Chapter VI: Part 6

PHYS.—There are now more yellow flies out than I have seen before this season. They have appeared suddenly, as if sprung from that large alder. Though you gave us in a former conversation some account of the flies used in fishing, yet I hope you have not forgot your promise, to favour us with some more details on this subject, which, both as connected with angling, and with a curious part of natural history, is very interesting.

HAL.—I wish it was in my power to give you information from my own experience, but, I am sorry to say, this has been very limited; and though the English are peculiarly the fly fishing nation, yet our philosophical anglers have not contributed much to this department of science, and what has been done is principally by foreigners, amongst whom Swammerdam, Reaumur, and above all De Geer, are pre-eminent. To attempt to collect and apply the knowledge accumulated by these celebrated men, would carry us far beyond the limits of a day’s conversation; and as a great proportion of the insects that fly, walk, or crawl, are the food of fishes, a dissertation, or discourse on this subject, would be almost a general view of natural history. You know that frogs, crawfish, snails, earthworms, spiders, larvæ of every kind, millipedes, beetles, squillæ, moths, water flies, and land flies, are all eaten by trout; and I once heard the late Sir Joseph Banks say, that he found a large toad stuck in the throat of a trout; but as the skin of this animal is furnished with an exceedingly acrid secretion, it probably had been disgorged after being swallowed by a fish exceedingly hungry. But though I have found most of the insect tribes, and many small fishes, even of the most ravenous kind, as pike, in the stomachs of trout, it never happened to me to see a toad there. I might give you an account of the birth and life of frogs, which, with respect to their generation, resemble fish, and which, when first excluded from the egg, may be considered in the tadpole state as fish; and you would not find their singular metamorphosis without interest. Or I could detail to you the true histories which naturalists have given of the habits of snails and earthworms, and of the sexual relations of these apparently contemptible animals;—but this is too delicate a subject to dwell on. Even the renewing or change of shell in the crawfish, when it falls in its soft state an easy prey to fish, is a curious inquiry not only for the physiologist, but likewise for the chemist. On these points, I must request you to refer to writers in Natural History: yet I shall perform my promise, and say a few words on winged insects, which, in their origin and metamorphosis, offer the most extraordinary known miracles perhaps of terrestrial natures. You must be acquainted with the origin of our common house flies?

PHYS.—We know, that they spring from maggots, and that both the common and blue bottle fly deposit their ova in putrid animal matter, were the eggs are hatched and produce maggots, that, after feeding upon the decomposing animal material, gradually change, gain a hard or horny coat, seem as if entombed, and wait in a kind of apparent death or slumber, till they are mature for a new birth, when they burst their coatings and appear in the character of novel beings—fitted to inhabit another element.

HAL.—The history of the birth and metamorphosis of all other winged insects is very similar, but with peculiarities dependent upon their organs, wants, and habits. You know the curious details with which we have been furnished by natural historians of bees and ants, which live in a kind of society. The ant flies, of which, as I mentioned to you, imitations are sometimes used by fishermen, were originally maggots, and became furnished with wings—not, however, passing through the aurelia state for this last transformation.

POIET.—I beg your pardon, but, having lately read an account of these animals in the very interesting book, called “An Introduction to Entomology,” I think I can correct you in one particular; which is, that the maggot of the ant _does_ assume the form of a chrysalis or pupa, before it becomes a winged animal.

HAL.—It is true, that the _immediate_ transition of the maggot is into a pupa, _then_ into an ant, which is furnished with a kind of case, from which the wings emerge for their perfect transformation into the fly or imago state. The males die soon after the sexual intercourse; the females, when impregnated, lose their wings, and either voluntarily or by force enter into society with neuter or working ants, for the purpose of raising a new generation.

POIET.—You are perfectly right; and though it would be irrelevant to our present object, I could almost wish, for the sake of amusing our friends, that you would detail to us some other parts of the marvellous history of these wonderful animals, which, if not so well authenticated, might be supposed a philosophical romance. Such as the neuter or working ants feeding each other and the offspring; the manner in which they make, defend, and repair their dwellings, provide their food, watch and attend to the female, and take care of her eggs; their extraordinary mode of acquiring and defending the aphides and cocci, which bear to them the same relation that cattle do to man, which are fed by them with so much care, and the milk of which forms so important a part of their food; the predatory excursions of a particular species to carry off pupa, which they bring up as slaves.

HAL.—To enter into any of the details of the history of insects in society, would carry us into an interminable, though interesting subject, that would soon lose all relation to fly fishing; and I fear what I have to say, even on the winged insects connected with this amusement, will occupy too much of your time, for we have not more than an hour to devote to this object.

POIET.—Tell us what you please; we are attentive.

_With their Imitations._

_Frederick Sc._]

_With their Imitations or Hooks_

_Frederick Sc._]

_With their Imitations or Hooks_

_Frederick Sc._]

HAL.—The various individuals of the _gryllus_, or grasshopper tribe, spring from larvæ, that do not differ much from the perfect insect, except in possessing no wings. The eggs are deposited in our meadows, and many species of this animal are gregarious, and their immigrations in swarms are well known. The butterfly and moths, as you know, lay eggs which produce caterpillars, and these caterpillars, after feeding upon vegetable food, spin themselves or 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?