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Discovering Diverse Content Through
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over the eggs. The uniform supply of air to the fœtus in the egg is
essential for its life and growth, and such eggs as are not supplied
with water saturated with air are unproductive. The experimenter
must be guided exactly by the instinct of the parent fishes, who take
care to deposit the impregnated eggs, that are to produce their
offspring, only in sources continually abounding in fresh and aerated
water.
Phys.—But as every species of fish has a particular and usually
different time for spawning, I do not see how it could be contrived to
cross their breeds, or how the ova of a trout, which spawns in
December, could be impregnated by the seminal fluid of the grayling,
which spawns in May; for I conclude it would be impossible to
preserve the eggs of a fish out of the body in a state in which they
could retain or recover their vitality.
Hal.—I believe I mentioned before, that I had found instances, in
which the ova of fish were developed at a different period from their
natural one; and I have no doubt, that a little inquiry respecting the
habits of fishes would enable us to acquire a knowledge of the
circumstances, which either hasten or retard their maturity. Plenty of
food and a genial season hasten the period of their reproduction,
which is delayed by want of proper nourishment, and by
unfavourable weather. Males and females likewise, confined from
each other, have their generative powers impeded; and trout,
grayling, and salmon, will not deposit their ova except in running
water; so that by keeping them in tanks, the period of their maturity
might be considerably altered. I have seen char even, which had
been kept in confined water from September till July; and so slow
had been the progress of the ova, that they appeared to be about
this time fit for exclusion, though, in the natural course of things,
they would have been ripe in the end of October of the year before.
By attending to and controlling all these circumstances, I have no
doubt many interesting experiments might be made, as to the
possibility of modifying the varieties of the salmo, by impregnating
the ova of one species with the seminal fluid of another. With fishes
of other genera the task would be still more easy. Carp, perch, and
pike, deposit their ova in still water in spring and summer, when it is
supplied with air by the growth of vegetables: and it is to the leaves
of plants, which afford a continual supply of oxygen to the water,
that the impregnated eggs usually adhere; so that researches of this
kind might be conducted within doors in close vessels, filled with
plants, exposed to the sun. I have myself kept minnows and
sticklebacks alive for many months in the same confined quantity of
water, containing a few confervæ; and their ova and melt increased
in the same manner, as if they had been in their natural situation.
Orn.—I conclude from your statements, Halieus, that nothing
more is required for the production of fishes from impregnated eggs,
than a constant supply of water of a certain temperature furnished
with air; and of course the same principles will apply to fishes of the
sea.
Hal.—There can be no doubt of it: and fishes in spawning time
always approach great shallows, or shores covered with weeds, that,
in the process of their growth, under the influence of the sunshine,
constantly supply pure air to the water in contact with them.
Poiet.—In every thing belonging to the economy of nature, I find
new reasons for wondering at the designs of Providence,—at the
infinite intelligence by which so many complicated effects are
produced by the most simple causes. The precipitation of water from
the atmosphere, its rapid motion in rivers, and its falls in cataracts,
not only preserve this element pure, but give it its vitality, and
render it subservient even to the embryo life of the fish; and the
storms which agitate the ocean, and mingle it with the atmosphere,
supply at once food to marine plants, and afford a principle of life to
the fishes which inhabit its depths. So that the perturbation and
motion of the winds and waves possess a use, and ought to impress
us with a beauty higher and more delightful even than that of the
peaceful and glorious calm.
 THIRD DAY.

HALIEUS—POIETES—ORNITHER—PHYSICUS.

SCENE—DENHAM.

Morning.
Hal.—You will soon take your leave, gentlemen, of this agreeable
villa, but we must catch at least two brace of trout, to carry with us
to London as a present for two worthy patrons of the angle. For
though I know our liberal host will have a basket of fish packed up
for each of our party, yet fish taken this morning will be imagined a
more acceptable present than those caught yesterday. The May-fly is
already upon the water, though not in great quantity, and it will
consequently be more easy to catch the fish, which I see are rising
with great activity. I advise you to go to the deep water below,
where you will find the largest fish, and I will soon follow you.
Poiet.—I hope I shall catch a large fish,—a companion to that
which Ornither took yesterday with a natural fly.

[Halieus leaves them fishing, and returns to the house; but soon
comes back and joins his companions, whom he finds fishing below
in the river.]

Hal.—Well, gentlemen, what sport?

 Poiet.—The fish are rising every where; but though we have been
throwing over them with all our skill for a quarter of an hour, yet not
a single one will take, and I am afraid we shall return to breakfast
without our prey.
Hal.—I will try; but I shall go to the other side, where I see a very
large fish rising. There!—I have him at the very first throw. Land this
fish, and put him into the well. Now I have another; and I have no
doubt I could take half a dozen in this very place, where you have
been so long fishing without success.
Phys.—You must have a different fly; or have you some unguent or
charm to tempt the fish?
Hal.—No such thing. If any of you will give me your rod and fly, I
will answer for it, I shall have the same success. I take your rod,
Physicus.—And lo! I have a fish!
Phys.—What can be the reason of this? It is perfectly inexplicable
to me. Yet Poietes seems to throw as light as you do, and as well as
he did yesterday.
Hal.—I am surprised, that you, who are a philosopher, cannot
discover the reason of this. Think a little.
All.—We cannot.
Hal.—As you are my scholars, I believe I must teach you. The sun
is bright, and you have been, naturally enough, fishing with your
backs to the sun, which, not being very high, has thrown the
shadows of your rods and yourselves upon the water, and you have
alarmed the fish, whenever you have thrown a fly. You see I have
fished with my face towards the sun, and though inconvenienced by
the light, have given no alarm. Follow my example, and you will
soon have sport, as there is a breeze playing on the water.
Phys.—Your sagacity puts me in mind of an anecdote which I
remember to have heard respecting the late eloquent statesman,
Charles James Fox; who, walking up Bond-street from one of the
club-houses with an illustrious personage, laid him a wager, that he
would see more cats than the Prince in his walk, and that he might
take which side of the street he liked. When they got to the top, it
was found, that Mr. Fox had seen thirteen cats, and the Prince not
one. The royal personage asked for an explanation of this apparent
miracle, and Mr. Fox said, “Your Royal Highness took, of course, the
shady side of the way, as most agreeable; I knew that the sunny
side would be left to me, and cats always prefer the sunshine.”
Hal.—There! Poietes, by following my advice you have immediately
hooked a fish; and while you are catching a brace, I will tell you an
anecdote, which as much relates to fly-fishing as that of Physicus,
and affords an elucidation of a particular effect of light.
A manufacturer of carmine, who was aware of the superiority of
the French colour, went to Lyons for the purpose of improving his
process, and bargained with the most celebrated manufacturer in
that capital for the acquisition of his secret, for which he was to pay
a thousand pounds. He was shown all the processes, and saw a
beautiful colour produced, yet he found not the least difference in
the French mode of fabrication and that which he had constantly
adopted. He appealed to the manufacturer, and insisted that he
must have concealed something. The manufacturer assured him that
he had not, and invited him to see the process a second time. He
minutely examined the water and the materials, which were the
same as his own, and, very much surprised, said, “I have lost my
labour and my money, for the air of England does not permit us to
make good carmine.” “Stay,” says the Frenchman, “do not deceive
yourself: what kind of weather is it now?” “A bright sunny day,” said
the Englishman. “And such are the days,” said the Frenchman, “on
which I make my colour. Were I to attempt to manufacture it on a
dark or cloudy day, my result would be the same as yours. Let me
advise you, my friend, always to make carmine on bright and sunny
days.” “I will,” says the Englishman; “but I fear I shall make very
little in London.”
Poiet.—Your anecdote is as much to the purpose as Physicus’s; yet
I am much obliged to you for the hint respecting the effect of
shadow, for I have several times in May and June had to complain of
too clear a sky, and wished, with Cotton, for
 A day with not too bright a beam;
A warm, but not a scorching, sun.

Hal.—Whilst we have been conversing, the May-flies, which were

in such quantities, have become much fewer; and I believe the
reason is, that they have been greatly diminished by the flocks of
swallows, which every where pursue them: I have seen a single
swallow take four, in less than a quarter of a minute, that were
descending to the water.
Poiet.—I delight in this living landscape! The swallow is one of my
favourite birds, and a rival of the nightingale; for he cheers my sense
of seeing as much as the other does my sense of hearing. He is the
glad prophet of the year—the harbinger of the best season: he lives
a life of enjoyment amongst the loveliest forms of nature: winter is
unknown to him; and he leaves the green meadows of England in
autumn, for the myrtle and orange groves of Italy, and for the palms
of Africa:—he has always objects of pursuit, and his success is
secure. Even the beings selected for his prey are poetical, beautiful,
and transient. The ephemeræ are saved by his means from a slow
and lingering death in the evening, and killed in a moment, when
they have known nothing of life but pleasure. He is the constant
destroyer of insects,—the friend of man; and, with the stork and the
ibis, may be regarded as a sacred bird. His instinct, which gives him
his appointed seasons, and teaches him always when and where to
move, may be regarded as flowing from a Divine Source; and he
belongs to the Oracles of Nature, which speak the awful and
intelligible language of a present Deity.
 FOURTH DAY.

HALIEUS—POIETES—ORNITHER—PHYSICUS.

FISHING FOR SALMON AND SEA TROUT.

Scene—Loch Maree, West of Rosshire, Scotland.

Time—Middle of July.
Poiet.—I begin to be tired. This is really a long day’s journey; and
these last ten miles through bogs, with no other view than that of
mountains half hid in mists, and brown waters that can hardly be
called lakes, and with no other trees than a few stunted birches, that
look so little alive, that they might be supposed immediately
descended from the bog-wood, every where scattered beneath our
feet, have rendered it extremely tedious. This is the most barren
part of one of the most desolate countries I have ever passed
through in Europe; and though the inn at Strathgarve is tolerable,
that of Auchnasheen is certainly the worst I have ever seen,—and I
hope the worst I shall ever see. We ought to have good amusement
at Pool Ewe, to compensate us for this uncomfortable day’s journey.
Hal.—I trust we shall have sport, as far as salmon and sea trout
can furnish sport. But the difficulties of our journey are almost over.
See, Loch Maree is stretched at our feet, and a good boat with four
oars will carry us in four or five hours to our fishing ground; a time
that will not be misspent, for this lake is not devoid of beautiful, and
even grand scenery.
Poiet.—The scenery begins to improve; and that cloud-breasted
mountain on the left is of the best character of Scotch mountains:
these woods, likewise, are respectable for this northern country. I
think I see islands also in the distance: and the quantity of cloud
always gives effect to this kind of view; and perhaps, without such
assistance to the imagination, there would be nothing even
approaching to the sublime in these countries; but cloud and mist,
by creating obscurity and offering a substitute for greatness and
distance, give something of an alpine and majestic character to this
region.
Orn.—As we are now fixed in our places in the boat, you will
surely put out a rod or two with a set of flies, or try the tail of the
par for a large trout or salmon: our fishing will not hinder our
progress.
Hal.—In most other lakes I should do so; here I have often tried
the experiment, but never with success. This lake is extremely deep,
and there are very few fish which haunt it generally except char; and
salmon seldom rest but in particular parts along the shore, which we
shall not touch. Our voyage will be a picturesque, rather than an
angling one. I see we shall have little occasion for the oars, for a
strong breeze is rising, and blowing directly down the lake; we shall
be in it in a minute. Hoist the sails; On we go!—we shall make our
voyage in half the number of hours I had calculated upon; and I
hope to catch a salmon in time for dinner.
Poiet.—The scenery improves as we advance nearer the lower
parts of the lake. The mountains become higher, and that small
island or peninsula presents a bold, craggy outline; and the birch
wood below it, and the pines above, form a scene somewhat Alpine
in character. But what is that large bird soaring above the pointed
rock, towards the end of the lake? Surely it is an eagle!
Hal.—Your are right, it is an eagle, and of a rare and peculiar
species—the gray or silver eagle, a noble bird! From the size of the
animal, in must be the female; and her aery is in that high rock. I
dare say the male is not far off.
Phys.—I think I see another bird, of a smaller size, perched on the
rock below, which is similar in form.
Hal.—You do: it is the consort of that beautiful and powerful bird;
and I have no doubt their young ones are near at hand.
Poiet.—Look at the bird! How she dashes into the water, falling like
a rock, and raising a colume of spray: she has dropped from a great
height. And now she rises again into the air: what an extraordinary
sight!
Hal.—She is pursuing her prey, and is one of our fraternity,—a
catcher of fish. She has missed her quarry this time, and has soared
further down towards the river, to fall again from a great height.
There! You see her rise with a fish in her talons.
Poiet.—She gives an interest to this scene, which I hardly
expected to have found. Pray are there many of these animals in this
country?
Hal.—Of this species, I have seen but these two, and I believe the
young ones migrate as soon as they can provide for themselves; for
this solitary bird requires a large space to move and feed in, and
does not allow its offspring to partake its reign, or to live near it. Of
other species of the eagle, there are some in different parts of the
mountains, particularly of the Osprey, and of the great fishing or
brown eagle. I once saw a very fine and interesting sight above one
of the Crags of Ben Weevis, near Strathgarve, as I was going, on the
20th of August, in pursuit of black game. Two parent eagles were
teaching their offspring—two young birds, the manœuvres of flight.
They began by rising from the top of a mountain in the eye of the
sun (it was about midday, and bright for this climate). They at first
made small circles, and the young birds imitated them; they paused
on their wings, waiting till they had made their first flight, and then
took a second and larger gyration,—always rising towards the sun,
and enlarging their circle of flight so as to make a gradually
extending spiral. The young ones still slowly followed, apparently
flying better as they mounted; and they continued this sublime kind
of exercise, always rising, till they became mere points in the air, and
the young ones were lost, and afterwards their parents, to our
aching sight. But we have touched the shore, and the lake has
terminated: you are now on the river Ewe.
Poiet.—Are we to fish here? It is a broad clear stream, but I see
no fish, and cannot think it a good angling river.
Hal.—We are nearly a mile above our fishing station, and we must
first see our quarters and provide for our lodging, before we begin
our fishing: to the inn we have only a short walk.
Poiet.—Why this inn is a second edition of Auchnasheen.
Hal.—The interior is better than the exterior, thanks to the Laird of
Brahan: we shall find one tolerable room and bed; and we must put
up our cots and provide our food. What is our store, Mr. Purveyor?
Phys.—I know we have good bread, tea, and sugar. Then there is
the quarter of roe-buck presented to us at Gordon Castle; and
Ornither has furnished us with a brace of wild ducks, three leash of
snipes, and a brace of golden plovers, by his mountain expedition of
yesterday; and for fish we depend on you. Yet our host says there
are fresh herrings to be had, and small cod-fish, and salmon and
trout in any quantity, and the claret and the Ferintosh are safe.
Hal.—Why we shall fare sumptuously. As it is not time yet for
shooting grouse, we must divide our spoil for the few days we shall
stay here. Yet there are young snipes and plovers on the mountains
above, and I have no doubt we might obtain the Laird’s permission
to kill a roe-buck in the woods or a hart on the mountains; but this is
always an uncertain event, and I advise you, Ornither, to become a
fisherman.
Orn.—I shall wait till I see the results of your skill. At all events, in
this country I can never want amusement, and I dare say there are
plenty of seals at the mouth of the river, and killing them is more
useful to other fishermen than catching fish.
Hal.—Let there be a kettle of water with salt ready boiling in an
hour, mine host, for the fish we catch or buy; and see that the
potatoes are well dressed: the servants will look to the rest of our
fare. Now for our rods.
Poiet.—This is a fine river; clear, full, but not too large: with the
two handed rod it may be commanded in most parts.
Hal.—It is larger than usual. The strong wind which brought us so
quickly down has made it fuller; and it is not in such good order for
fishing as it was before the wind rose.
Poiet.—I thought the river was always the better for a flood, when
clear.
Hal.—Better after a flood from rain; for this brings the fish up,
who know when rain is coming, and likewise brings down food and
makes the fish feed. But when the water is raised by a strong wind,
the fish never run, as they are sure to find no increase in the spring
heads, which are their objects in running.
Poiet.—You give the fish credit for great sagacity.
Hal.—Call it instinct rather; for if they reasoned, they would run
with every large water, whether from wind or rain. What the feeling
or power is, which makes them travel with rain, I will not pretend to
define. But now for our sport.
Poiet.—The fish are beginning to rise; I have seen two here
already, and there is a third, and a fourth—scarcely a quarter of a
minute elapses without a fish rising in some parts of the pool.
Hal.—As the day is dark, I shall use a bright and rather a large fly
with jay’s hackle, kingfisher’s feather under the wing, and golden
pheasant’s tail, and wing of mixed grouse and argus pheasant’s tail.
I shall throw over these fish: I ought to raise one.
Poiet.—Either you are not skilful, or the fish know their danger:
they will not rise.
Hal.—I will try another and a smaller fly.
Poiet.—You do nothing.
Hal.—I have changed my fly a third time, yet no fish rises. I
cannot understand this. The water is not in good order, or I should
certainly have raised a fish or two. Now I will wager ten to one, that
this pool has been fished before to-day.
 Orn.—By whom?
Hal.—I know not; but take my wager and we will ascertain.
Orn.—I shall ascertain without the wager if possible. See, a man
connected with the fishery advances, let us ask him.—There you see;
it has been fished once or twice by one, who claims without charter
the right of angling.
Hal.—I told you so. Now I know this, I shall put on another kind of
fly, such as I am sure they have not seen this day.
Poiet.—It is very small and very gaudy, I believe made with
humming bird’s feathers.
Hal.—No. The brightest Java dove’s hackle; kingfisher’s blue, and
golden pheasant’s feathers, and the red feathers of the paroquet.
There was a fish that rose and missed the fly—a sea trout. There, he
has taken it, a fresh run fish, from his white belly and blue back.
Poiet.—How he springs out of the water! He must be 6 or 7lbs.
Hal.—Under five, I am sure; he will soon be tired. He fights with
less spirit: put the net under him. There, he is a fine fed sea trout,
between 4 and 5lbs. But our intrusive brother angler (as I must call
him) is coming down the river to take his evening cast. A stout
Highlander, with a powerful tail,—or, as we should call it in England,
suite. He is resolved not to be driven off, and I am not sure that the
Laird himself could divert him from his purpose, except by a stronger
tail, and force of arms; but I will try my eloquence upon him. “Sir,
we hope you will excuse us for fishing in this pool, where it seems
you were going to take your cast; but the Laird has desired us to
stand in his shoes for a few days, and has given up angling while we
are here; and as we come nearly a thousand miles for this
amusement, we are sure you are too much of a gentleman to spoil
our sport; and we will take care to supply your fish kettle while we
are here, morning and evening, and we shall send you, as we hope,
a salmon before night.”
Poiet.—He grumbles good sport to us, and is off with his tail: you
have hit him in the right place. He is a pot fisher, I am sure, and
somewhat hungry, and, provided he gets the salmon, does not care
who catches it!
Hal.—You are severe on the Highland gentleman, and I think
extremely unjust. Nothing could be more ready than his assent, and
a keen fisherman must not be expected to be in the best possible
humour, when he finds sport which he believes he has a right to,
and which perhaps he generally enjoys without interruption, taken
away from him by entire strangers. There is, I know, a disputed
point about fishing with the rod, between him and the Laird; and it
would have been too much to have anticipated a courteous greeting
from one, who considers us as the representatives of an enemy. But
I see there is a large fish which has just risen at the tail of the pool.
I think he is fresh run from the sea, for the tide is coming in. My fly
and tackle are almost too fine for so large a fish, and I will put on
my first fly with a very strong single gut link and a stretcher of triple
gut. He has taken my fly, and I hold him—a powerful fish: he must
be between 10 and 15lbs. He fights well, and tries to get up the
rapid at the top of the pool. I must try my strength with him, to
keep him off that rock, or he will break me. I have turned him, and
he is now in a good part of the pool: such a fish cannot be tired in a
minute or two, but requires from ten to twenty, depending upon his
activity and strength, and the rapidity of the stream he moves
against. He is now playing against the strongest rapid in the river,
and will soon give in, should he keep his present place.
Poiet.—You have tired him.
Hal.—He seems fairly tired: I shall bring him in to shore. Now gaff
him; strike as near the tail as you can. He is safe; we must prepare
him for the pot.—Give him a stunning blow on the head to deprive
him of sensation, and then make a transverse cut just below the
gills, and crimp him, by cutting to the bone on each side, so as
almost to divide him into slices: and now hold him by the tail that he
may bleed. There is a small spring, I see, close under that bank,
which I dare say has the mean temperature of the atmosphere in
this climate, and is much under 50°—place him there, and let him
remain for ten minutes; then carry him to the pot, and before you
put in a slice let the water and salt boil furiously, and give time to
the water to recover its heat before you throw in another; and so
proceed with the whole fish: leave the head out, and throw in the
thickest pieces first.
Phys.—Why did you not crimp your trout?
Hal.—We will have him fried. Our poacher prevented me from
attending to the preparation; but for frying he is better not crimped,
as he is not large enough to give good transverse slices.
Poiet.—This salmon is a good fish, and fresh as you said from the
sea. You see the salt-water louse adheres to his sides, and he is
bright and silvery, and a thick fish; I dare say his weight is not less
than 14lbs., and I know of no better fish for the table than one of
that size.
Phys.—It appears to me that so powerful a fish ought to have
struggled much longer: yet, without great exertions on your part, in
ten minutes he appeared quite exhausted, and lay on his side as if
dying: this induces me to suppose, that there must be some truth in
the vulgar opinion of anglers, that fish are, as it were, drowned by
the play of the rod and reel.
Hal.—The vulgar opinion of anglers on this subject I believe to be
perfectly correct: though, to apply the word drowning to an animal
that lives in the water is not quite a fit use of language. Fish, as you
ought to know, respire by passing water, which always holds
common air in solution, through their gills or bronchial membrane,
by the use of a system of muscles surrounding the fauces, which
occasion constant contractions and expansions, or openings and
closings of this membrane, and the life of the fish is dependant on
the process in the same manner as that of a quadruped is on
inspiring and expiring air. When a fish is hooked in the upper part of
the mouth by the strength of the rod applied as a lever to the line, it
is scarcely possible for him to open the gills as long as this force is
exerted, particularly when he is moving in a rapid stream; and when
he is hooked in the lower jaw, his mouth is kept closed by the same
application of the strength of the rod, so that no aerated water can
be inspired. Under these circumstances he is quickly deprived of his
vital forces, particularly when he exhausts his strength by moving in
a rapid stream. A fish, hooked in a part of the mouth where the
force of the rod will render his efforts to respire unavailing, is much
in the same state as that of a deer caught round the neck by the
lasso of a South American peon, who gallops forwards, dragging his
victim after him, which is killed by strangulation in a very short time.
When fishes are hooked foul, that is, on the outside of the body, as
in the fins or tail, they will often fight for many hours, and in such
cases very large salmon are seldom caught, as they retain their
powers of breathing unimpaired; and if they do not exhaust
themselves by violent muscular efforts, they may bid defiance to the
temper and the skill of the fisherman. A large salmon, hooked in the
upper part of the mouth in the cartilage or bone, will sometimes
likewise fight for a long while, particularly if he keep in the deep and
still parts of the river: for he is able to prevent the force of the hook,
applied by the rod, from interfering with his respiration, and by a
powerful effort, can maintain his place, and continue to breathe in
spite of the exertions of the angler. A fish, in such case, is said to be
sulky, and his instinct, or his sagacity, generally enables him to
conquer his enemy. It is, however, rarely that fishes hooked in the
mouth are capable of using freely the muscles subservient to
respiration; and their powers are generally, sooner or later,
destroyed by suffocation.
Poiet.—The explanation that you have just been giving us of the
effects of playing fish, I confess alarms me, and makes me more
afraid than I was before, that we are pursuing a very cruel
amusement; for death by strangling, I conceive, must be very
laborious, slow, and painful.
Phys.—I think as I did before I was an angler, as to the merciless
character of field-sports; but I doubt if this part of the process of the
fly-fisher ought so strongly to alarm your feelings. As far as
analogies from warm-blooded animals can apply to the case, the
death that follows obstructed respiration is quick, and preceded by
insensibility. There are many instances of persons who have
recovered from the apparent death produced by drowning, and had
no recollection of any violent or intense agony; indeed, the alarm or
passion of fear generally absorbs all the sensibility, and the physical
suffering is lost in the mental agitation. I can answer from my own
experience, that there is no pain which precedes the insensibility
occasioned by breathing gasses unfitted for supporting life, but
oftener a pleasurable feeling, as in the case of the respiration of
nitrous oxide. And in the suffocation produced by the gradual
abstraction of air in a close room where charcoal is burning, we have
the record of the son of a celebrated chymist, that the sensation
which precedes the deep sleep that ends in death is agreeable.
There is far more pain in recovering from the insensibility produced
by the abstraction of air than in undergoing it, as I can answer from
my own feelings; and it is, I believe, quite true, what has been
asserted, that the pain of being born, which is acquiring the power
of respiration, is greater than that of dying, which is losing the
power.
Orn.—I have heard, that persons, who have been recovered from
the insensibility produced by hanging, have never any recollection of
the sufferings which preceded it; and as the blood is immediately
determined to the head in this operation, probably apoplectic
insensibility is almost instantaneous.
There is on record a very remarkable trial respecting the death of
an Italian, who was for many years in the habit of being hanged for
the purpose of producing the temporary excitement of organs that
had lost their power, and who ultimately fell a victim to this
depraved and dangerous practice; but I will not dwell upon this
case, which is well authenticated, and which is equally revolting to
good feelings and delicacy.
Hal.—The laws of nature are all directed by Divine Wisdom for the
purpose of preserving life and increasing happiness. Pain seems in
all cases to precede the mutilation or destruction of those organs
which are essential to vitality, and for the end of preserving them;
but the mere process of dying seems to be the falling into a deep
slumber; and in animals, who have no fear of death dependent upon
imagination, it can hardly be accompanied by very intense suffering.
In the human being, moral and intellectual motives constantly
operate in enhancing the fear of death, which, without these motives
in a reasoning being, would probably become null, and the love of
life be lost upon every slight occasion of pain or disgust; but
imagination is creative with respect to both these passions, which, if
they exist in animals, exist independent of reason, or as instincts.
Pain seems intended by an all-wise Providence to prevent the
dissolution of organs, and cannot follow their destruction. I know
several instances in which the process of death has been observed,
even to its termination, by good philosophers; and the instances are
worth repeating: Dr. Cullen, when dying, is said to have faintly
articulated to one of his intimates, “I wish I had the power of writing
or speaking, for then I would describe to you how pleasant a thing it
is to die.” Dr. Black, worn out by age and a disposition to pulmonary
hemorrhage, which obliged him to live very low, whilst eating his
customary meal of bread and milk, fell asleep, and died in so tranquil
a manner, that he had not even spilt the contents of the spoon
which he held in his hand. And the late Sir Charles Blagden, whilst at
a social meal with his friends, Mons. and Mad. Berthollet and Gay-
Lussac, died in his chair so quietly, that not a drop of the coffee in
the cup which he held in his hand was spilt.
Poiet.—Give us no more such instances, for I do not think it wise
to diminish the love of life, or to destroy the fear of death.
Hal.—There is no danger of this. These passions are founded on
immutable laws of our nature, which philosophy cannot change; and
it would be good if we could give the same security of duration to
the love of virtue and the fear of vice or shame, which are
connected with immutable interests, and which ought to occupy far
more the consideration of beings destined for immortality.—But to
our business.
Now we have fish for dinner, my task is finished: Physicus and
Poietes, try your skill. I have not fished over the best parts of this
pool: you may catch a brace of fish here before dinner is ready.
Phys.—It is too late, and I shall go and see that all is right.
 Poiet.—I will take one or two casts; but give me your fly: I like
always to be sure that the tackle is taking.
Hal.—Try at first the very top of the pool,—though I fear you will
get nothing there; but here is a cast which I think the Highlander
can hardly have commanded from the other side, and which is rarely
without a good fish. There, he rose: a large trout of 10lbs., or a
salmon. Now wait a few minutes. When a fish has missed the fly, he
will not rise again till after a pause—particularly if he has been for
some time in the fresh water. Now try him again. He has risen, but
he is a dark fish that has been some time in the water, and he tries
to drown the fly with a blow of his tail. I fear you will not hook him
except foul, when most likely he would break you. Try the bottom of
the pool, below where I caught my fish.
Poiet.—I have tried all the casts, and nothing rises.
Hal.—Come, we will change the fly for that which I used.
Poiet.—Now I have one: he has taken the fly under water, and I
cannot see him.
Hal.—Straighten your line, and we shall soon see him. He is a sea
trout, but not a large one.
Poiet.—But he fights like a salmon, and must be near 5lbs.
Hal.—Under 3lbs.; but these fish are always strong and active, and
sometimes give more sport than larger fish. Shorten your line, or he
will carry you over the stones and cut the link gut. He is there
already: you have allowed him to carry out too much line; wind up
as quick as you can, and keep a tight hand upon him. He is now
back to a good place, and in a few minutes more will be spent. I
have the net. There, he is a sea trout of nearly 3lbs. This will be a
good addition to our dinner: I will crimp him, that you may compare
boiled sea trout with broiled, and with salmon. Now, if you please,
we will cool this fish at the spring, and then go to our inn.
Poiet.—If you like. I am endeavouring to find a reason for the
effect of crimping and cold in preserving the curd of fish. Have you
ever thought on this subject?
 Hal.—Yes: I conclude that the fat of salmon between the flakes of
the muscles is mixed with much albumen and gelatine, and is
extremely liable to decompose, and by keeping it cool, the
decomposition is retarded; and by the boiling salt and water, which
is of a higher temperature than that of common boiling water, the
albumen is coagulated, and the curdiness preserved. The crimping,
by preventing the irritability of the fibre from being gradually
exhausted, seems to preserve it so hard and crisp, that it breaks
under the teeth; and a fresh fish not crimped is generally tough. A
friend of mine, an excellent angler, has made some experiments on
the fat of fish; and he considers the red colour of trout, salmon, and
char, as owing to a peculiar coloured oil, which may be extracted by
alcohol; and this accounts for the want of it in fish that have fed ill,
and after spawning. In general, the depth of the red colour and the
quantity of curd are proportional.
Poiet.—Would not the fish be still better, or at least possess more
curd, if caught in a net and killed immediately? In the operation of
tiring by the reel there must be considerable muscular exertion, and
I should suppose expenditure of oily matter.
Hal.—There can be no doubt but the fish would be in a more
perfect state for the table from the nets; yet a fish in high season
does not lose so much fat during the short time he is on the hook,
as to make much difference; and I am not sure, that the action of
crimping after does not give a better sort of crispness to the fibre.
This, however, may be fancy; we will discuss the matter again at
table. See! our companion on the lake, the eagle, is coming down
the river, and has pounced upon a fish in the pool near the sea.
Phys.—I fear he will interfere with our sport: let us request
Ornither to shoot him. I wish to see him nearer, and to preserve him
as a specimen for the Zoological Society.
Hal.—O! no. He will not spoil our sport; and I think it would be a
pity to deprive this spot of one of its poetical ornaments. Besides,
the pool where he is now fishing contains scarcely any thing but
trout; it is too shallow for salmon, who run into the cruives.
 Poiet.—I am of your opinion, and shall use my eloquence to
prevent Ornither from attempting the life of so beautiful a bird; so
majestic in its form, so well suited to the scenery, and so picturesque
in all its habits.
The Innkeeper.—Gentlemen, dinner is ready.

THE DINNER.
Hal.—Now take your places. What think you of our fish?
Phys.—I never ate better; but I want the Harvey or Reading sauce.
Hal.—Pray let me intreat you to use no other sauce than the water
in which he was boiled. I assure you this is the true Epicurean way
of eating fresh salmon: and for the trout, use only a little vinegar
and mustard,—a sauce à la Tartare, without the onions.
Poiet.—Well, nothing can be better; and I do not think fresh net-
caught fish can be superior to these.
Hal.—And these snipes are excellent. Either my journey has given
me an appetite, or I think they are the best I ever tasted.
Orn.—They are good, but I have tasted better.
Hal.—Where?
Orn.—On the continent; where the common snipe, that rests
during its migration from the north to the south in the marshes of
Italy and Carniola, and the double or solitary snipe, become so fat,
as to resemble that bird, which was formerly fattened in
Lincolnshire, the ruff; and they have, I think, a better flavour from
being fed on their natural food.
Hal.—At what time have you eaten them?
Orn.—I have eaten them both in spring and autumn; but the
autumnal birds are the best, and are like the ortolan of Italy.
Hal.—Where does the double snipe winter?
Orn.—I believe in Africa and Asia Minor. They are rarely seen in
England, except driven by an east wind in the spring, or a strong
north wind in the autumn. Their natural progress is to and from
Finland and Siberia, through the continent of Europe, to and from
the east and south.[5] In autumn they pass more east, both because
they are aided by west winds, and because the marshes in the east
of Europe are wetter in that season; and in spring they return, but
the larger proportion through Italy, where they are carried by the
Sirocco, and which at that time is extremely wet. Come, let us have
another bottle of claret: a pint per man is not too much after such a
day’s fatigue.
Hal.—You have made me president for these four days, and I
forbid it. A half pint of wine for young men in perfect health is
enough, and you will be able to take your exercise better, and feel
better for this abstinence. How few people calculate upon the effects
of constantly renewed fever, in our luxurious system of living in
England! The heart is made to act too powerfully, the blood is
thrown upon the nobler parts, and, with the system of wading
adopted by some sportsmen, whether in shooting or fishing, is
delivered either to the hemorrhoidal veins, or, what is worse, to the
head. I have known several free livers, who have terminated their
lives by apoplexy, or have been rendered miserable by palsy, in
consequence of the joint effects of cold feet and too stimulating a
diet; that is to say, as much animal food as they could eat, with a
pint or perhaps a bottle of wine per day. Be guided by me, my
friends, and neither drink nor wade. I know there are old men who
have done both, and have enjoyed perfect health; but these are
devil’s decoys to the unwary, and ten suffer for one that escapes. I
could quote to you an instance from this very county, in one of the
strongest men I have ever known. He was not intemperate, but he
lived luxuriously, and waded as a salmon fisher for many years in
this very river; but before he was fifty, palsy deprived him of the use
of his limbs, and he is still a living example of the danger of the
system which you are ambitious of adopting.
Orn.—Well, I give up the wine, but I intend to wade in Hancock’s
boots to-morrow.
 Hal.—Wear them, but do not wade in them. The feet must
become cold in a stream of water constantly passing over the
caoutchouc and leather, notwithstanding the thick stockings. They
are good for keeping the feet warm, and I think where there is
exercise, as in snipe shooting, they may be used without any bad
effects. But I advise no one to stand still (which an angler must do
sometimes) in the water, even with these ingenious water-proof
inventions. All anglers should remember old Boerhaave’s maxims of
health, and act upon them: “Keep the feet warm, the head cool, and
the body open.”
Phys.—I am sorry we did not examine more minutely the weight
and size of the fish we caught, and compare the anatomy of the
salmon and the sea trout; but we were in too great a hurry to see
them on the table, and our philosophy yielded to our hunger.
Hal.—We shall have plenty of opportunities for this examination;
and we can now walk down to the fishing-house and see probably
half a hundred fish of different sizes, that have been taken in the
cruives, this evening, and examine them at our leisure.
All.—Let us go!

Phys.—I never saw so many fish of this kind before; and I

conclude that heap of smaller fish is composed of trout.
Hal.—Certainly. Let us compare one of the largest trout with a
salmon. I have selected two fresh run fish, which, from their curved
lower jaws, are, I conclude, both males. The salmon you see is
broader, has a tail rather more forked, and the teeth in proportion
are rather smaller. The trout, likewise, has larger and more black
brown spots on the body; and the head of the trout is a little larger
in proportion. The salmon has 14 spines in the pectoral fins, 10 in
each of the ventral, 13 in the anal, 21 in the caudal, and 15 in the
dorsal. The salmon measures 38½ inches in length and 21 inches in
girth, and his weight, as you see, is 22¼lbs. The trout has one spine
less in the pectoral, and two less in the anal fin, and measures 30¼
inches in length, and 16 inches in girth, and his weight is 11lbs. We
will now open them. The stomach of the salmon, you perceive,
contains nothing but a little yellow fluid, and, though the salmon is
twice as large, does not exceed much in size that of the trout. The
stomach of the trout, unlike that of the salmon, will be found full of
food: we will open it. See, there are half digested sand eels which
come out of it.
Phys.—But surely the stomachs of salmon must sometimes, when
opened, contain food?
Hal.—I have opened ten or twelve, and never found any thing in
their stomachs but tape-worms, bred there, and some yellow fluid;
but, I believe, this is generally owing to their being caught at the
time of migration, when they are travelling from the sea upwards,
and do not willingly load themselves with food. Their digestion
appears to be very quick, and their habits seem to show, that after
having taken a bait in the river they do not usually seek another, till
the work of digestion is nearly performed: but when they are taken
at sea, and in rivers in the winter, food, I am told, is sometimes
found in their stomachs. The sea trout is a much more voracious
fish, and, like the land trout, is not willingly found with an empty
stomach.
Phys.—I presume the sea trout is the fish called by Linnæus, in his
Fauna, Salmo Eriox?
Hal.—I know not: but I should rather think that fish a variety of
the common salmon.
Phys.—But there are surely other species of salmon, that live in the
sea and come into our rivers: I have heard of fish called grays, bull
trout, scurfs, morts, peales, and whitlings.
Hal.—I have never been able to identify more than the salmo
salar, or salmon, and salmo trutta, or sea trout, in the rivers of
Britain and Ireland. The whitlings I believe to be the young of the
sea trout. A sea trout which I saw in Ireland, called a bull trout, was
of the same kind as these you see here, but fresh water trout are
sometimes carried in floods to the sea, and come back larger and
altered in colour and form, and are then mistaken for new species:
and as each river possesses a peculiar variety belonging to it, this,
with differences depending upon food and size, will, I think, account
for the peculiarities of particular fish, without the necessity of
supposing them distinct species. I remember many years ago, the
first time I ever fished for salmon in spring in the Tweed, I caught
with the fly, one fine morning in March, two fish nearly of the same
length: one was a male of the last season, that had lost its melt; the
other a female fresh from the sea. They were so unlike, that they did
not appear of the same species: the spent or kipper salmon was
long and lean, showing an immense head, spotted all over with
black and brown spots, and the belly almost black; the other bright
and silvery, without spots, and the head small. Even the pectoral and
anal fins had more spines in the newly run fish, some of the smaller
ones having been probably rubbed off in spawning by the other. I
would not for some time, till assured by an experienced fisherman,
believe, that the spent fish was a salmon; and when their flesh was
compared on the table, one was white, flabby, and bad, and without
curd; the other of the brightest pink, and full of dense curd. Then,
though of the same length, one weighed only 4lbs., the other 9½lbs.
When it is recollected, that different salmon and sea trout spawn at
different times in the same river, and that fish of the same year,
being born at different seasons, from Christmas to Lady-day,—and
having migrated to the sea in spring—run up the rivers of all sizes in
summer and autumn—the young salmon from 2 to 10lbs. in weight,
the young sea trout from ½ to 3lbs. in weight—it is not difficult to
account for the variety of names given by casual observers to
individuals of these two species. But I must not forget my promise of
sending a fish to the Highlander, with whose sport we have
interfered. There is a good salmon, which shall be taken to him
immediately, and for which I shall pay the taxman his usual price of
5d. per pound.
 FIFTH DAY.

HALIEUS—POIETES—ORNITHER—PHYSICUS.

MORNING.
Hal.—Well, is your tackle all ready? It is a fine fresh and cloudy
morning, with a gentle breeze—a day made for salmon fishing.

[They proceed to the river.]

Hal.—Now, my friends, I give up the two best pools to you till one
o’clock; and I shall amuse myself above and below—probably with
trout fishing. As there is a promise of a mixed day, with—what is
rare in this country—a good deal of sunshine, I will examine your
flies a little, and point out those I think likely to be useful; or rather,
I will show you my flies, and, as you all have duplicates of them, you
can each select the fly which I point out, and place in it a part of the
book where it may easily be found. First: when the cloud is on, I
advise the use of one of these three golden twisted flies, with silk
bodies, orange, red and pale blue, with red, orange, and gray
hackle, golden pheasant’s hackle for tail, and kingfisher’s blue and
golden pheasant’s brown hackle under the wing; beginning with the
brightest fly, and changing to the darker one. Should the clouds
disappear, and it become bright, change your flies for darker ones,
of which I will point out three:—a fly with a brown body and a red
cock’s hackle, one with a dun body and black hackle and light wing,
and one with a black body, a hackle of the same colour, and a brown
mallard’s wing. All these flies have, you see, silver twist round their
bodies, and all kingfisher’s feather under the wing, and golden
pheasant’s feather for the tail. For the size of your flies, I
recommend the medium size, as the water is small to-day; but trying
all sizes, from the butterfly size of a hook of half an inch in width, to
one of a quarter. Now, Physicus, cast your orange fly into that rapid
at the top of the pool; I saw a large fish run there this moment. You
fish well, were common trout your object; but, in salmon fishing,
you must alter your manner of moving the fly. It must not float
quietly down the water; you must allow it to sink a little, and then
pull it back by a gentle jerk—not raising it out of the water,—and
then let it sink again, till it has been shown in motion, a little below
the surface, in every part of your cast. That is right,—he has risen.
Phys.—I hold him. He is a noble fish!
Hal.—He is a large grilse, I see by his play; or a young salmon, of
the earliest born this spring. Hold him tight; he will fight hard.
Phys.—There! he springs out of the water! Once, twice, thrice, four
times! He is a merry one!
Hal.—He runs against the stream, and will soon be tired,—but do
not hurry him. Pull hard now, to prevent him from running round
that stone. He comes in. I will gaff him for you. I have him! A goodly
fish of this tide. But see, Poietes has a larger fish at the bottom of
the great pool, and is carried down by him almost to the sea.
Poiet.—I cannot hold him! He has run out all my line.
Hal.—I see him: he is hooked foul, and I fear we shall never
recover him, for he is going out to sea. Give me the rod,—I will try
and turn him; and do you run down to the entrance of the pool, and
throw stones, to make him, if possible, run back. Ay! that stone has
done good service; he is now running up into the pool again. Now
call the fisherman, and tell him to bring a long pole, to keep him if
possible from the sea. You have a good assistant, and I will leave
you, for tiring this fish will be at least a work of two hours. He is not
much less than 20lbs. and is hooked under the gills, so that you
cannot suffocate him by a straight line. I wish you good fortune; but
should he turn sulky, you must not allow him to rest, but make the
fisherman move him with the pole again; your chance of killing him
depends upon his being kept incessantly in action, so that he may
exhaust himself by exercise. I shall go and catch you some river
trout for your dinner;—but I am glad to see, before I take my leave
of you, that Ornither has likewise hold of a fish,—and, from his
activity, a lusty sea trout.

[He goes, and returns in the afternoon.]

Hal.—Well, Poietes, I hope to see your fish of 20lbs.

Poiet.—Alas! he broke me,—turned sulky, and went to the bottom;
and when he was roused again, my line came back without the fly;
so that I conclude he had cut my links by rubbing them against
some sharp stone. But I have caught two grilses and a sea trout
since, and lost two others, salmons or grilses, that fairly got the
hooks out of their mouths.
Hal.—And, Ornither, what have you done? Well, I see,—a salmon,
a grilse, and a sea trout. And Physicus?
Phys.—I have lost three fish; one of which broke me, at the top of
the pool, by running amongst the rocks; and I have only one small
sea trout.
Hal.—Your fortune will come another day. Why, you have not a
single crimped fish for dinner, and it is now nearly two o’clock; and
you have been catching for the picklers, for those fish may all go to
the boiling-house. I must again be your purveyor. Can you point out
to me any part of this pool where you have not fished?
All.—No.
Hal.—Then I have little chance.
Phys.—O yes! you have a charm for catching fish.
Hal.—Let me know what flies you have tried, and I may perhaps
tell you if I have a chance. With my small bright humming bird, as
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