A FLY FISHER'S O have been an ardent fisherman all one's life, to have arrived at a respectable age, and never to have thrown a fly, may appear paradoxical, but it was my case until the beginning of last year. Having set up my tent in Devonshire, where every one is a brother of the angle, I felt bound to make an effort, and though it cost me a pang, as it would have done any well-disposed Cockney, to lay aside my spinning rods, my Nottingham reels, barbel tackle, and the rest, I was determined to attempt the science, and I am not ashamed to own that I have attained a tolerable proficiency for a novice. I have succeeded in getting my flies neatly on the water when I have the wind in my favour without the collar forming itself like that of the Lord Mayor into a SS, which it invariably did at first, to my great consternation and that of the trout; and I can bring witnesses to prove that I have caught fish-not many, but still undoubted fish. The first I caught I thought was a flying one, for on withdrawing my line sharply for another cast, to my great astonishment there was a small trout at the end of the line, which to my unpractised eye perched on a tree behind me "Piscium et summâ genus hæsit ulmo "— and as I thought began singing. This amiable insanity, however, was caused by the wind whistling through the taut line; and the trout and a bran-new collar remain there no doubt to this day, for the inspection of the curious. The only drawback to my perfect happiness in pursuing the art is, that I have not yet quite made up my mind what the difference is between the trout and the salmon fry, and as the latter rise more eagerly, and there is a heavy fine if you take them, it might prove as expensive an amusement as being a shareholder in the Anglo-Alsatian Bank if at the end of the day you had filled your basket and a keeper were to make a call of a pound per fish. But what a charming sport it is! And, indeed, it ought to be, for it costs an infinity of trouble and patience to learn. Soon after I began, I found I was not so young as I had been, and longed for a new set of muscles. How it made my back ache, and my hand shake in such a way that an old aunt from whom I had expectations, and to whom I had written on her birthday, actually wrote to my wife to say she supposed I had taken to drinking, so eccentric was the formation of the letters. I trust, however, my explanation proved satisfactory, and arrived before she had added a codicil. These old women alter their wills on the slightest provocation, real or imaginary, and then if a reconciliation be effected, or the mistake discovered, they are too lazy to alter it again and you find yourself disinherited by a tom-cat or a poodle. But when you throw well enough to be careless of criticism, then indeed "Other joys are but toys." The first two or three times I went out I was as afraid of being seen as if I was about to commit murder, and skulked behind bushes and trees, that my awkwardness might escape detection. If I suddenly came across a brother of the craft and couldn't get out of his way, I immediately pretended that luncheon time had arrived, stuck my rod into the ground, sat down and opened my haversack, and glared at the intruder with an expression as who should say, "Don't disturb a man at his victuals." My diplomatic efforts to conceal my ignorance were worthy of Talleyrand. A kind old gentleman came up to me one day and inspected the flies I was using-(how I hated him!) “I think, sir, in this water, you will find the red spinner and blue upright more killing than those flies you have on." "Ah, I thought so. (Heaven forgive me, I hadn't the remotest idea of what he was talking about. Fortunately it was the beginning of the season.) I only found yesterday I was out of them, and till I get a fresh supply I must manage as I can.” "Permit me to offer you two of mine, and to show you a neater way of putting them on. Your system of loops is, pardon me, rather clumsy. There, you see, it is very simple, and, as I said, much neater." I thanked him, of course, but I'm afraid I was not then grateful. And here be it remarked that the courtesy of the humble fly fisher is superior to that of the bottom fisher. I was fishing a stream I had never fished before, and, not knowing the best places, hadn't risen a fish. To me there approached one of the strangest figures I ever It was a very old man, shambling along with apparent difficulty. He wore a long coat, from which, I should think, every piece of the original cloth had long since departed, so patched was it with bits of many colours secured in a very rough way with packthread. His breeches were in much the same state, and his gaiters were stained with the mud and dirt of a hundred years. His old weather-beaten face, set in a frame of grey hair, beard, and whisker, would not have been wanting in dignity were it not for the poor blear eyes, from which "the big round tears coursed one another down his innocent nose"-not of grief, I trow, but of the gin for which Plymouth is famous. Round his neck was suspended a canvas bag to hold his fish, and a whip-like rod was in his hand, spliced in almost as many places as his coat was patched. What a capital rod it was when I handled it later. He had a disreputable-looking dog by his side, and as I saw the two together, I could not help thinking of that charming poem "The Vagabond," and of the old drunkard's description of his dog Roger "But he sticks by, through thick and thin; And this old coat with its empty pockets, And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets." Ah, I thought to myself, I'll bet that old fellow's a regular otter, and can catch more trout in a week than I can in a year; I'll see if I can't get a rise out of him if I can't out of the fish. "I say, old gentleman, is this water preserved ?" "Nawt as I knaws on, zur,"—in the purest Devonshire dialect; and he then proceeded to give me for five minutes what, no doubt, was valuable information, but entirely useless as it was unintelligible. With great volubility he attacked his favourite subject in words which all appeared to rhyme with the French u, gnaw, and her. When he had quite done I offered him hospitality in the shape of a sandwich, and a cup of brandy and water, of which refreshment he graciously condescended to partake. He asked me if I had had any sport. "No," I said, at which he wagged his head doubtfully and examined my flies. "They be right oons," he said patronisingly; "nawt better;" and then he said he would take me to a part of the river where I should get them in the "glimmer ;" but they wouldn't feed well to-day-he'd only got a dozen the last hour or so (I had been at it for four hours with no results); however, he'd show me where the place was where I should get a brace or two; and so he did, and as he said, in the evening I basketed several nice fish. Now, let a stranger go to any part of the Thames, for instance, and address a chance piscator on the banks as to a likely spot at which to commence operations—he will in all probability get a surly answer. And this jealousy for favourite pitches and swims extends itself to many of the puntsmen, who think they have a vested right in them. I remember one of these gentry proposing to come ashore with his boatful of Cockneys, and to punch my 'ed because I had taken up a position which he averred was his'n," and declined to move. But in those days I had not long left Oxford, and by doing the retiarius business with my landing net and butt end of the rod with the spike in it, was a match for all of them; so nothing came of it. I have observed there is one peculiarity which attaches itself to both branches of the art in all parts of the world. On whatever day you seek the river-side it is certain to be the one you ought to have avoided. The water is too high or too low, too thick or too fine; the sky too bright or too cloudy; the wind is in the east and it is no use trying, or it isn't and the east wind is always the best; or you should have been here last Wednesday when, my eye, didn't the Cap'en give them a turn; or if you could only stay over to-morrow (there be a nice little inn, better nor a mile from here, where my missus will make you very comfortable); or, I never knew 'em take when there was a full moon, or when it was in apogee or perigee, whatever that may be; or the glass is rising and they'd take the minnow freelywhen of course you haven't got one with you; or it's falling, and a nice red worm on the great Blogg flight would be deadly-you can get them at his place at Crankton, which is eighty-three miles off, and there's been no rain for six weeks; or you've got a white wide-awake on which frightens the fish, or a black one, and they can see you more plainly que sçais je ! All these and many more ridiculous reasons I have heard given for want of success. My idea is that fish are pretty much like human beings, and will take a dainty bait when put before them properly when they are not hungry, as a flabby worm or badlydressed fly will not tempt them when they are. Expertis credite. My companion and I returned one evening from a stream on Dartmoor, where the bracing air had begotten an appetite which would have made one's grandmother a welcome piece of resistance if served with a suitable sauce, and lo! at the hostelry where we put up, and which had reminded me outwardly of the inn at Terracina, though inwardly I am bound to say that as regards cleanliness it was irreproachable (would that, like those happy brigands, we could have discovered a charming Zerlina undressed and singing before her glass "Voilà pour une servante Une taille qui n'est pas mal," but, alas! the figures of Devonshire lasses are, like their feet, flat and broad, though their faces are charming), a bull which evidently had gamboled but the day before provided the steak our teeth refused to gnaw. In addition it had been fried in a greasy pan, (oh! how I minded me of thy steaks, O Gilbey! of the Woolpack Tavern, in St. Peter's Alley, Cornhill), and we had to rough it off "blue vinny," the cheese of the country, compared with which strachino is an elegant perfume, and the goat's cheese of Sicily a delicacy. And this brings me to the very important question of what is a good thing to take out with you for luncheon, portable, and at the same time toothsome. Will Lady Clutterbuck or Crefydd devote their great minds to the question? Fly fishing is pretty hard work if you stick to it, and engenders desires which the odious and insipid sandwich is incapable of gratifying. I proposed to make the experiment the other day with the debris of an hesternal duck, but it did not come off-at least not under my own personal experience, for my abovementioned friend approved of it so highly that he ate the greater part of it himself, and as compensation kindly handed over to me his sandwiches. After which, on our return home to St. Crabbe's he had the baseness to endeavour to hold me up to ridicule for being particular as to my victuals. Nevertheless, I remark that these gentlemen avail themselves very freely of the contents of my flask and haversack if I have anything which hits their taste. My friend the gallant De Boots (who is the worthy Mentor of an unworthy pupil) met me on one of our fishing excursions, at a spot previously agreed upon, for the purpose of luncheon. It happened that we had both brought cold lamb with us. After a while, De Boots in a very gruff voice exclaimed, "Confound it all, this is very insipid. I wish I'd brought some salt with me." "Here you are," I said, and handed him over that delicacy, wrapped up in a small paper like the powder of early childhood. "Perhaps you would like a capsicum?" And that vegetable was produced from a phial which had formerly contained a Haust-Sum. Capital, capital!" said De Boots. "What a fellow to think of these things! But now really, 'pon my soul now, don't do that-it's too much; do take a little water with it; you'll hurt yourself, you will indeed." 66 I was only eating my lamb in a musing way, and taking alternate sips at a flask. "What's the matter, and what am I to take a little water with ?" "Why, my dear fellow, hang it all (he always interlards his conversation with these harmless oaths), raw spirits this time of day must be injurious." "Spirits! it ain't spirits," I remarked, indignantly and inelegantly. "Well, confound it all, what is it then ?" |