him there is no asking for 
 leave and incurring an obligation. He can go when 
 he pleases, and have his fill of sport, without having 
 to ask any man for permission. The summit of 
 my angling ambition is to possess a pike pool, or 
 a riglit of fishing in one when I please. Now 
 that I have made my wants known, perhaps some 
 kind friend will step forward and give me that 
 which I desire. 
 
 I have pike-fished in many waters, and have 
 caught my fair shai'e of pike, but up to the time 
 of which I write I had never caught any really 
 large fish. I had caught plenty of good-sized ones, 
 lip to ten or twelve pounds or so, but none of your 
 monster fish of thirty, forty, and fifty pounds in 
 weight. I had seen a friend catch one thirty-three 
 pounds in weight, and that was the nearest I had 
 ever been to a big fish. Many a time I had gone 
 to noted pike waters expecting to do wonders, and 
 building very pleasing castles in the air, but the 
 same confounded mediocrity always attended my 
 efforts. 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 273 
 
 I was on a visit some little time ago in one of 
 the western counties, and in the courss of a picnic 
 excursion we came upon a lake embosomed in 
 woods, which at once took my fancy as the very 
 hmn ideal of a pike-pool. It was suiTouiided with 
 reeds and rushes. Its shores curved in many a 
 quiet bay marghied with lilies, where the coot and 
 the water-hen swam with a tameness and sense of 
 security which showed that they were not often 
 disturbed. A light breeze was rippling the pool, 
 and every now and then a rush of small fish out 
 of the pool showed where the pike were chasing 
 them. The remembrance of that pool quite haunted 
 me for a long time to come, and the desire to fish 
 in it was fanned by the tales which our host told 
 me of the wondrously large pike which were to 
 be caught there. It was strictly preserved, and 
 very seldom fished. Some time afterwards I acci- 
 dentally made the acquaintance of its owner. Wo 
 became good friends— for the possession of this 
 ]iike-pool made him seem a very pleasant fellow 
 in my eyes. I cunningly led him up to the subject 
 of fishing, and to his pike-pool ; and the end of 
 it was that he invited me to spend a short time 
 with him at his house, and to help to kUl some 
 of its large pike ; for he was an angler, only his 
 tastes ran upon salmon-fishing, and nothing pleased 
 him better than going to Norway. 
 
 A clear dry frosty night in January saw me with 
 my legs under my friend's mahogany. We were 
 
 s 
 
274 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 to fiah the mere on the morrow, and everything 
 was prepared for our sport. The gamekeeper had 
 obtained a quantity of gudgeon from a neighbour- 
 ing river, and they had been kept fresh and lively 
 in a tank sunk in the mere. Ere the coffee came 
 in I had heard many wonderful stories about the 
 immense fish that were to be caught in the mere, 
 and went to bed perfectly convinced that at last 
 I was to realise my dreams, and catch some mon- 
 ster pike ; and I slept uneasily. 
 
 We were up and about on our way to the lake. 
 It was a brilliantly bright morning — so dry and 
 frosty that the stiff north-east wind blew golden 
 clouds of dust along the roads. The sun, as he 
 climbed over the oak plantation, threw his level 
 beams across the undulating meadows, which were 
 barred with steps of deep, dark, and brilliant light 
 green, as they lay in sunlight or shadow. 
 
 We lost little time in embarking, and, selecting 
 good-sized gudgeons, we baited our spinning-tackle, 
 and proceeded to trail our baits round the mere. 
 The wavelets leaped cheerily against the side of 
 our boat, and the water-fowl swam lazily from 
 before us, or flew into the rustling reeds. The 
 sheltered comers of the bays were coated with ice ; 
 the reeds were laid and rotted by the frost ; the 
 water was just the right colour, and it seemed a 
 perfect day both for enjoyment and for sport. 
 J Our expectations were high, and it seemed as if 
 they were to be realised. In the first round we 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 275 
 
 caught six pike, but what rather astonished me was 
 that they were all under five pounds in weight. 
 When we were halfway round a second time, just 
 off the mouth of a weedy bay, my rod gave a great 
 lunge, and was nearly torn out of my hand. I 
 struck, and it was evident that I was fast in 
 mighty fish. 
 
 "Keep him away from the weeds," exclaimed 
 my companion ; "you have caught a whopper, and 
 no mistake." 
 
 There was no need for his caution to keep the 
 fish away from the weeds. The pike made straight 
 for the centre of the mere, running out my line 
 at a fearful rate. I let go the line grudgingly, for 
 I expected liim to make a dash back for the weeds, 
 when my line would be doubled-up and I should 
 lose my fish. But the pike had no such intention. 
 He went straight ahead, without pausing in his 
 steady rush, until my line, which was eighty yards 
 long, was nearly all out. I gave him the butt, 
 and held on until I thought my rod would have 
 broken, in the hope of turning him ; but he still 
 went on, and then, as my rod was stanch and my 
 line was strong, our boat began to move after the 
 pike. 
 
 "By Jove ! this is wonderful," said my friend. 
 ' ' You have hooked a leviathan. Play him steadily 
 and skiKuUy, and don't get excited." 
 
 Now that was very good advice if it could be 
 carried out ; but as the speaker was already white 
 
 4 
 
 ==/t 
 
 ^ 
 
276 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 ^ 
 
 and trembling "with excitement, and I was, if any- 
 thing, worse, his advice was not of mnch use. 
 Well, I stood in the bows of the boat, and the 
 monster towed ns with increasing swiftness right 
 acroBS the lake, which was about a quarter of a 
 mile broad at this part. When we came to the 
 weeds at the other side of the mere he turned 
 back again ; and to prevent undue strain on the 
 rod in turning the boat, I ran to the other end 
 of it, and we were towed back again in precisely 
 the same way, and at a fair three miles an hour 
 pace. Our excitement was fast turning to awe 
 when, on reaching the other side of the mere, the 
 brute turned again, and began to make a slow 
 ''^ detour of the lake, stopping every now and then 
 to sulk at the bottom, but never allowing us to 
 get back much of our line, or to catch a glimpse 
 of him. In this way two hours passed away, and 
 the case began to assume a serious aspect. 
 
 " Don't get into a funk, old man. I have seen 
 salmon take very much longer to kill ; and I have 
 heard of one being on nineteen hours at a stretch, 
 and when he was caught he was not a very big one, 
 either." 
 
 "Aye, that is all very well for a salmon, but a 
 pike does not fight so long. I saw a thirty-three 
 pounder killed in a quarter of an hour, so this 
 must be a veritable shai'k." 
 
 Well, matters went on in this way until four 
 hours had elapsed, and still we seemed no nearer 
 
 S^ 
 
 ,y 
 
 
 m 
 
 -^^ 
 
 I 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 277 
 
 to the end. Then seventy yards away there was 
 a huge "boil" at the top of the water, and the 
 strain on the rod slackened. 
 
 " Hurrah ! there he is. He is beginning to give 
 in. It will only be a short time now." 
 
 My friend was right. Little by little I wound 
 in my line, and nearer and nearer the monster 
 came. At last we could distinctly see him rushing 
 and wallowing about with widely-distended mouth, 
 in the clear water. In length he was about five 
 feet, and his weight, it is clear, must have been 
 eighty pounds. What a proud man I felt at that 
 moment ! All my hopes were on the point of being 
 realised. I drew him slowly and carefully in, and 
 my friend struck the gaff into him, and then our 
 united efforts 
 
 " Hallo ! what's that knocking for % " 
 
 " Here's your hot water, sir, and breakfast will 
 be ready in half an hour." 
 
 "Oh, murder! where is the big pike?" I ex- 
 claimed, looking about. Alas ! it was only a dream. 
 
 I had very good sport that day and the following, 
 but not ajish was over ten pounds in weight, and my 
 big pike has yet to be caught. 
 
 -^j 
 
The maxim that one half the world does not know 
 how the other half lives, may, with but slight 
 variation, be applied to the world of sportsmen. 
 The "sportsman" is not of any particular class. 
 The highest in the land and the lowest may rub 
 shoulders in the broad field of sport. This is 
 peculiarly true as regards the gentle art. Wander- 
 ing by the side of an unpreserved stream, you may 
 see my lord casting a fly over this shallow, and, 
 twenty yards farther down. Tinker Ben seated by 
 the side of a chub-hole watching his float circling 
 round in the eddy ; and as the noble passes the 
 boor an honest angler's greeting may be exchanged, 
 and a light for the latter's pipe asked for and given. 
 It may be taken as a general rule that between 
 anglers who pursue their sport by fair means there 
 is a levelling freemasonry of the craft which is as 
 pleasant as it is right. 
 
 Between the fair fisherman and the poacher there 
 is, however, a broad Une of demarcation — a Une 
 which bars the interchange of even the commonest 
 civilities on the mutual ground of pursuing the same 
 object. The fair fisherman hates the man who 
 
 rm 
 
 I 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 279 
 
 ^i^ 
 
 »»fN 
 
 Jii?.' 
 
 ^ 
 
 li' 
 
 captures the finny tribe by unfair or illegal means 
 as strongly as a fox-hunter hates a fox-killer, or a 
 strict Sabbatarian hates a sinner who enjoys a 
 Sunday afternoon's walk and the glimpses of nature 
 it may aflford him. There is also a line drawn 
 between the man who fishes for amusement alone 
 and him who fishes for profit. The division in the 
 latter instance may not be so broad as in the 
 former, but nevertheless it is wide enough to dis- 
 tinctly separate the two classes. Now we think 
 the fair and amateur angler is, in a great many 
 nstances, unaware of the shifts and dodges adopted 
 by the poacher and pot-hunter to fill their pockets, 
 and of the consequent hindrance to his own sport. 
 Therefore, by way of warning, of information, and 
 possible amusement, we have noted down a few of 
 the instances which have come under our own 
 observation. And as we do not expect any poacher 
 to read this book, our revelations will do no harm 
 by way of suggestion. 
 
 Let any one take a boat and row down the 
 sluggish Yare from the commission-haunted old 
 city of Norwich, as the shades of evening arc 
 darkening the river, and he will see several un- 
 couth, rough-looking boats being slowly impelled 
 down-stream by rougher-looking men. He will 
 notice that they have short, stout rods and long 
 poles in their boats ; and if he watches them, he 
 will presently see them take up their stations by 
 the margin of some reed-bed, or in a quiet bay of 
 
1 
 
 28o 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 <S-:, 
 
 the river. Driving the poles in the mud at the 
 stems and sterns of their boats, the men make them 
 fast, and taking their seats proceed to " bob " for 
 eels. A quantity of earthworms are strung on 
 worsted, and, after being weighted, are suspended 
 by a stout line from a short, thick rod. The soli- 
 tary fisherman holds a rod in each hand, on either 
 side of the boat, just feeling the bottom with the 
 bait, and now and then pulling it up, and shaking 
 the eels, whose teeth get entangled in the worsted, 
 into the boat. There he sits, silent and un- 
 communicative, the greater part of the night, and 
 in all weathers, for the sake, perhaps, of, on an 
 average, a shilling's worth of eels each night. 
 Altogether his berth must be a lonely one, and 
 no angler will grudge liim his sport. His com- 
 panions take up their positions too far off to hold 
 conversation with him, and the splash of a water- 
 rat among the reeds, or the flapping of the canvas 
 of a belated wherry, and the cheery good-night of 
 its steersman, are the only sounds to beguile the 
 tedium of his midnight watching. 
 
 Another mode of capturing eels is by "eel- 
 picking," in the lower waters of the Yare, near 
 Cantley. The man, armed with an eel-spear, takes 
 his stand in the bow of his craft, and, stealing 
 along by the edge of the reeds, plunges his spear 
 at random in the mud. He uses it also as 
 the means of propelling his tiny boat. We have 
 seen four or five such boats following each other 
 
 SNxk?-^^^ 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 281 
 
 along the side of the river in a queer-looking pro- 
 cession. 
 
 Those centres of interest to the angler, the Nor- 
 folk broads, are, alas ! the strongholds of poaching. 
 Norfolk anglers plead their great expanse of water 
 as an excuse for "liggering," or setting trimmers, 
 to an enormous extent. Taking Norfolk anglers 
 as a class, if they can "ligger" they will. The 
 amount of destruction thus occasioned is some- 
 thing wonderful. The only time we ever yielded 
 to the temptation of going with a friend " Hgger- 
 ing" we are thankful to say we caught nothing, 
 and we are not in a hurry to repeat the experiment. 
 Yarrell gives an account of four days' " sport "(?) 
 at Heigham Sounds and Horsea, where, in 1834, in 
 the month of March, when the pike breed, his 
 informants caught in that space of time 256 pike, 
 weigliing altogether 1135 pounds. What wonder 
 that it is now difficult to get really good sport at 
 these places with rod and line ! 
 
 One of our favourite fish, the tench, has a bad 
 habit of basking on the surface of some of these 
 broads on hot summer days, in weedy bays, where 
 he deems himself perfectly secure. But the am- 
 phibious broadsman paddles quietly up to him, 
 and actually scoops him out with his hand. You 
 may touch the fish's body with your hand, and he 
 will not move ; but if you touch his tail, he darts 
 away. 
 
 We have seen a somewhat similar thing in shallow 
 
 
282 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 pools in Shropshire. When the big carp come to 
 the side to spawn, their bodies are half out of the 
 water, and they may be approached and shovelled 
 out with a spade. 
 
 In the reeds adjoining the carp-pool we once 
 found a murderous instrument which was used by 
 a gang of sawyers at work in the adjacent wood for 
 destroying the basking carp. It consisted of a 
 large, flat piece of wood, in which werft set long 
 nails, like the teeth of a garden rake. This was 
 attached to a long pole, and woe betide the un- 
 fortunate carp upon whose back it descended ! 
 
 Grouping for trout in the shallow streams is a 
 well-known amusement of country boys ; but the 
 dastardly and cruel practice of liming a brook is 
 not now so often resorted to as it used to be. Wo 
 have seen it done in a mountain brook, when, on 
 account of our extreme youth, we were powerless 
 to prevent it ; and a schoolboy notion of honour 
 prevented our peaching. A shovelful of quick- 
 lime is taken up the brook to some shallow ford, 
 and then thrown into the water and triturated, 
 so that the stream carries it in a milk-white stream 
 downwards. In a short time the poachers follow, 
 and pick up the trout, which are floating dead on 
 the surface, or SAvimming in circles on the top of 
 the water, with scorched and blinded eyeballs. 
 The lime penetrates into every crevice of the 
 stream-bed ; and if it does not kill every trout 
 within its range, it cruelly tortures all. We still 
 
 % 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 283 
 
 remember the sickening sense of shame that crept 
 over us as, unwilling participators in the outrage, 
 we crept over the mossy ground ; when the noise 
 made by every water-ouzel that took wing, and 
 every sheep that leaped down the hillside, seemed 
 to herald the approach of a keeper, with the awful 
 penalties of the law in his train. 
 
 Diverting the course of a brook, and emptying 
 the pools of their water, and afterwards of their 
 fish, is a long operation, and therefore not so 
 frequently resorted to ; but that poaching instru- 
 ment called the two-pole net we have known to 
 clear many a nice little pool in a stream of its 
 spotted denizens. 
 
 In Cardiganshire it is the practice for men to go 
 up the streams armed with a sledge-hammer, with 
 which they strike the big stones in the brook. The 
 concussion stvms the fish, and they are easily picked 
 up afterwards. 
 
 Do our readers know what a " cleeching-net ' 
 is ? It is in efiect a magnified landing-net at the 
 end of a long pole, with the lower part of the rim 
 straight. Its use is to "grab" fish from under 
 clumps of weed and overhanging banks. We once 
 had one made for the purpose of catching bait, 
 and a ludicrous accident occurred to a friend of 
 ours who used it. He plunged it in too far from 
 the side, where the water was deeper than he 
 imagined, and the consequence was that he fell 
 forward, his feet still on the bank, and his hands 
 
284 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 iMa 
 
 
 C" "^', 
 
 resting on the top of the pole withm a foot of 
 the water, into which he gradually subsided, in 
 spite of our efforts to pull him back by the slack 
 of his trousers. 
 
 We have seen the cleeching-net used in a very 
 eflfective manner by bargees on canals. As their 
 vessel is towed along they put the net into the 
 water alongside the bows, and walk back to the 
 stern as the boat moves, so as to keep the net 
 in the same position. The rush of the water, 
 displaced by the passage of the barge, drives a 
 good many fish into the net ; and we have even 
 known fair-sized pike to be captured in this way. 
 
 Once we were cruising down the Severn, and 
 had moored our canoe under some bushes in a 
 very secluded part of the river, to take our mid- 
 day rest. Presently we saw two men in coracles 
 coming down the river. They stopped just oppo- 
 site us, aad commenced to net the river with a 
 small- meshed net. They payed the net out in a 
 semicircle, and then, beating the water with their 
 paddles, they closed, and completed the circle, and 
 with their coracles side by side hauled their net 
 in. It was a caution to see the fish they had 
 caught. Great chub of five, and one of nine 
 pounds in weight. Roach, pike, and dace — in 
 half an hour they had caught a great number. 
 They looked frightened enough when we shot out 
 from our hiding-place and examined their sport 
 and their net. 
 
 kWli 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 285 
 
 <%#^ 
 
 .% 
 
 :^ 
 
 
 Fishing for a dinner tlirough a hole in the ice, 
 will also be deemed sufficiently odd, though it is 
 said that jjarch will bite well then. 
 
 Among other odd, or at least unorthodox, ways 
 of fisliing, may be reckoned setting night-lines, 
 in which art the Norfolk yachtsmen are no mean 
 proficients, netting the smelts which crowd up the 
 Yare at certain seasons of the year, in the heart 
 of the city, and by the light of flaring torches ; — 
 netting the weedy pools in Cheshire with a flue- 
 net ; — the catching tench in hoop-nets baited with 
 a bunch of flowers or an old brass candlestick, 
 which attract the too curious fish ; — eel-bags and 
 weirs, and the large eel-nets set in the Euro 
 below Acle ; — leistering salmon and snaring pike ; 
 — snatching fish by casting a bundle of hooks 
 into the water and dragging it rapidly over the 
 fish; — the use of salmon-roe and other too deadly 
 means of compassing the destruction of the finny 
 tribe. We fancy, however, that we have said 
 enough to call to the angler's remembrance that 
 his rod and line have formidable rivals, and that 
 it behoves him to do all in his power to suppress 
 and punish illegal and unfair sport, yet, at the 
 same time, to allow sufficient liberty to all whose 
 subsistence depends upon the capture of fish. 
 
 ■m^L 
 
r 
 
 CARPE DIEM. 
 
 As one gets ever such a little older, one gets very 
 much more disinclined to take much trouble, much 
 physical trouble that is, about hobbies which once 
 were ridden to death. A few years ago it was a 
 pleasure to get up at two o'clock in the morning, 
 and have six hours' fishing before it became neces- 
 sary to get to work at Blackstone and Chitty, and 
 the endless writing of " common forms ; " now I 
 prefer keeping within the sheets until breakfast- 
 time, and leaving fishing expeditions for legi- 
 timate holidays. So that, as holidays are not 
 very frequent, and often necessarily taken up in 
 other ways, and as fishing stations are distant, and 
 not easily accessible, my hand is in danger of for- 
 getting its cixnning in wielding a fishing-rod. I 
 do not so much miss my favourite sport until, 
 in an unfortunate hour, I get hold of a book of 
 angling reminiscences, of which there are plenty, 
 and reading in its pages vivid descriptions of days 
 by the river-side, such as I used to experience 
 myself, my fancy sets to work, and, aided by 
 memory, conjures up such delightful visions that 
 at last I cannot sit still; the room — ay, and the 
 
 i 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 287 
 
 -/ 
 
 town— seem to stifle me ; and I long for a glorious 
 ramble, rod in hand, as much as I ever did. 
 
 Following close upon the perusal of such a book, 
 and the feelings awakened by it, I was pleased 
 beyond measure to find myself possessed of a few 
 days of leisure, and once more in the border-land 
 of Wales. I took care to make the most of my 
 time, and seize the opportunity of renewing my 
 acquaintance with some of those charming spots 
 with which, as an angler and a writer, I had in 
 times past identified myself. 
 
 One day I spent in tracing the wanderings of 
 the burn whence many a lusty trout had been 
 transferred to my pannier. Another afternoon I 
 set out for a carp-pool, — not the carp-pool imv 
 excellence of our boyish days, but one nearly as 
 good, where I had caught some six-pounders years 
 ago. I walked to the place — it was two miles and 
 a half away — burdened with three rods and a huge 
 bagful of worms, intent upon slaughter. I neared 
 the field ; I crossed the hedge. I stood still and 
 gazed in astonishment. I rubbed my eyes and 
 looked again. There was no pool there. I walked 
 round the field, and across the field, which was 
 strewn with clumps of rushes. A peewit had laid 
 four eggs on the very spot, as I calculated, where 
 I had hooked my biggest carp. A small boy hove 
 in sight. I seized him, and asked him where the 
 pool had gone. He answered, " Whoy, mun, it ha* 
 been drained dry these three years." I sat upon 
 
 
288 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 a gate and smoked four cigarettes ; then walked 
 home, my rods feehng twice as heavy as when I 
 came that way. 
 
 I was to be recompensed, however, for my dis- 
 appointment by a day at the carp-pool on the hill 
 at Craigyrhiw, Coed-y-gar, or Penycoed, for it 
 goes by all three names, the first being the most 
 proper. By accident I met an old friend from a 
 distance, who, when he heard where I was boinid 
 to, offered to accompany me. I was glad of his 
 companionship for more than one reason. He had 
 affected to disbelieve my accounts of the big fish 
 to be caught there, and this was an opportunity of 
 vindicating myself from the charge of exaggeration. 
 He got his rods, and we started, pausing on the 
 way to get a couple of small Melton Mowbray pies 
 for lunch. My friend, whom I shall call A. , left the 
 commissariat department to me ; and I, having 
 just had a good breakfast, did not contemplate 
 the possibihty of becoming very hungry during the 
 day, so considered we should have quite sufficient 
 to reci-uit ourselves with. Leaving the town, wo 
 passed under the beautiful avenue of limes in the \J 
 churchyard, musical with rooks and sweet with .4-! 
 spring fragrance, and so on to Oswald's Well. 
 Under a tree close by. King Oswald fell in battle, 
 and out of the ground afterward sprang water, said 
 to be endowed with healing power. The well is 
 neatly arched over with stone, and has the effigy 
 of King Oswald at the back ; but the latter offered 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 289 
 
 too good a mark for the stones of the grammar- 
 school lads to remain undefaced. Oswaldestree is 
 now corrupted into Oswestry, or more commonly, 
 among the country people, Hogestry, or Osistry. 
 Just above the well is the present battle-ground 
 where aifairs of honour among the schoolboys are, 
 or used to be, settled by an appeal to fisticuffs. 
 
 Crossing Llanvorda Park, we enter Craigvorda 
 woods, at once the most beautiful and picturesque 
 of the many similar woods on the borders. The 
 ground is mossy imderfoot, the trees meet over- 
 head, glossy green ferns pave the noble corridors, 
 which have for pillars straight and sturdy firs and 
 larch, and for a roof the heavy foliage of inter- 
 woven sycamore and oak. At intervals the chesnut 
 too lifts its gigantic nosegay of pink and white 
 and yellow flower-spikes ; and near it, out of some 
 craggy knoll, the "lady of the forest," the silver 
 birk, bends tenderly over the masses of blue 
 hyacinths below. " The shade is silent and dark 
 and green, and the boughs so thickly are twined 
 across, that little blue sky is seen between;" 
 but there is no lack of blue underfoot, for the 
 liyacinths seemed to have claimed the wood as 
 their own property, and shine like a shimmering 
 sea of blue between the tree stems, quite putting 
 out of countenance with their blaze of colour the 
 modest violet, growing by the side of the runnels 
 leaping downward to join the noisy brook. 
 
 We crossed the Morda, a purUng trout stream. 
 
 i^«-^' 
 
 "t^J- 
 
 ''V-'S'^ 
 
290 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR, 
 
 out of which you may easily basket a score of trout 
 in the spring ; up a lane, the banks of which were 
 crowded so thickly with spring flowers, starwort, 
 and other snow-white flowers, deep-blue germander 
 speedwells, red ragged-robins, and wild geraniums, 
 monkshood, daisies, dandelions, and buttercups, 
 that the green of the leaves and grasses was quite 
 absorbed and lost in the brighter hues ; up and 
 up — until our legs began to ache ; and at last we 
 came to the crest of the hill, in the hollow a few 
 feet below which lay the tarn, gloomy enough, but 
 weirdly beautiful. The water itself looked green 
 from the prevailing colour of the rushes and flags, 
 and the deep belt of green alders, which grew half 
 in and half out of it all round. 
 
 "Look," I said, "there are two herons, a 
 couple of wild-ducks, with their young brood just 
 hatched, twenty or thirty coots and water-hens, 
 and some black leaves sticking up out of the water, 
 which are the things we are after." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked A. 
 
 ' ' They are the back fins of carp." 
 
 A.'s rods — he had two, as I had — were put to- 
 gether with remarkable quickness. I took it more 
 leisurely, and watched him searching about for a 
 j)lace to cast his line in, with some amusement. 
 
 "I say, how are we to get at the water ? " he cried. 
 
 "Wade." But this he was averse to doing. He 
 found a log of wood, and pushing it out beyond 
 the bushes, where it was very shallow, he took his 
 
 ^% 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 291 
 
 stand upon it, in a very wobbly state, with a rod 
 in either hand. I took up a position a short dis- 
 tance from him, and we waited patiently for half an 
 hour without a bite. Suddenly 1 heard a splash, 
 and, looking round, saw that A. had slipped off his 
 perch, and was halfway up to his knees in water, 
 with a broken rod and a most rueful expression on 
 his face. 
 
 " I have lost such a beauty ! " 
 
 " Serves you right. You can't pitch a big carp 
 out as you could a trout. This is the way — see." 
 I struck at a decided bite, and found that I was 
 fast in a good fish, which, after a lively bit of 
 splashing and dashing about (the water was only 
 knee-deep, yet so muddy that the fish could not 
 see us), I led into a little haven or pond where 
 the inmates of a cottage in the wood came to get 
 their water, and lifted him out with my hands, a 
 tidy fish of three pounds in weight. In about a 
 quarter of an hour A.'s float moved slightly. Ho 
 was all excitement directly. He had never caught 
 anything larger than a half-pound trout. Some 
 minutes elapsed before another movement took 
 place. " He has left it," said A. 
 
 " No, he has not ; — don't mov6 ; you will get 
 him presently." 
 
 Then the float, or quill, gave a couple of dips, 
 then in a few seconds more moved off with in- 
 creasing rapidity. "Now strike." A. did so, and 
 soon landed a carp of two pounds. From that 
 
292 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 time we had steady sport throughout the day. 
 Every quarter of an hour one of u^ had a bite ; 
 and although we missed a good many through 
 striking too soon, our respective heaps of golden- 
 brown fish (very few of the carp there are at all 
 white) grew rapidly in size. 
 
 As we were coming back from a small larch tree 
 where we had found a beautifully constructed 
 golden-crested wren's nest, suspended from the 
 under side of a branch, A. suddenly clasi^ed me 
 round the middle, and gave me a very neat back- 
 throw. " Hullo ! what's that for ? " I exclaimed, 
 considerably astonished as I sat on the ground. 
 
 "Your foot was just poised over that beggar," 
 he said, pointing out to a big brown adder, which 
 was gliding away like an animated ash stick. 
 
 "Ah, thanks; there are too many of those 
 fellows here." 
 
 We had eaten the two pies, and as four o'clock 
 drew near we got mighty hungry again. 
 
 "Just hand me over another pie, old fellow. 
 Nature abhors a vacuum," said A. 
 
 "I haven't got any more," I answered. 
 
 " Not got any more ? Oh, dear." After a pause, 
 "I am hungry." In a little while longer A. 
 started off saying, "You mind my rod while I 
 am away. I am going foraging for food. I'll try 
 and catch a rabbit, and eat him alive. I've been 
 meditating upon those fish, but I don't like the 
 look of them." 
 
 4 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 293 
 
 He was gone for about half an hour, during 
 which time I had landed three fish. When he 
 came back he had the countenance of a man who 
 had dined well He said to me, 
 
 ' ' Go as straight as you can through the wood in 
 that direction, and you will come to a cottage 
 where there is plenty of hot tea, a loaf of bread, 
 and some butter awaiting you. I never dined 
 better in all my life, and I forgive you for only 
 bringing two pies." 
 
 I obeyed his directions, and the tea certainly was 
 refreshing, although I could not get any sugar 
 with it. 
 
 It was time to be going. We counted our fish. 
 I had eleven (my usual number at that pool, by the 
 way), and A. had ten, most from two to three 
 pounds each, but one or two heavier. We selected 
 the best and as many as we could conveniently 
 carry, and gave the rest to some cottagers. 
 
 From the shooting-box, which is at the top of 
 the hill, and is, by the way, in a state of dilapi- 
 dation, we had a most magnificent view, one well 
 worth the walk to see. It was a view which em- 
 braced Shropshire, Cheshire, Montgomeryshire, 
 Denbighshire, and Merionethshire. In the vividly 
 green valley below us the little vUlage of Llansilin 
 slumbered, scarcely noticeable were it not for the 
 dark and massy yew-trees in its churchyard. 
 
 From the rocks farther on we saw a pretty sight. 
 A fox was standing on a stone, and on a sloping 
 
 
 
 -^^^ 
 
294 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 ^\ 
 
 slab beneath her live cubs were sprawling and gam- 
 bolling about like a lot of Newfoundland puppies. 
 Presently the vixen trotted off a little way and 
 lay down ; and while we were watching her, a 
 rabbit popped out of his burrow, and came several 
 yards towards Reynard without seeing her. With 
 one bound fox was upon bunny, and the pair rolled 
 over and over down the hill. The captor then 
 slunk off with her captive, — not to her young ones, 
 but to a quiet hole in the cliff, to have a gorge all 
 by her greedy self. 
 
 In a hollow tree in the cliff we found three jack- 
 daws' nests, each with four eggs in ; and we were 
 amused at watching a woodpecker tapping away at 
 a tree. The noise produced was like that made 
 by drawing a stick very rapidly over some wooden 
 palings, and quite as loud, or even more like a 
 watchman's rattle worked rather slowly. A curious 
 spectacle was presented in the lane on going .home. 
 It was a warm, damp night, and every dozen yards 
 or so a glowworm exhibited its eerie light, and 
 each successive one seemed to shine more whitely 
 and brightly than the last. 
 
 The day was done, its pleasure seized, and— no, 
 not gone, for a pleasant memory remains where- 
 with to delight myself, and perchance please my 
 friends, among whom I would fain number all 
 angling readers. 
 
 % 
 
 ^^ 
 
 '^. 
 
/ r-:-7 
 
 A SEPTEMBER DAY. 
 
 Your true pike-fisher— the man who makes pike- 
 fisliing his hobby — cares but little for fishing 
 during spring and summer. Trout-fishing ensnares 
 him not. Eoach and gudgeon have no charms for 
 him, unless he catches a quantity to preserve in 
 spirits of wine, to do duty as spinning baits on cold 
 winter days when baits are not to be had. But 
 when the hot harvest days are passed by, and as 
 September wanes, as the nights grow colder, and 
 even the midday air has a touch of keenness in 
 it, then does the fever seize him, and henceforth 
 during the autumn and winter there is no peace 
 for him save at the waterside, with his trusty pike 
 rod in his hand, and a prospect at least of having 
 two or three good-sized pike to carry home. 
 
 And about the 15th of September he hath an 
 opening day, and he goeth, not to a grand preserve, 
 but to a small but pikey stream which floweth 
 through the meadows. It is just to see that his 
 rod and tackle are in order, and that he has not 
 lost the knack of casting a bait. This is the record 
 thereof. 
 
 Is it any harm, I wonder, to look at one's rod on 
 
 l^ 
 
296 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 *> 4 
 
 a Sunday? There is such a temptation to do it. 
 One sits in one's snuggery in the afternoon ; a 
 favourite rod lies on a bracket close by. Is it 
 warped? one wonders, after its long rest. What 
 more natural than to put it together ; and if the 
 study is not large enough for its length, to push 
 it out of the window and try its spring? And 
 if people are passing on their way from afternoon 
 church, is there any i^articular reason why they 1^ 
 should look so extremely shocked ? If it is wrong, \ \ 
 then I am afraid the pike-tisher sinneth occasionally 
 as September goes on. 
 
 At seven in the morning he steps out of his 
 house and rings the gardener's bell. The gardener 
 comes, and is laden with a casting-net and a 
 bucket. 
 
 *' A fine morning, sir." 
 
 ' ' Yes, John. We ought to get some to-day. 
 The wind blows cool and the sky is cloudy. Bring 
 the garden rake with you." And they walk down 
 to the canal, where John rakes the bottom vigo- 
 rously, until it is muddy for several yards around. 
 The master waits a few minutes, and leisurely 
 adjusts the casting-net ready for a cast ; and then, 
 when he deems that there are sufiicient gudgeons 
 assembled on the muddy spot on the search for 
 food, he swings the net ; one, two, three, and the 
 net flows evenly off his arm, and falls in a perfect 
 circle on the water. He leisurely draws it in ; and 
 when John spreads out the tuck, they find twelve 
 
 ,\n 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 297 
 
 f^t^ 
 
 .fTJ. 
 
 gudgeons and two roach in its folds. These are 
 duly transferred to the bucket, as are also half a 
 dozen gudgeons secured by a second cast. Then 
 the master goes home to breakfast, while John kills 
 the bait and wraps them in a cloth, rolling them up 
 in the same manner as one sees a dentist's or 
 surgeon's tools rolled iip sometimes in a leather 
 case, and so that only one bait at a time is exposed, 
 when required, and they are kept from rubbing 
 against each other. 
 
 About ten o'clock master and man are at the side 
 of a small river which flows with sinuous course 
 through rich meadows and yellow stubbles, forming 
 here a long shallow, about a foot or two feet deep, 
 with a smooth current sliding over waving weeds, 
 and there a wide pool where the water moves very 
 slowly in a large eddy, and washes lazily about the 
 roots of tall flags and clumps of rushes. 
 
 He puts his rod together, and as the weeds arc 
 aomewhat too thick as yet for comfortable spinning, 
 he baits a gorge-hook and makes a cast from the 
 reel, and the bait descends head-foremost into a 
 deep pool close by a patch of lily leaves. 
 
 The master's tackle is somewhat peculiar, for he 
 has his fancies, as all true anglers have. He has 
 a Nottingham reel of a great diameter, and yet 
 he has a dressed line such as is not used in the 
 Nottingham style of fishing. The master says that 
 even with a dressed line he can throw a long way 
 off the reel if he so desires ; and where the ground 
 
298 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 is scrubby that is a great advantage, as he is not 
 bothered by the line catching in the thistles and 
 grass. Then if he desires change, there is a thick 
 india-rubber ring on the butt of the rod, and this 
 he slips down to the reel, so that it catches the 
 circumference and acts as a brake, transforming 
 the reel instantly into an excellent check one. 
 Then he fishes with the line in coils at the feet, 
 or gathered in ringlets in his left hand, although 
 the latter method is open to the objection that 
 both hands are engaged, which is occasionally 
 awkward. 
 
 The bait is drawn to the top of the water, and 
 then shoots erratically downward until every inch 
 of the pool has been systematically fished. In the 
 next pool the master feels a slight check to the 
 line. Is it a fish or a weed ? There is a tremulous 
 motion of the rod, and a slight movement of the 
 line through the rings. It must be a fish ; and the 
 master lowers the point of his rod, and suffers 
 the line to be drawn out without a check, and the 
 fish shall have ten good minutes to gorge. (Don't 
 those ten minutes always seem to be half an hour 
 at the least ?) The fish is uneasy. It moves about 
 a yard or two at a time. The master is in doubt 
 whether the bait has been pouched or not ; never- 
 theless his patience cannot last more than ten 
 minutes, so he tightens his line. The pike is on, 
 and fights well, although it is only a small one — 
 say three pounds in weight. It is conquered, and 
 
 ^^^^^^r- 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIK^. 
 
 299 
 
 is drawn in to the side, when — lo ! the bait comes 
 out of the water with a jerk, and the pike is free. 
 
 " Ah, I thought that fellow had not pouched. 
 He was simply holding on. The bait is not much 
 torn, so here it goes on again. He will probably 
 run at it again. Ah, there he is, and he has got 
 it between his great jaws." 
 
 At the bottom of the pool, which is not very 
 deep, you can see two small gleaming objects. 
 They are the head and the tail of the gudgeon. 
 Its middle part is in the pike's mouth ; and with 
 those white specks as a starting-point you can trace 
 the long body of the jack, which would otherwise 
 be invisible. The master gives the jack ten more 
 minutes, and still it has not swallowed the bait. 
 He loses patience at this, and says, 
 
 "We cannot waste all the morning with this 
 little fellow, John, so I will try and swing him 
 out." 
 
 So he gently draws the pike down-stream, and 
 within a foot of a low grassy bank, and then with 
 a mighty heave he tries to jerk the fish out by the 
 hold of its back-bent teeth upon the bait. 
 
 There is a sharp struggle on the top of the water, 
 and the pike escapes. 
 
 The master smiles grimly as he proceeds to 
 change his tackle to a spinning flight, for he wUl 
 not be played with again. 
 
 Twenty yai'ds lower down he has another run, 
 and, striking hard, he finds that he has hooked 
 
 ^ 
 
 W> 
 
300 
 
 THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 a fish of six or seven pounds, which gives him a 
 decent amount of play before John lifts it out with 
 the landing net. 
 
 So he goes on doHvn the river, getting a run here 
 and there as the day wears on, missing some and 
 basketing some. 
 
 A cool west wind sweeps the first of the dying 
 leaves off the trees, and carries to him the sound 
 of his friends' shooting in the stubbles ; the water- 
 hens *rustle in the reeds, and fly out with a great 
 splutter ; a weasel, following a rabbit, crosses his 
 path, and when John shies a stone at it, coolly 
 stops as if to ask, ' ' What do you mean by that, 
 you impertinent fellow \ " and disturbed coveys 
 of partridges whirr over his head. The sky is 
 covered with opaline clouds, and long rays of misty 
 sunshine stream down here and there. As he 
 pushes through a coppice, he stops to gather a 
 pocketful of nuts, and stains his fingers with the 
 blackberries. Presently master and man sit down 
 on a fallen tree, and eat their lunch with an ex- 
 cellent appetite. 
 
 When lunch and a pipe are finished, he puts on 
 a fresh bait, and spins it across a likely pool. 
 There is a swirl in the water, and as he strikes 
 he feels that he has hooked a good fish. After 
 a few minutes' play, it comes near to the surface, 
 and, to his astonishment, full seven feet behind 
 where the taut line is cutting the water, he sees 
 its tail above the water. A pike seven feet long ! — 
 
THE ANGLE-RS SOUVENIR. 
 
 \oi 
 
 fj -f 
 
 -^ 
 
 impossible ! Yet there is the head and there is the 
 tail. Who shall say what visions cross his brain 
 at that exulting moment ! But a shaft uf sunlight 
 strikes the water, and renders it more transparent, 
 and lo ! the mystery is solved. There are two pike 
 of equal size. One is hooked, and the other is 
 following close in his wake as he swims about the 
 pool, — whether from wonder, affection, concern, or 
 the possible chance of a meal oif a sick fish, one 
 cannot say. Presently, how^ever, he catches sight 
 of John's extended net, and is off" like a shot, while 
 the hooked fish is landed, and promises to turn the 
 acale at seven pounds. 
 
 And now they come to a little pool apart from 
 the river, but communicating with it by a narrow 
 channel. The pool is completely surrounded by a 
 tall and thick rampart of reeds, over which it is 
 certainly possible to cast, but which would effectu- 
 ally prevent the return of any spinning flight. It 
 looks such a pikey place, however, that the master 
 is determined to try it ; so he puts on a gorge- 
 bait, which can be forcibly dragged back through 
 the reeds without much difficulty. 
 
 At the third throw the bait is seized with such a 
 rush that the rod is nearly jerked out of the troller's 
 hand. 
 
 " That is a big fish, John.' 
 
 " It is, sir ; but I think you will not get it out." 
 
 After a considerable time, and much careful play, 
 the pike is tired out, and lies on its side at the 
 
 ^^ 
 
 i^fr» 
 
302 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 edge of the reeds, held there by main force. It 
 must weigh ten pounds at the least. Not an inch 
 further can it be dragged. John takes oft" his shoes 
 and stockings, and attempts to wade to it ; but as 
 he plunges up to his waist in soft mud, and has to 
 be helped out by his master, he is of no use in 
 landing the pike. At last, fearful of straining his 
 rod, the master takes hold of the line, and attempts 
 to lead the tish through the reeds, fervently hoping 
 that his tackle is sound and the hold of the hooks 
 secure. Wallop ! the gimp parts at the loop, and the 
 pike sinks back into the pool. 
 
 * ' Never mind, John. We will have him in the 
 winter, when the weeds are down. We have done 
 pretty well, and we may be satisfied. Turn them 
 out on the grass. Eight of them, I declare, from 
 two to seven pounds. They will be as much as you 
 can carry home, John." 
 
 So they go homeward through the autumn gloam- 
 ing, slowly but well content. 
 
 This is fair and quite sufficient sport. A friend 
 of mine, during one day's live-baiting in a Norfolk 
 river, caught fourteen pike, from seven to fourteen 
 pounds in weight, with his own rod. 
 
 I should not care for such sport as that. It is 
 butchery. Well, perhaps, as you say, the grapes arc 
 sour. 
 
 A friend of mine has just told me that he once 
 had a big pike on in a similarly awkward position, 
 with a fringe of bushes between him and the pike. 
 
 /- 
 
 M:^^^ 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 He tired it out, and then strung it up to a branch 
 while he went and got a gun, and, crossing the 
 river, shot the pike from the other side. It was a 
 cute idea certainly, but rather rough on the pike, 
 who had a right to complain of being taken in the 
 flank in such a way. 
 
 303 
 
A CRITIC for whom I am comi^elled to profess very 
 great reverence, particularly as she is good enough 
 to help me very considerably with the correction of 
 proofs, that most abominable of necessities, some- 
 times says to me, " These articles of yours always 
 describe such excellent sport and such big fish. 
 Now I never see you get one or the other." To 
 which I reply, " Before I married you, my pearl of 
 women, I used to have very good luck indeed ; but 
 since that to me most happy event I have the most 
 d — well, no — the very worst luck imaginable in 
 fishing, just as I have at cards or any game of 
 chance." Then I am snubbed with the reply, 
 "That is all nonsense. There is no such thing 
 as luck. It is your lack of skill in both cases." 
 
 Now I have a considerable amount of patience, 
 and experience ought to have given me some little 
 skill, yet I must say that I have been most awfully 
 unlucky of late, and I am ready to grumble to any 
 extent, and to humble myself, and gratify niy critic, 
 by detailing some of my blank days. 
 
 Now every angler expects to meet with blank 
 days now and again, when wind and weather have 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 305 
 
 
 been against him ; but I have had some fiendishly 
 blank days of late ; and if I struck the average 
 between my expenses and the number of fish I 
 have caught, the average cost of each fish would 
 be something startling. 
 
 When 1877 just poked its nose into this wicked 
 world, I went all the way to Shropshire from 
 Northumberland, for two days' pike-fishing in the 
 meres where formerly I had taken many a good 
 fish. The first day we started for Colemere. It 
 was a fine day, with a good breeze. We had 
 plenty of lively young carp for bait, and we 
 started in good time for a nine -miles drive. The 
 first thing we found out was that our steed much 
 preferred walking to trotting. He walked up the 
 banks, and he walked down them, and he walked 
 a long way along the levels to assure himself that 
 tJiey really were levels before he ventured to trot. 
 Persuasion was of no use, and our whip broke. 
 Then, in a sudden burst of activity, he smashed 
 one of the traces, and we had to mend it with 
 string. Then we lost our way in the endeavour 
 to find the keeper's cottage ; and, finally, it was 
 midday ere we were afloat on the mere. 
 
 The keeper rowed us around, and we found that 
 the pike were on the run. Before we were halfway 
 round we had had five pike on, and lost them all, — 
 in exactly the same way too. We struck hard, 
 played each a considerable time, and then when it 
 was drawn in sight we saw that its mouth was shivt, 
 
 V 
 
 
 ^^.=5 
 
3o6 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 with the bait across it — a sure sign that it was not 
 hooked. Then as the gaff was outstretched, it 
 opened its mouth, gave a wriggle, and was off. The 
 reader will say that we did not strike hard enough. 
 Now I had a powerful rod and a strong line, and 1 
 struck as hard as I could — particularly after one 
 or two misses. I struck and held on, quite regard- 
 less of the state of the tackle ; but still it was no 
 good. Those five fish escaped, and so did many 
 more in exactly the same way. I was using Pennell's 
 tackle ; it was a suitable size for the baits ; and the 
 hooks were fairly shari?. In two hours we missed 
 twelve fish, and then a small one was caught by my 
 brother, and that without any striking at all, for 
 his top had given. One fair-sized pike which my 
 brother played for some time, and then lost, still 
 followed the bait ; and while I examined it to see 
 if it had sustained damage, the pike came within 
 a yard of the boat, waiting for the bait, with its 
 eyes glaring and fins quivering. I tried to throw 
 it to him, but the hooks caught in my sleeve, and 
 after a vain attempt to free them, I seized the gaff 
 and made a lunge at the pike, but missed him, and 
 we saw him no more. 
 
 In desperation I tried live-bait, which I strongly 
 object to, but the fish went suddenly oflf the feed, 
 and we caught nothing. 
 
 The next day we went to Whitemere, and there 
 it was the "same old game." We only caught 
 two where we should have caught many more. I 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 307 
 
 H 
 
 ^V 
 
 had only Pennell's tackle with me, but I made up 
 my mind never to use it again. 
 
 Shortly after that, witli a tackle of my own 
 making, I killed three nice fish in a three-quarters 
 of an hour's fishing which I snatched before it got 
 dark ; and believing in the eflicacy of my tackle, I 
 did not strike ruinously hard. The tackle I used 
 is, I believe, not new, although I thought it was 
 when I made it. It consists of a piece of copper 
 wire with two triangles on one side, and one on the 
 other, and a sliding lip-hook. The wire is thrust 
 down under the bait, and the bending it to any 
 desired curve gives the spinning. I was much 
 taken with the idea of "one large flying triangle " 
 afc first, but I have come back to a greater number 
 of smaller triangles, the hooks of which are kept 
 very sharp. 
 
 Last summer I arranged for a fortnight's fishing 
 for trout, carp, and pike, having leave for preserved 
 waters for every day, with keepers in attendance 
 to show the best spots, plenty of good bait, and 
 apparently good weather. The first day we tried 
 for pike, and caught none. Then we had a spell of 
 trout-fishing, and caught very few. Then another 
 day's pike-fishing, and caught none. Then we had 
 a day's pike-fishing in a lake which was full of pike, 
 and where I expected to catch at least twenty 
 between the two of us. The keeper showed us 
 the best water, and we spun, trolled, and live-baited 
 all the morning, and saw but one fish, and that 
 
 
 X 
 
3o8 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 made a rush at the bait when it was dangling close 
 by the side of the boat, and with the rod in an 
 upright position. Taken at such a disadvantage, 
 the rod snapped just below the top ferule, and the 
 pike got away. We walked two miles along a 
 dusty road and under a hot sun, and got the wood 
 taken out of the ferule and the rod roughly re- 
 paired at the village blacksmith's. Then, as the 
 breeze had fallen, and it was plaguey hot, we did 
 not go back to our fishing until the cool of the 
 evening, and then we fished untU dusk without 
 seeing any further signs of fish. This was the 
 last straw that fairly broke my back. I was dis- 
 gusted with fishing, and vowed that I never would 
 fish again. I abandoned all my 'leaves' for the next 
 week in disgust, and spent the time in grumbling 
 at my ill-luck. 
 
 A few days ago, having procured a new rod, I 
 was anxious to try it, so I went to a preserved 
 lake, and what especial form do you think my ill- 
 luck took this time ? Why, the fish were dead 
 and djdng by thousands, the result apparently of 
 poisoning by some scoundrelly poacher. I left 
 there, and walked four miles to a pond where there 
 were a goodly number of jack, and found it so 
 overgrown with weeds that it was unfishable even 
 with a gorge-bait. Then I went to the river, and 
 found it so heavy in spate that it was useless to 
 try in it. 
 
 The above are but specimens of my blank days 
 
 
THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 309 
 
 this year. I am living in hope that the tide of 
 hick will take a turn for the better. 
 
 A friend of mine met an angler the other day, 
 and asked him, 
 
 "What sport?" 
 
 ' ' Oh, splendid sport. " 
 
 " How many have you caught ? " 
 
 " Oh, I haven't caught any." 
 
 That fisherman was a philospher. Neither I nor 
 any true angler would grumble at an occasional 
 blank day ; but when it comes to a continuous run 
 of blank days, the angler is justified in tearing his 
 hair, and asking himself the reason why he was 
 bom. 
 
 Yet " hope springs eternal in the human breast,' 
 and now and then come " red-letter days " which 
 will bear describing and thinking over again and 
 again, one of which will make up for many blank 
 days. Perchance some still evening, when the 
 sunset is dying in the west, and the placid river 
 flows on monotonously, I shall catch the big fish 
 which is ever in my dreams. 
 
 But whether I am successful or unsuccessful, 
 shall maintain that there is no recreation like 
 angling. 
 
 " Some youthful gallant here perhaps will say, 
 
 This is DO pastime for a gentleman, 
 It were more fit at cards and dice to play, 
 To use both fence and dancing now and then, 
 
3IO 
 
 . THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 
 
 Or walk the streets in nice and strange array. 
 Or with coy phrases court his mistris' fan ; 
 A poor dehght, with toyl and painfull watch, 
 With losse of time a silly fish to catch. 
 
 Let them that list these pastimes then pursue, 
 And on their pleasing fancies feed their fill ; 
 So I the fields and meadows green may view, 
 And by the rivers clear may walke at will, 
 Among the daisies and the violets blew, 
 Red hyacinth, and yellow daffodill, 
 
 Purple narcissus like the morning rayes, 
 Pale gandergras, and azure culverkayes. 
 
 I count it better pleasure to behold 
 
 The goodly compasse of the lofty skie, 
 And in the midst thereof, like burning gold. 
 
 The flaming chariot of the world's great eye ; 
 The wat'ry clouds that in the ayre uprolled 
 With sundry kinds of painted colours flie ; 
 And faire Aurora lifting up her head. 
 All blushing rise from old Tithonous' bed. 
 
 The lofty woods, the forrests wide and long. 
 Adorned with leaves and branches fresh and green, 
 
 In whose cool bow'rs the birds with chaunting song 
 Do welcome with their quire the Summer's Queen. 
 
 All these, and many more, of His creation 
 That made the Heavens, the angler oft doth see ; 
 
 And takes therein no little delectation 
 
 To thmk how strange and M'onderfuU they bee. 
 
THE ANGLERS SOUVENIR. 
 
 311 
 
 Framing thereof an inward contemplation, 
 To set his thoughts on other fancies free ; 
 And whQst he looks on these with joyfull eye, 
 His mind is wrapt above the starry skie." 
 
 Thus singeth John Dennys, Esquire, in his 
 '' Secrets of Angling." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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