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 Another Random Document on
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frame houses or beds, cocoons, in which they are transformed into
aurelias, and from which they burst forth as perfect winged insects.
The libellula, or dragon fly, the most voracious of the winged insect
tribe, deposits her eggs in such a manner, that the larvæ fall into the
water, and, after destroying and feeding upon almost all the aquatic
insects found in this element, and changing their skins at various
times, they emerge in their winged form the tyrants of the insect
generations in the air. The gnats and tipulæ have a similar existence.
The gnat, the female of which only is said by De Geer to bite man,
or suck human blood, in Sweden, lays her egg in a kind of little boat
or cocoon of her own spinning. These eggs are hatched on the
surface of the water, and produce the larvæ, which undergo another
change into peculiar nymphæ, that still retain the power of
swimming and moving, from which the perfect insect is produced
during the summer heat. The flies, which I mentioned to you in a
former conversation, under the name of the grannom, or green tail,
(see fig. 2,) are of the class phryganeæ, which includes all those
water flies that have long antennæ, and wings something like those
of moths, but usually veined and without powder. The yellow flies,
which you saw a short time since sporting on the banks of the river,
are of this kind. The phryganeæ (see fig. 1, 2, 3, and 4,) have four
wings, which, when closed, lie flat on their backs, the two upper
ones being folded over the lower ones: the flies called by anglers the
willow fly, the alder fly, (see fig. 4,) and the dun cut, are of this kind.
The phryganeæ lay their eggs on the leaves of willows, or other
trees, that overhang the water; they are fastened by a sort of gluten
to the surface of the leaf: when hatched, they produce small
hexapode larvæ, which fall into the water, and by a curious economy
of nature collect round themselves, some, parts of plants, or small
sticks; some, gravel; and some, even shell fish. They spin
themselves a sort of case of silk from their bodies, and by a gluten,
that exudes from this case, cement their materials together. They
feed upon aquatic plants, and sometimes upon insects, protruding
only their head and legs from the case. When about to undergo
transmutation, they quit their cases, rise to the surface, and wait for
this process of nature in the air; but some species fix themselves on
plants or stones: they burst the skin of the larvæ, and appear
perfect animals, male and female, fitted for the office of
reproduction. In the early spring, the species which are called green
tails, from the colour of the bags of eggs in the female, appear in
the warm gleams of sunshine that happen in cloudy days, and they
then cover the face of the water, and are greedily seized on by the
fish. As the season advances they appear principally in the morning
and evening. In the heat of summer the phryganeæ are almost
nocturnal flies, and seem to have the habits of moths: at this
season, now, I should say, the few flies that appear are generally
seen in the day-time. The ephemeræ, another class of flies
peculiarly interesting to the fisherman, differ from the phryganeæ in
carrying their wings perpendicularly on their backs, and in having
long filaments or hairs in their tails. The March brown, (see fig. 8,)
the various shades of duns, (see fig. 5, 6, and 7,) which I described
to you on a former occasion; the green (see fig. 9 and 10,) and
white May fly, the red spinner, (see fig. 11,) are all of the class
ephemeræ. These flies are produced from larvæ which inhabit the
water, which can both crawl and swim, and which generally live in
holes they make in the bottom. They change their coats several
times before they become nymphæ. They quit their skin on the
surface of the water, but even after they are flies, they have another
transformation to undergo before they are perfect animals fitted for
generation. They make use of their wings only to fly to some dry
bank, or trunk of a tree, where they gradually disencumber
themselves of the whole of the outward habiliment they brought
from the water, including their wings. They become lighter, more
beautiful in colour, and then begin their sports in the sunshine—
appearing like what might be imagined of spirits freed from the
weight of their terrestrial covering. This last transmutation has been
observed and fully described by some celebrated naturalists, in the
case of the May flies, and one or two other species, and it probably
will be found a general circumstance attached to the class: I have
often observed what appeared to me to be the cast-off skins of the
small species of ephemeræ on the banks of rivers and floating in the
water. The green ephemera, or May fly, lays her eggs sitting on the
water, which instantly sink to the bottom: and most of the duns, or
small slender-winged flies, do the same. The gray or glossy-winged
May fly, commonly called the gray drake, performs regular motions
in the air above the water, rising and falling, and sitting, as it were,
for a moment on the surface, and rising again, at which time she is
said to deposit her eggs. To attempt to describe all the variety of
ephemeræ, that sport on the surface of the water at different times
of the day, throughout the year, would be quite an endless labour.
Some of them appear to live only a few hours, and none of them, I
believe, have their existence protracted to more than a few days. In
spring and autumn a new variety of these flies sometimes appears
every day, or even in different parts of the same day. Of the beetle,
or colyoptera genus, there are many varieties fed on by fishes.
These insects, which are distinguished, as you know, by four wings,
two husky-like shells above, and two slender and finer ones below,
are bred from eggs, which they deposit in the ground, or in the
excrement of animals, and which, producing larvæ in the usual way,
are converted into beetles, and these larvæ themselves are good
bait for fish. The brown beetle, or cockchaffer, the fern fly, and the
gray beetle, which are abundant in the meadows in the summer, are
often blown into the water, and are the most common insects of this
kind eaten by fishes. Whether the ditisci and hydrophili, the water
beetles, are ever eaten by trout, I know not, but it is most probable.
These singular animals are most commonly found in stagnant
waters; fitted for flying, swimming, diving, and walking, they are
omnivorous, and usually fly from pool to pool in the evening. They
deposit their eggs in the water, where their larvæ live, but which, to
undergo transmutation into the beetle, migrate to the land. But
there is hardly any insect that flies, including the wasp, the hornet,
the bee, and the butterfly, that does not become at some time the
prey of fishes. I have not, however, the knowledge, or if I had, have
not the time, to go through the lists of these interesting little
animals; but of the family of one of them I must speak—the
ichneumons, that deposit their eggs in caterpillars, or the larvæ of
other flies, and which feed on the unfortunate animal in which they
are hatched, and come out of its interior when dead, as if it had
been their parent. To enter into the philosophy of this subject, and
to study the organs and faculties of these various insect tribes, in
their functions of respiration, nutrition, and reproduction, would be
sufficient for the labour of a life. To know what has already been
done would demand the close and studious application of a
comprehensive mind; and to complete this branch of science in all its
parts is probably almost above human powers: but much might be
done if enlightened persons would follow the example of De Geer,
Reaumur, and Huber, and study minutely the habits of particular
tribes; and it is probable, that physiology might be much advanced
by minutely investigating the simplest forms of living beings; and
that particularly with respect to the functions of generation a minute
study of the modifications of which the forms of animals seems
susceptible, particularly in the hymenopterous, or bee tribe, might
lead to very important results.
Poiet.—Even in a moral point of view, I think the analogies derived
from the transformation of insects admit of some beautiful
applications, that have not been neglected by pious entomologists.
The three states—of the caterpillar, pupa, or aurelia, and butterfly—
have, since the time of the Greek poets, been applied to typify the
human being—its terrestrial form, apparent death, and ultimate
celestial destination; and it seems more extraordinary that a sordid
and crawling worm should become a beautiful and active fly—that an
inhabitant of the dark and fœtid dunghill should in an instant entirely
change its form, rise into the blue air, and enjoy the sunbeams,—
than that a being, whose pursuits here have been after an undying
name, and whose purest happiness has been derived from the
acquisition of intellectual power and finite knowledge, should rise
hereafter into a state of being, where immortality is no longer a
name, and ascend to the source of Unbounded Power and Infinite
Wisdom.
Phys.—I have been listening, Halieus, to your account of water-
flies with attention, and I only regret, that your details were not
more copious; let me now call your attention to that Michaelmas
daisy. A few minutes ago, before the sun sunk behind the hill, its
flowers were covered with varieties of bees, and some wasps, all
busy in feeding on its sweets. I never saw a more animated scene of
insect enjoyment. The bees were most of them humble bees, but
many of them some new varieties to me, and the wasps appeared
different from any I have seen before.
Hal.—I believe this is one of the last autumnal flowers that insects
of this kind haunt. In sunny days it is their constant point of resort,
and it would afford a good opportunity to the entomologist to make
a collection of British bees.
Poiet.—I neither hear the hum of the bee, nor can I see any on its
flowers. They are now deserted.
Phys.—Since the sun has disappeared, the cool of the evening has,
I suppose, driven the little winged plunderers to their homes; but
see, there are two or three humble bees which seem languid with
the cold, and yet they have their tongues still in the fountain of
honey. I believe one of them is actually dead, yet his mouth is still
attached to the flower. He has fallen asleep, and probably died whilst
making his last meal of ambrosia.
Orn.—What an enviable destiny, quitting life in the moment of
enjoyment, following an instinct, the gratification of which has been
always pleasurable! so beneficent are all the laws of Divine Wisdom.
Phys.—Like Ornither, I consider the destiny of this insect as
desirable, and I cannot help regarding the end of human life as most
happy, when terminated under the impulse of some strong energetic
feeling, similar in its nature to an instinct. I should not wish to die
like Attila in a moment of gross sensual enjoyment: but the death of
Epaminondas or Nelson in the arms of victory, their whole attention
absorbed in the love of glory and of their country, I think really
enviable.
Poiet.—I consider the death of the martyr or the saint as far more
enviable; for in this case, what may be considered as a divine
instinct of our nature, is called into exertion, and pain is subdued, or
destroyed, by a secure faith in the power and mercy of the Divinity.
In such cases man rises above mortality, and shows his true
intellectual superiority. By intellectual superiority I mean that of his
spiritual nature, for I do not consider the results of reason as
capable of being compared with those of faith. Reason is often a
dead weight in life, destroying feeling, and substituting, for principle,
calculation and caution; and, in the hour of death, it often produces
fear or despondency, and is rather a bitter draught than nectar or
ambrosia in the last meal of life.
Hal.—I agree with Poietes. The higher and more intense the
feeling, under which death takes place, the happier it may be
esteemed; and I think even Physicus will be of our opinion, when I
recollect the conclusion of a conversation in Scotland. The immortal
being never can quit life with so much pleasure as with the feeling of
immortality secure, and the vision of celestial glory filling the mind,
affected by no other passion than the pure and intense love of God.
 NINTH DAY.

HALIEUS—POIETES—ORNITHER—PHYSICUS.

FISHING FOR HUCHO.

Scene—The Fall of the Traun, Upper Austria.

Time—July.
Poiet.—This is a glorious scene! And the fall of this great and clear
river, with its accompaniments of wood, rock, and snow-clad
mountain, would alone furnish matter for discussion and
conversation for many days. This place is quite the paradise of a
poetical angler; the only danger is that of satiety with regard to
sport; for these great grayling and trout are so little used to the
artificial fly, that they take almost any thing moving on the top of the
water. You see I have put on a salmon fly, and still they rise at it,
though they never can have seen any thing like it before—and it is,
in fact, not like any thing in nature.
Hal.—You are right, they never have seen any thing like it before;
but, in its motion, it is like a large fly, and this is the season for large
flies. The stone fly and the May fly, you see, occasionally drop upon
the water, and the colour of your large fly is not unlike that of the
stone fly; but if, instead of being here in the beginning of July, you
had visited this spot, as I once did, in the beginning of June, you
would have found more difficulty in catching grayling here, though
not so much as in our English rivers—in the Test, the Derwent, or
the Dove.
Poiet.—How could this be?
Hal.—At this season the large flies had not yet appeared; the
small blue dun was on the water, and I was obliged to use a fly the
same as that which suits our spring and late autumnal fishing. The
fish refused all large flies, but took greedily small ones; and, as
usually happens when small flies are used, more fish escaped after
being hooked than were taken; and these I found, the next day,
were become as sagacious as our Dove or Test fish, and refused the
artificial fly, though they greedily took the natural fly.
Phys.—These fish, then, have the same habits as our English
salmons and trouts?
Hal.—The principle to which I have referred in two former
conversations must be general, though it has seemed to me, that
they lost this memory sooner than the fish of our English rivers,
where fly fishing is common. This, however, may be fancy, yet I have
referred it to a kind of hereditary disposition, which has been formed
and transmitted from their progenitors.
Phys.—However strange it may appear, I can believe this. When
the early voyagers discovered new islands, the birds upon them
were quite tame, and easily killed by sticks and stones, being
fearless of man; but they soon learned to know their enemy, and
this newly acquired sagacity was possessed by their offspring, who
had never seen a man. Wild and domesticated ducks are, in fact,
from the same original type: it is only necessary to compare them,
when hatched together under a hen, to be convinced of the principle
of the hereditary transmission of habits,—the wild young ones
instantly fly from man, the tame ones are indifferent to his presence.
Poiet.—No one can be less disposed than I am to limit the powers
of living nature, or to doubt the capabilities of organized structures;
but it does appear to me quite a dream, to suppose that a fish,
pricked by the hook of the artificial fly, should transmit a dread of it
to its offspring, though he does not even long retain the memory of
it himself.
 Hal.—There are instances quite as extraordinary—but I will not
dwell upon them, as I am not quite sure of the fact which we are
discussing; I have made a guess only, and we must observe more
minutely to establish it; it may be even as you suppose—a mere
dream.
Poiet.—I shall go and look at the fall: I am really satiated with
sport; this is the twentieth fish I have taken in an hour, and it is a
grayling of at least fifteen inches long; and there is a trout of
eighteen, and several salmon trout, which look as if they had run
from the sea.
Hal.—These salmon trout have run from a sea, but not from a salt
sea; they are fish of the Traun See, as it is called by the Germans, or
Traun Lake, which is emptied by this river.
Phys.—Tell us why they are so different from the river trout, or
why there should be two species or varieties in the same water.
Hal.—Your question is a difficult one, and it has already been
referred to in a former conversation; but I shall repeat what I stated
before,—that qualities occasioned by food, peculiarities of water, &c.
are transmitted to the offspring, and produce varieties which retain
their characters as long as they are exposed to the same
circumstances, and only slowly lose them. Plenty of good food gives
a silvery colour and round form to fish, and the offspring retain
these characters. Feeding much on larvæ and on shell-fish thickens
the stomach, and gives a brighter yellow to the belly and fins, which
become hereditary characters. Even these smallest salmon trout
have green backs, only black spots, and silvery bellies; from which it
is evident, that they are the offspring of lake trout, or lachs forelle,
as it is called by the Germans; whilst the river trout, even when 4 or
5lbs., as we see in one of these fish, though in excellent season,
have red spots.—But why that exclamation?
Poiet.—What an immense fish! There he is!
Hal.—I see nothing.
Poet.—At the edge of the pool, below the fall, I saw a fish, at least
two or three feet long, rising with great violence in the water, as if in
the pursuit of small fish; and at the same time I saw two or three
minnows or bleaks jump out of the water. What fish is it?—a trout?
It appeared to me too long and too slender for a trout, and had
more the character of a pike;—yet it followed, and did not, like a
pike, make a single dart.
Hal.—I see him: it is neither a pike nor a trout, but a fish which I
have been some time hoping and expecting to see here, below the
fall—a salmo hucho, or huchen. I am delighted, that you have an
opportunity of seeing this curious fish, and of observing his habits. I
hope we shall catch him.
Poiet.—Catch him! we have no tackle strong enough.
Hal.—I am surprised to hear a salmon fisher talk so: yet he is too
large to take a fly, and must be trolled for. We must spin a bleak for
him, or small fish, as we do for the trout of the Thames or the
salmon of the Tay. Ornither, you understand the arrangement of this
kind of tackle—look out in my book the strongest set of spinning
hooks you can find, and supply them with a bleak; and whilst I am
changing the reel, I will give you all the information (which, I am
sorry to say, is not much) that I have been able to collect respecting
this fish from my own observation or the experience of others. The
hucho is the most predatory fish of the salmo genus, and is made
like an ill-fed trout, but longer and thicker. He has larger teeth, more
spines in the pectoral fin, a thicker skin, a silvery belly, and dark
spots only on the back and sides—I have never seen any on the fins.
The ratio of his length to his girth is as 8 to 18, or, in well fed fish, as
9 to 20; and a fish, 18 inches long by 8 in girth, weighed 16,215
grains. Another, 2 feet long, 11 inches in girth, and 3 inches thick,
weighed 4lbs. 2¼oz. Another, 26 inches long, weighed 5lbs. 5oz. Of
the spines in the fins, the anal has 9, the caudal 20, the ventral 9,
the dorsal 12, the pectoral 17: having numbered the spines in many,
I give this as correct. The fleshy fin belonging to the genus is, I
think, larger in this species than in any I have seen. Bloch, in his
work on fishes, states that there are black spots on all the fins, with
the exception of the anal, as a character of this fish: and Professor
Wagner informs me he has seen huchos with this peculiarity; but, as
I said before, I never saw any fish with spotted fins—yet I have
examined those of the Danube, Save, Drave, Mur, and Izar: perhaps
this is peculiar to some stream in Bavaria—yet the huchos in the
collection at Munich have it not. The hucho is found in most rivers
tributary to the Danube—in the Save and Laybach rivers always; yet
the general opinion is, that they run from the Danube twice a year,
in spring and autumn. I can answer for their migration in spring,
having caught several in April, in streams connected with the Save
and Laybach rivers, which had evidently come from the still dead
water into the clear running streams, for they had the winter leech,
or louse of the trout upon them: and I have seen them of all sizes,
in April, in the market at Laybach, from six inches to two feet long;
but they are found much larger, and reach 30, or even 40, pounds.
It is the opinion of some naturalists, that it is only a fresh water fish;
yet this I doubt, because it is never found beyond certain falls—as in
the Traun, the Drave, and the Save; and, there can be no doubt,
comes into these rivers from the Danube; and probably, in its larger
state, is a fish of the Black Sea. Yet it can winter in fresh water; and
does not seem, like the salmon, obliged to haunt the sea, but falls
back into the warmer waters of the great rivers, from which it
migrates in spring, to seek a cooler temperature and to breed. The
fishermen at Gratz say they spawn in the Mur, between March and
May. In those I have caught at Laybach, which, however, were small
ones, the ova were not sufficiently developed to admit of their
spawning that spring. Marsigli says, that they spawn in the Danube
in June. You have seen how violently they pursue their prey: I have
never taken one without fish in his stomach; yet, when small, they
will take a fly. In the Kleingraben, which is a feeder to the Laybach
river, and where they are found of all sizes—from 20lbs. downwards
—the little ones take a fly, but the large ones are too ravenous to
care about so insignificant a morsel, and prey like the largest trout,
often hunting in company, and chasing the small fish into the narrow
and shallow streams, and then devouring them.—But I see your
tackle is ready. As a more experienced angler in this kind of fishing,
you will allow me to try my fortune with this fish. I still see him
feeding; but I must keep out of sight, for he has all the timidity
peculiar to the salmo genus, and, if he catch sight of me, will
certainly not run at the bait.
Orn.—You spin the bleak for him, I see, as for a great trout. O!
there! he has run at it—and you have missed him. What a fish! You
surely were too quick, for he sprung out of the water at the bleak.
Hal.—I was not too quick; but he rose just as the bleak was on
the surface, and saw me.
Poiet.—I think I see him moving in another part of the pool.
Hal.—You are right; he has run again at the bleak, but only as it
shone on the surface. He has taken it.
Orn.—He fights well, and runs towards the side where the rock is.
Hal.—Take the net and frighten him from that place, which is the
only one where there is danger of loosing him. He is clear now, and
begins to tire, and in a few minutes more he will be exhausted.—
Now land him.
Poiet.—A noble fish! But how like a trout—exactly like a sea trout
in whiteness, and I think in spots.
Hal.—He is much narrower, or less broad, as you would
immediately discover, if you had a sea trout here. But now we must
try another pool, or the tail of this; that fish was not alone, and at
the moment he took the bait, I think I saw the water move from the
stir of another. Take your rod and fit your own tackle, Ornither; half
the glory of catching this fish is yours, as you prepared the hooks. I
see you are in earnest; the blood mounts in your face. Oh! oh!
Ornither! you have pulled with too much violence, and broken your
tackle. Alas! alas! the fish you hooked was the consort of mine: he
will not take again.
Orn.—The gut was bad, for I do not think I struck too violently.
What a loss! How hard, to let the first fish of the kind I ever angled
for escape me!
Hal.—There are probably more: try again.
Orn.—Behold! the loss was more owing to the imperfection of the
tackle than to my ardour; for the two end hooks only are gone, and
you may see the gut worn.
 Hal.—The thing is done, and is not worth comment. If you can, let
the next fish that rises hook himself. When we are ardent, we are
bad judges of the effort we make; and an angler, who could be cool
with a new species of salmo, I should not envy. Now all is right
again: try that pool. There is a fish—ay! and another, that runs at
your bait; but they are small ones, not much more than twice as
large as the bleak; yet they show their spirit, and though they
cannot swallow it, they have torn it. Put on another bleak. There!
you have another run.
Orn.—Ay, it is a small fish, not much more than a foot long; yet he
fights well.
Hal.—You have him, and I will land him. I do not think such a fish
a bad initiation into this kind of sport. He does not agitate so much
as a larger one, and yet gratifies curiosity. There, we have him. A
very beautiful fish; yet he has the leech, or louse, though his belly is
quite white.
Orn.—This fish is so like a trout, that, had I caught him when
alone, I should hardly have remarked his peculiarities; and I am not
convinced, that it is not a variety of the common trout, altered, in
many generations, by the predatory habits of his ancestors.
Hal.—How far the principle of change of character and
transmission of such character to the offspring will apply, I shall not
attempt to determine, and whether all the varieties of the salmo with
teeth in their mouth may not have been produced from one original;
yet this fish is now as distinct from the trout, as the char or the
umbla is; and in Europe, it exists only below great falls in streams
connected with the Danube, and is never found in rivers of the same
districts connected with the Rhine, Elbe, or which empty themselves
into the Mediterranean; though trout are common in all these
streams, and salmon and sea trout in those connected with the
ocean. According to the descriptions of Pallas, it occurs in the rivers
of Siberia, and probably exists in those that run into the Caspian;
and it is remarkable, that it is not found where the eel is usual—at
least this applies to all the tributary streams of the Danube, and, it is
said, to the rivers of Siberia. Wherever I have seen it, there have
been always coarse fish—as chub, white fish, bleak, &c., and rivers
containing such fish are its natural haunts, for it requires abundance
of food, and serves to convert these indifferent poor fish into a
better kind of nourishment for man. We will now examine the
interior of these fish. You see the stomach is larger than that of a
trout, and the stomachs of both are full of small fish. In the larger
one there is a chub, a grayling, a bleak, and two or three small carp.
The skin you see is thick; the scales are smaller than those of a
trout; it has no teeth on the palate, and the pectoral fin has four
spines more, which, I think, enables it to turn with more rapidity.
You will find at dinner, that, fried or roasted, he is a good fish. His
flesh is white, but not devoid of curd; and though rather softer than
that of a trout, I have never observed in it that muddiness, or
peculiar flavour, which sometimes occurs in trout, even when in
perfect season.
I shall say a few words more on the habits of this fish. The hucho,
as you have seen, preys with great violence, and pursues his object
as a foxhound or a greyhound does. I have seen them in repose:
they lie like pikes, perfectly still, and I have watched one for many
minutes, that never moved at all. In this respect their habits
resemble those of most carnivorous and predatory animals. It is
probably in consequence of these habits, that they are so much
infested by lice, or leeches, which I have seen so numerous in spring
as almost to fill their gills, and interfere with their respiration, in
which case they seek the most rapid and turbulent streams to free
themselves from these enemies. They are very shy, and after being
hooked avoid the baited line. I once saw a hucho, for which I was
fishing, follow the small fish, and then the lead of the tackle; it
seemed as if this had fixed his attention, and he never offered at the
bait afterwards. I think a hucho, that has been pricked by the hook,
becomes particularly cautious, and possesses, in this respect, the
same character as the salmon. In summer, when they are found in
the roughest and most violent currents, their fins (particularly the
caudal fin) often appear worn and broken; at this season they are
usually in constant motion against the stream, and are stopped by
no cataract or dam, unless it be many feet in height, and quite
inaccessible. In the middle of September I have caught huchos
perfectly clean in rapid cool streams, tributary to the Laybach and
the Sava rivers; and, from the small developement of their
generative system at this time, I have no doubt that they spawn in
spring. On the 13th of September, 1828, I caught, by spinning the
dead small fish, three huchos, that had not a single leech upon their
bodies, and they were the first fish of the kind I ever saw free from
these parasites.
Orn.—I am so much pleased with my good fortune in catching this
fish, that I shall try all day to-morrow with the bait, for more of the
same kind.
Hal.—You may do so; but many of these fish cannot be caught;
they migrate generally when the water is foul, and, except in the
spring and autumn, do not so readily run at the bait. I was once
nearly a month seeking for one in rivers in which they are found,
between the end of June and that of July, without being able to
succeed in even seeing one alive; and as far as my information goes,
the two places where there is most probability of taking them, are at
Laybach and Ratisbon, in the tributary streams to the Sava, and in
the Danube; and the best time, in the first of these situations, is in
March and April, and in the second, in May. I am told, likewise, that
the Izar, which runs by Munich, is a stream where they may be
caught, when the water is clear: but I have never fished in this
stream—it having been foul, either from rain, or the melting of the
snows, whenever I have been at Munich; but I have seen in the fish-
market at Munich very large huchos. Late in the autumn, or in early
spring, this river must be an interesting one to fish in, as the schill,
or perca lucio perca, and three other species of perca are found in it
—the zingel, the apron, and the perca schratz—all fish of prey, and
excellent food. I have eaten them, but never taken them; they are
rare in European rivers, though not, like the hucho, peculiar to the
tributary streams of the Danube. The schill is found likewise in the
Sprey and in the Hungarian lakes, and, according to Bloch, the zingel
in the Rhone.
 Poiet.—I should like extremely to fish in the Izar: it is, I think, a
new kind of pleasure to take a new kind of fish, even though it is not
unknown to Natural Historians. But the most exquisite kind of
angling, in my opinion, would be that of angling in a river never
fished in by Europeans before; and I can scarcely imagine sport of a
higher kind than that which involves a triple source of pleasure—
catching a fish, procuring good food for the table, and making a
discovery in Natural History, at the same time. Sir Joseph Banks,
who was always a great amateur of angling, had often this kind of
gratification. And to Captain Franklin and Dr. Richardson, in their
expedition to the Arctic Ocean, when they were almost starving,
what a delightful circumstance it must have been, to have taken with
a fly those large grayling, which they mention, of a new species,
equally beautiful in their appearance, and good for the table!
Hal.—When a boy, I have felt an interest in sea fishing, for this
reason—that there was a variety of fish; but the want of skill in the
amusement—sinking a bait with a lead and pulling up a fish by main
force, soon made me tired of it. Since I have been a fly-fisher, I have
rarely fished in the sea, and then only with a reel and fine tackle
from the rocks, which is at least as interesting an amusement as
that of the Cockney fishermen, who fish for roach and dace in the
Thames, which I have tried twice in my life, but shall never try
again.
Phys.—You are severe on Cockney fishermen, and, I suppose,
would apply to them only, the observation of Dr. Johnson, which on
a former occasion you would not allow to be just: “Angling is an
amusement with a stick and a string; a worm at one end, and a fool
at the other.” And to yourself you would apply it with this change: “a
fly at one end, and a philosopher at the other.” Yet the pleasure of
the Cockney Angler appears to me of much the same kind, and
perhaps more continuous than yours; and he has the happiness of
constant occupation and perpetual pursuit in as high a degree as
you have; and if we were to look at the real foundations of your
pleasure, we should find them, like most of the foundations of
human happiness—vanity or folly. I shall never forget the impression
made upon me some years ago, when I was standing on the pier at
Donegal, watching the flowing of the tide: I saw a lame boy of
fourteen or fifteen years old, very slightly clad, that some persons
were attempting to stop in his progress along the pier; but he
resisted them with his crutches, and, halting along, threw himself
from an elevation of five or six feet, with his crutches, and a little
parcel of wooden boats, that he carried under his arm, on the sand
of the beach. He had to scramble or halt at least 100 yards, over
hard rocks, before he reached the water, and he several times fell
down and cut his naked limbs on the bare stones. Being in the
water, he seemed in an ecstacy, and immediately put his boats in
sailing order, and was perfectly inattentive to the counsel and
warning of the spectators, who shouted to him, that he would be
drowned. His whole attention was absorbed by his boats. He had
formed an idea, that one should outsail the rest, and when this boat
was foremost he was in delight; but if any one of the others got
beyond it he howled with grief; and once I saw him throw his crutch
at one of the unfavoured boats. The tide came in rapidly—he lost his
crutches, and would have been drowned, but for the care of some of
the spectators: he was however wholly inattentive to any thing save
his boats. He is said to be quite insane and perfectly ungovernable,
and will not live in a house, or wear any clothes, and his whole life is
spent in this one business—making and managing a fleet of wooden
boats, of which he is sole admiral. How near this mad youth is to a
genius, a hero, or to an angler, who injures his health and risks his
life by going into the water as high as his middle, in the hope of
catching a fish which he sees rise, though he already has a pannier
full.
Hal.—Or a statesman, working by all means, fair and foul, to
obtain a blue ribband. Or a fox-hunter, risking his neck to see the
hounds destroy an animal, which he preserves to be destroyed, and
which is good for nothing. Or an aged, licentious voluptuary, using
all the powers of a high and cultivated intellect to destroy the
innocence of a beautiful virgin—for a transient gratification to render
her miserable, and by making a flaw in an inestimable and brilliant
gem, utterly to destroy its value.
Phys.—You might go on and cite almost all the objects of pursuit of
rational beings, as, by distinction, they are called. But to return to
your favourite amusement. I wonder, that, with such a passion for
angling, you have never made an expedition in one of our whalers—
with Captain Scoresby for instance: you would then have enjoyed
sport of a new kind.
Hal.—I should like much to see a whale taken, but I do not think
the sight worth the dangers and privations of such a voyage. It
would only be an amusing spectacle and not an enterprise, unless
indeed I employed myself the harpoon; and after all it must be a
tedious operation, that of watching the sinking and rising of a fish
obedient to a natural instinct, which, in this instance, is the cause of
his death.
Poiet.—How?
Hal.—The whale, having no air bladder, can sink to the lowest
depths of the ocean, and, mistaking the harpoon for the teeth of a
sword fish or a shark, he instantly descends, this being his manner
of freeing himself from these enemies, who cannot bear the
pressure of a deep ocean, and from ascending and descending in
small space, he puts himself in the power of the whaler; where as, if
he knew his force, and were to swim on the surface in a straight
line, he would break or destroy the machinery by which he is
arrested, as easily as a salmon breaks the single gut of a fisher
when his reel is entangled.
Poiet.—My amusement in such a voyage would be to look for the
kraken and the sea snake.
Hal.—You have a vivid imagination, and might see them.
Poiet.—Then you do not believe in the existence of these
wonderful animals?
Hal.—No more than I do in that of the merman, or mermaid.
Poiet.—Yet we have histories, which seem authentic, of the
appearance of these monsters, and there are not wanting persons
who assert, that they have seen the mermaid even in these islands.
Hal.—I disbelieve the authenticity of these stories. I do not mean
to deny the existence of large marine animals having analogies to
the serpent; the conger we know is such an animal: I have seen one
nearly ten feet long, and there may be longer ones, but such
animals do not come to the surface. The only sea snake, that has
been examined by naturalists, turned out to be a putrid species of
shark—the squalus maximus. Yet all the newspapers gave accounts
of this as a real animal, and endowed it with feet, which do not
belong to serpents. And the sea snakes, seen by American and
Norwegian captains, have, I think, generally been a company of
porpoises, the rising and sinking of which in lines would give
somewhat the appearance of the coils of a snake. The kraken, or
island fish, is still more imaginary. I have myself seen immense
numbers of enormous urticæ marinæ, or blubbers, in the north seas,
and in some of the Norwegian fiords, or inland bays, and often these
beautiful creatures give colour to the water; but it is exceedingly
improbable, that an animal of this genus should ever be of the size,
even of the whale; its soft materials are little fitted for locomotion,
and would be easily destroyed by every kind of fish. Hands and a
finny tail are entirely contrary to the analogy of nature, and I
disbelieve the mermaid upon philosophical principles. The dugong
and manatee are the only animals combining the functions of the
mammalia with some of the characters of fishes, that can be
imagined, even as a link, this part of the order of nature. Many of
these stories have been founded upon the long-haired seal seen at a
distance, others on the appearance of the common seal under
particular circumstances of light and shade, and some on still more
singular circumstances. A worthy baronet, remarkable for his
benevolent views and active spirit, has propagated a story of this
kind, and he seems to claim for his native country the honour of
possessing this extraordinary animal; but the mermaid of Caithness
was certainly a gentleman, who happened to be travelling on that
wild shore, and who was seen bathing by some young ladies at so
great a distance, that not only genus but gender was mistaken. I am
acquainted with him, and have had the story from his own mouth.
He is a young man, fond of geological pursuits, and one day in the
middle of August, having fatigued and heated himself by climbing a
rock to examine a particular appearance of a granite, he gave his
clothes to his Highland guide, who was taking care of his pony, and
descended to the sea. The sun was just setting, and he amused
himself for some time by swimming from rock to rock, and having
unclipped hair and no cap, he sometimes threw aside his locks, and
wrung the water from them on the rocks. He happened the year
after to be at Harrowgate, and was sitting at table with two young
ladies from Caithness, who were relating to a wondering audience
the story of the mermaid they had seen, which had already been
published in the newspapers: they described her, as she usually is
described by poets, as a beautiful animal, with remarkably fair skin,
and long green hair. The young gentleman took the liberty, as most
of the rest of the company did, to put a few questions to the elder of
the two ladies—such as, on what day and precisely where this
singular phenomenon had appeared. She had noted down, not
merely the day, but the hour and minute, and produced a map of
the place. Our bather referred to his journal, and showed, that a
human animal was swimming in the very spot at that very time, who
had some of the characters ascribed to the mermaid, but who laid
no claim to others, particularly the green hair and fish’s tail; but
being rather sallow in the face, was glad to have such testimony to
the colour of his body beneath his garments.
Poiet.—But I do not understand upon what philosophical principles
you deny the existence of the mermaid. We are not necessarily
acquainted with all the animals that inhabit the bottom of the sea;
and I cannot help thinking there must have been some foundation
for the fable of the Tritons and Nereids.
Hal.—Ay; and of the ocean divinities, Neptune and Amphitrite!
Poiet.—Now I think you are prejudiced.
Hal.—I remember the worthy baronet, whom I just now
mentioned, on some one praising the late Sir Joseph Banks very
highly, said, “Sir Joseph was an excellent man—but he had his
prejudices.” What were they? said my friend. “Why, he did not
believe in the mermaid.” Pray still consider me as the baronet did Sir
Joseph—prejudiced on this subject.
Orn.—But give us some reasons for the impossibility of the
existence of this animal.
Hal.—Nay, I did not say impossibility; I am too much of the school
of Isaac Walton to talk of impossibility. It doubtless might please
God to make a mermaid; but I do not believe God ever did make
one.
Orn.—And why?
Hal.—Because wisdom and order are found in all his works, and
the parts of animals are always in harmony with each other, and
always adapted to certain ends consistent with the analogy of
nature; and a human head, human hands, and human mammæ, are
wholly inconsistent with a fish’s tail. The human head is adapted for
an erect posture, and in such a posture an animal with a fish’s tail
could not swim; and a creature with lungs must be on the surface
several times in a day—and the sea is an inconvenient breathing
place; and hands are instruments of manufacture—and the depths of
the ocean are little fitted for fabricating that mirror which our old
prints gave to the mermaid. Such an animal, if created, could not
long exist; and, with scarcely any locomotive powers, would be the
prey of other fishes, formed in a manner more suited to their
element. I have seen a most absurd fabrication of a mermaid,
exposed as a show in London, said to have been found in the
Chinese seas, and bought for a large sum of money. The head and
bust of two different apes were fastened to the lower part of a
kipper salmon, which had the fleshy fin, and all the distinct
characters, of the salmo salar.
Orn.—And yet there were people who believed this to be a real
animal.
Hal.—It was insisted on, to prove the truth of the Caithness story.
But what is there which people will not believe?
 Poiet.—In listening to your conversation we have forgotten our
angling, and have lost some moments of fine cloudy weather.
Hal.—I thought you were tired of catching trouts and graylings,
and I therefore did not urge you to continue your fly-fishing; and
this part of the river does not contain so many grayling as the pools
above—but there are good trout, and it is possible there may be
huchos. Let me recommend to you to put on minnow tackle—that
tackle with the five small hooks; and, as we have minnows and
bleaks, you may perhaps hook trout, or even huchos; and in half an
hour our fish dinner at the inn will be ready. I shall return there, to
see that all is right, and shall expect you when you have finished
your fishing.

[They all meet in the dining-room of the inn.]

Hal.—Well, what sort of sport have you had since I left you?
Poiet.—We have each caught a trout and two large chubs, and
have had two or three runs besides—but we saw no huchos; and
though several large grayling rose in one of the streams, and we
tried to catch them by spinning the minnow in every possible way,
yet they took no notice of our bait.
Hal.—This is usually the case. I have heard of anglers who have
taken grayling with minnows, but it is a rare occurrence, and never
happened to me. Your dinner, I dare say, is now ready; and you
know it is a dinner entirely of the genus salmo, with vegetables and
fruit. You have hucho from the Traun, and char from Aussee, and
trout from the Traun See, that were brought alive to the inn, and
have only just been killed and crimped, and are now boiling in salt
and water; and you have likewise grayling and laverets from the
Traun See, which are equally fresh, and will be fried.
Phys.—I think, in this part of the continent, the art of carrying and
keeping fish is better understood than in England. Every inn has a
box containing grayling, trout, carp, or char, into which water from a
spring runs; and no one thinks of carrying or sending dead fish for a
dinner. A fish barrel full of cool water, which is replenished at every
fresh source amongst these mountains, is carried on the shoulders
of the fisherman. And the fish, when confined in wells, are fed with
bullock’s liver, cut into fine pieces, so that they are often in better
season in the tank or stew than when they were taken. I have seen
trout, grayling, and char even, feed voraciously, and take their food
almost from the hand. These methods of carrying and preserving
fish have, I believe, been adopted from the monastic establishments.
At Admondt, in Styria, attached to the magnificent monastery of that
name, are abundant ponds and reservoirs for every species of fresh
water fish; and the char, grayling, and trout are preserved in
different waters—covered, enclosed, and under lock and key.
Poiet.—I admire in this country not only the mode of preserving,
carrying, and dressing fish, but I am delighted, generally, with the
habits of life of the peasants, and with their manners. It is a country
in which I should like to live; the scenery is so beautiful, the people
so amiable and good-natured, and their attentions to strangers so
marked by courtesy and disinterestedness.
Phys.—They appear to me very amiable and good; but all classes
seem to be little instructed.
Poiet.—There are few philosophers amongst them, certainly; but
they appear very happy, and
Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.

We have neither seen nor heard of any instances of crime since we

have been here. They fear their God, love their sovereign, are
obedient to the laws, and seem perfectly contented. I know you
would contrast them with the active and educated peasantry of the
manufacturing districts of England; but I believe they are much
happier, and I am sure they are generally better.
Phys.—I doubt this: the sphere of enjoyment, as well as of
benevolence, is enlarged by education.
Poiet.—I am sorry to say I think the system carried too far in
England. God forbid, that any useful light should be extinguished!
Let persons who wish for education receive it; but it appears to me,
that, in the great cities in England, it is, as it were, forced upon the
population; and that sciences, which the lower classes can only very
superficially acquire, are presented to them; in consequence of
which they often become idle and conceited, and above their usual
laborious occupations. The unripe fruit of the tree of knowledge is, I
believe, always bitter or sour; and scepticism and discontent—
sicknesses of the mind—are often the results of devouring it.
Hal.—Surely you cannot have a more religious, more moral, or
more improved population than that of Scotland?
Poiet.—Precisely so. In Scotland, education is not forced upon the
people—it is sought for, and is connected with their forms of faith,
acquired in the bosoms of their families, and generally pursued with
a distinct object of prudence or interest: nor is that kind of education
wanting in this country.
Phys.—Where a book is rarely seen, a newspaper never.
Poiet.—Pardon me—there is not a cottage without a prayer book;
and I am not sorry, that these innocent and happy men are not
made active and tumultuous subjects of King Press, whom I consider
as the most capricious, depraved, and unprincipled tyrant, that ever
existed in England. Depraved—for it is to be bought by great wealth;
capricious—because it sometimes follows, and sometimes forms, the
voice of the lowest mob; and unprincipled—because, when its
interests are concerned, it sets at defiance private feeling and
private character, and neither regards their virtue, dignity, nor purity.
Hal.—My friends, you are growing warm. I know you differ
essentially on this subject; but surely you will allow that the full
liberty of the press, even though it sometimes degenerates into
licentiousness, and though it may sometimes be improperly used by
the influence of wealth, power, or private favour, is yet highly
advantageous, and even essential to the existence of a free country;
and, useful as it may be to the population, it is still more useful to
the government, to whom, as expressing the voice of the people,
though not always vox Dei, it may be regarded as oracular or
prophetic.—But let us change our conversation, which is neither in
time nor place.
 Poiet.—This river must be inexhaustible for sport: I have nowhere
seen so many fish.
Hal.—However full a river may be of trout and grayling, there is a
certain limit to the sport of the angler, if continuous fishing be
adopted in the same pools. Every fish is in its turn made acquainted
by diurnal habit with the artificial fly, and either taken or rendered
cautious; so that, in a river fished much by one or two good anglers,
many fish cannot be caught, except under peculiar circumstances of
very windy, rainy, or cloudy weather, when many flies come on; or at
night, or at the time the water is slightly coloured by a flood, or
when fish change their haunts in consequence of a great inundation.
In the Usk, in Monmouthshire, when it was very full of fish in the
best fishing time, when the spring brown and dun flies were on the
water, it was not usual for some excellent anglers, who composed a
party of nine, and who fished in this river for ten continuous days, to
catch more than two or three fish each person. But one day, when
the water was coloured by a flood, in which case the artificial fly
could not be distinguished by the fish from the natural fly, I caught
twelve or fourteen of the same fish, that had been in the habit of
refusing my flies for many days successively. This was in the end of
March, 1809, when the flies always came on the water with great
regularity; the blues in dark days, the browns in bright days,
between twelve and two o’clock in the middle of the day. In rivers
where the artificial fly has never been used, I believe all the fish will
mistake good imitations for natural flies, and in their turn, to use an
angler’s phrase, “taste the steel;” but even very imperfect imitations
and coarse tackle, which are only successful at night or in turbid
water, are sufficient to render fish cautious. This I am convinced of,
by observing the difference of the habits of fish in strictly preserved
streams, and in streams where even peasants have fished with the
coarsest tackle. I might quote the Traun at Ischl, where the native
fisherman used three or four of the coarsest flies on the coarsest
hair links made of four or five or six hairs, and the Traun at
Gmunden, where they are not allowed to fish. The fish that rose
took with much more certainty at Gmunden than at Ischl.
 At a time when many flies are on, particularly large ones, a few
days of continuous fishing, even with a single rod, will soon make
the sport indifferent in the best rivers; but the larger and the deeper
the river the longer it continues, because fish change their stations
occasionally, and pricked fish sometimes leave their haunts, which
are occupied by others; and graylings are more disposed to change
their places than trouts.
As instances of the difference in this respect between large and
small rivers, I may quote the Vockla and the Agger in Upper Austria.
The first of these rivers, when I fished in it in 1818, was full of trout
and grayling, and I believe I was the first person, for at least many
years, that had ever thrown an artificial fly upon it. It is a small
stream, from eight to fifteen yards wide, and can every where be
commanded by the double-handed rod, and is generally shallow.
The first day that I fished in this stream, which was in the beginning
of August, at every throw I hooked a fish, and I took out and
restored again to their element in the course of a few hours more
than one hundred and fifty trout and grayling. The next day I fished
in the same places, but with a very different result: I caught only
half a dozen large fish: the third morning, going over the same
ground, I had great difficulty even to get a brace of fish for my
dinner, and those, as well as I recollect, I caught by throwing in
places which had not been fished before. I ought to mention, that
the space of water where this experiment was made did not exceed
half a mile in length. I shall now speak of the Agger, which is a much
larger and deeper river than the Vockla, and cannot be commanded
in any part by a double-handed rod, being at least from forty to sixty
yards across. The first time I fished this river, I had the same kind of
sport as in the Vockla; the second day, under the same favourable
circumstances, there were fewer rises than on the first day, but still
sufficient to give good sport; and it was the fourth day before it
became difficult to catch a good dish of fish, and necessary to seek
new water. The greater depth of the water, and the change of place
of the fish, particularly the grayling, explain this, to say nothing of
the greater number of fish which the larger river contained. I am, of
course, speaking of one of the best periods of fly-fishing, when
many large flies, of which imitations are easily found, have been on
the water. In spring (a bad season for fly-fishing in high Alpine
countries) I have thrown great varieties of flies on these two highly
stocked streams, and have found it difficult to get a brace of fish for
the table, as the trout and grayling were all lying at the bottom, not
expecting any winged food at this season.
A river that runs into a large lake affords, at its junction with the
lake, by far the best place for continuous angling, particularly for
trout in autumn. The fish are constantly running up the river for the
purpose of spawning, and every day offers a succession of new
shoals, of which many will take the fly; I say many, because at this
season some of the fish, particularly the females, are capricious, and
refuse a bait, of which, under other circumstances they are greedy. I
may say the same with respect to the exit of a river from a lake, to
which successions of fishes resort, and though trout are found
abundantly in such places, yet they are often still better places for
grayling when these fish exist in the lake, the tendency of grayling
being rather, as I said on another occasion, to descend than to
ascend waters, whilst that of the trout is the contrary. The same
principles apply to salmon and sea-trout fishing, which run up rivers
from basins of the sea: the best situations for continuous angling are
those parts of the river where there is a succession of fishes from
the tide.
Poiet.—You spoke just now of peasants fishing with the fly in
Austria: I thought this art was entirely English; and though I have
travelled much, I do not recollect ever to have seen fly-fishing
practised by native anglers abroad.
Hal.—I assure you there are fishers with the artificial fly in
different parts of Switzerland, Germany, and Illyria, though always
with rude tackle, and usually upon rapid streams. Besides the Traun
I can mention the Rhine, the Rhone, and the Drave, as rivers where
I have seen fish caught with rude imitations of flies used by native
anglers. In Italy, where trout and grayling are very rare, and only
found amongst the highest mountain chains, I have never seen any
fly-fishers, but near Ravenna I have sometimes seen anglers for
frogs, who threw their bait exactly as we throw a fly, and caught
great numbers of these animals: and the nature of their apparatus
surprised me more than their method of using it. Instead of a hook
and bait they employed a small dry frog, tied to a long piece of
twine, the fore legs of which projected like two hooks, and this they
threw at a distance, by means of a long rod. The frogs rose like fish
and gorged the small dry frog, by the legs of which they were pulled
out of the water. I was informed by one of these fishermen, that he
sometimes took 200 frogs in this way in a morning, and that the
frogs never swallowed any bait when still or apparently dead, but
caught at whatever was moving or appeared alive on the surface of
the water; so that this amphibia feeds like a nobler animal, the
eagle, only on living prey.
Poiet.—You say trout are rare in Italy, yet on Ash-wednesday, a
great day for the consumption of fish in Rome, I remember to have
seen some large trout, which, I was told, were from the Velino,
above the falls of Terni.
Hal.—I once went almost to the source of this river, above Rieti, in
the hopes of catching trout, but I was unsuccessful. I saw some
taken by nets, but the fish were too few, and the river too foul, from
the deposition of calcareous matter, to render it a good stream for
the angler. In this journey I saw some trout in brooks in the Sabine
country, that I dare say might have been taken by the fly, but they
were small, and like the brook trout of England. In these streams, as
well as in the Velino and other torrents, I found the water-ouzel,
which, as far as my knowledge extends, is always a companion of
the trout, and I believe feeds much upon the same larvæ or water-
flies.
Orn.—These singular little birds, as I have witnessed, walk under
water. I have often watched them running beneath the surface of
the sides of streams, and passing between stones. I conclude they
were then in the act of searching for, or feeding upon larvæ.
Hal.—I suppose so, and I hope Ornither will shoot one to give us
an opportunity of examining the contents of their stomachs, and of
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