MORNING.

Hal.—Well met, my friends! It is a fine warm morning, there is a fresh breeze, the river is in excellent order for fishing, and I trust our good behaviour yesterday will ensure us sport to-day. There must be a great many fresh run fish in the pool; and after twenty-four hours’ rest, some of those that were indisposed to take on Saturday evening, may have acquired appetite. Prepare your tackle, and begin: but whilst you are preparing, I will mention a circumstance which every accomplished fly fisher ought to know. You changed your flies on Saturday with the change of weather, putting the dark flies on for the bright gleams of the sun, and the gaudy flies when the dark clouds appeared: now, I will tell you of another principle, which it is as necessary to know as the change of flies for change of weather; I allude to the different kinds of fly to be used in particular pools, and even for particular parts of pools. You have fished in this deep pool; and if you were to change it for a shallower one, such as that above, it would be proper to use smaller flies of the same colour; and in a pool still deeper, larger flies; likewise in the rough rapid at the top, a larger fly may be used than below at the tail of the water: and in the Tweed or Tay, I have often changed my fly thrice in the same pool, and sometimes with success—using three different flies for the top, middle, and bottom. I remember, that when I first saw Lord Somerville adopt this fashion, I thought there was fancy in it; but experience soon proved to me how accomplished a salmon fisher was my excellent and lamented friend, and I adopted the lesson he taught me, and with good results, in all bright waters.

Poiet.—I will try the correctness of your principle. Look at the fly now on my line; where would you recommend me to cast it?

Hal.—It is a large gaudy fly, and is fit for no part of this pool, except the extremely rough head of the torrent: there I dare say it will take in this state of the waters.

Poiet.—Good, I hooked a large fish, but alas! he is off: Yet I thought he was fairly caught.

Hal.—The hook, I think, turned round at the moment you struck, and carried off some scales from the outside of his mouth.

Poiet.—You are right: see, the scales are on the hook. I cannot raise another fish: I have tried almost all over the pool. I thought I saw a fish rise at the tail of the rapid.

Hal.—You did: he refused the fly. Now put on a fly one third of the size and of the same colour, and I think you will hook that fish.

Poiet.—I have done so—and he is fast; and a fine fish; I think a salmon.

Hal.—It is a salmon, and one above 10lbs. Play him with care, and do not let him run into the rough part of the stream, where the large stones are.

Poiet.—It is, I think, the most active fish I have yet played with. See how high he leaps! He is making for the sea.

Hal.—Hold him tight, or you will lose him.

Poiet.—Fear me not. I trust, in spite of his strength, I shall turn him. You see, I show him the but of the rod, and his force is counterpoised by a very long lever.

Hal.—You do well. But he has made a violent spring, and, I fear, is off.

Poiet.—He is!—but not, I think, by any fault of mine: he has carried off something.

Hal.—You played that fish so well, that I am angry at his loss: either the hook, link, or line, failed you.

Poiet.—It is the hook, which you see is broken, and not merely at the barb, but likewise in the shank. What a fool I was ever to use one of these London or Birmingham made hooks.

Hal.—The thing has happened to me often. I now never use any hooks for salmon fishing, except those which I am sure have been made by O’Shaughnessy, of Limerick; for even those made in Dublin, though they seldom break, yet they now and then bend; and the English hooks, made of cast steel in imitation of Irish ones, are the worst of all. There is a fly nearly of the same colour as that which is destroyed; and I can tell you, that I saw it made at Limerick by O’Shaughnessy himself, and tied on one of his own hooks. Should you catch with it a fish even of 30lbs. I will answer for its strength and temper: it will neither break nor bend.

Poiet.—Whilst I am attaching your present, so kindly made, to my line, pray tell me how these hooks are made, for I know you interested yourself in this subject when at Limerick.

Hal.—Most willingly. I have even made a hook, which, though a little inferior in form, in other respects, I think, I could boast as equal to the Limerick ones. The first requisite in hook-making is to find good malleable iron of the softest and purest kind—such as is procured from the nails of old horse-shoes. This must be converted by cementation with charcoal into good soft steel, and that into bars or wires of different thickness for different sized hooks, and then annealed. For the larger hooks, the bars must be made in such a form as to admit of cutting the barbs; and each piece, which serves for two hooks, is larger at the ends, so that the bar appears in the form of a double pointed spear, three, four, or five inches long: the bars for the finer hooks are somewhat flattened. The artist works with two files, one finer than the other for giving the point and polishing the hook, and he begins by making the barb, taking care not to cut too deep, and filing on a piece of hard wood, such as box wood, with a dent to receive the bar, made by the edge of the file. The barb being made, the shank is thinned and flattened, and the polishing file applied to it; and by a turn of the wrist round a circular pincers, the necessary degree of curvature is given to it. The hook is then cut from the bar, heated red hot, by being kept for a moment in a charcoal fire; then plunged, while hot, into cold water; then tempered, by being put on iron, that has been heated in the same fire till it becomes a bright blue, and, whilst still hot, it is immersed in candle-grease, where it gains a black colour; it is then finished.

Phys.—Nothing seems simpler than this process. Surely London might furnish manufacturers for so easy a manipulation; and I should think one of our friends, who is so admirable a cutler, might even improve upon the Irish process; at least the tempering might be more scientifically arranged; for instance, by the thermometer, and a bath of fusible metal, the temperature at which steel becomes blue being 580° Fahrenheit, might be constantly preserved.

Hal.—Habit teaches our Irish artists this point with sufficient precision. We should have such hooks in England, but the object of the fishing tackle makers is to obtain them cheap, and most of their hooks are made to sell, and good hooks cannot be sold but at a good price.

Poiet.—I have heard formerly a good angler complain, that the Limerick hooks were too heavy and clumsy. He preferred hooks made at Kendal in Cumberland.

Hal.—I saw, twenty years ago, hooks far too heavy made at Limerick; but this O’Shaughnessy is, I think, a better maker than his father was, and the curve and the general form of the hook is improved. It has now, I think, nearly the best form of a curve for catching and holding, the point protruding a little. The Kendal hook holds well, but is not so readily fixed by the pull in the mouth of the fish. The early Fellows of the Royal Society, who attended to all the useful and common arts, even improved fish hooks; and Prince Rupert, an active member of that illustrious body, taught the art of tempering hooks to a person of the name of Kirby; under whose name, for more than a century, very good hooks were sold. I shall take a walk towards the lake to enjoy a view of its cloud-capped mountains, and I hope to find, on my return, that you have all had your satisfaction in a good day’s salmon fishing.

Phys.—We shall crimp and cool a salmon, if we catch a good one, for our dinner.

Hal.—Do so.

Orn.—But before you leave us, I wish you would be good enough to inform us why the salmon here are so different from those I have seen elsewhere: for instance, some caught in the Alness, in Rosshire, which we saw in passing round the south coast of Ross. These appear to me thicker and brighter fish, and one that I measured was 30 inches long, and 17 in circumference.

Hal.—I think I have seen broader fish than even those of this river; but the salmon which you happen to remember for comparison, belonged to a small stream, which, I think, in general, are thinner and longer than those in great rivers; and what I mentioned on a former occasion with respect to trout holds good likewise with regard to salmon; each river has a distinct kind. It is scarcely possible to doubt, that the varieties of the salmon, which haunt the sea, come to the same rivers to breed in which they were born, or where they have spawned before. And this could hardly happen unless they confined their migrations to a certain space in the sea, the boundaries of which may be regarded as the shore and probably deep water, which may be considered as effectual a limit almost as land; for fish do not willingly haunt very deep water, which even in summer is of low temperature, approaching to 40°, and contains little or no vegetable food or insects, which the smaller fishes search for, and the larger fishes follow the smaller. It is however possible, that in winter, all fish fond of heat will seek water rather deeper than in summer; and char and umbla in lakes are usually found in the deepest parts, being fond of cool water, and they come to spawn whenever the shallow water of the lakes becomes cool, in October or November. We cannot judge of the senses of animals that breathe water,—that separate air from water by their gills; but it seems probable, that, as the quality of the water is connected with their life and health, they must be exquisitely sensible to changes in water, and must have similar relations to it, that an animal with the most delicate nasal organs has to air. A vulture or a dog scents not only particular food and particular game at great distances, but even makes of the smell a kind of language; and I doubt not, that when dogs, that have been blindfolded and carried away from their home, return to it, it is by the sense of smelling: to them each town, lane, or field, must have a particular scent. And I have seen even a blind horse, an animal in which the sense of smelling is less acute, evidently find his way by it to his master’s house and stable, which was, indeed, near a tan-yard. The state of parts of water, in the sea or great lakes, produced by the impregnations carried down by particular streams, is much more permanent than a like state in air: so that though the knowledge given by the nasal organs may be more easily communicated at a distance by winds, yet that produced by streams on the bronchiÆ of fishes is more invariable, and a migratory fish is less likely to be deceived. Yet in great floods, often connected with storms, or violent motion in the waters near the shore, salmon sometimes mistake their river. I remember in this way, owing to a tremendous flood, catching with the fly a large salmon, that had mistaken his river, having come into the Bush, near the Giant’s Causeway, instead of the Bann. No fish can be more distinct in the same species than the fish of these two rivers, their length to their girth being nearly in a ratio of 20:9 and 20:13.—I am going; good sport to you.

EVENING.

Hal.—I am sure I may congratulate you on your sport, for I see on the bank a fine salmon, three grauls or grilses, and three large sea trout.

Orn.—You have not seen all, for we have crimped two fish—one a large salmon, and the other a trout almost a yard long, and both in excellent season. We have had great sport, and sport even of a kind which you will not guess at; for, when the tide was falling, the fish ceased to rise at the fly, and I thought of trying them with a bait; so we sent for our swivel tackle, and put par or samlet on our hooks, as we bait for pike—cutting off one ventral fin on one side, and one pectoral fin on the other; and making the par spin in the most rapid streams, we had several runs from fish, and it was in this way that Poietes caught this large sea trout, which gave excellent sport.

Hal.—This kind of fishing is not uncommon. I have often caught salmon in the Tay, fishing with pars; but though the fish ran at the bait, when they would not rise at the fly while the tide was ebbing, they would have taken the par better still while it was flowing.

Phys.—From my experience to-day, I conclude the salmon has habits different from the trout; for I think the fish which broke my hook rose again at the artificial fly in the same place.

Hal.—I think you are mistaken. Salmon are usually shyer even than trout, and I never knew one in this season, that had been pricked even slightly, rise again at the artificial fly in the same pool. I should say, that their habits were precisely the same, but with more sagacity on the side of the salmon. It must have been another fish that rose at your fly in the same place. After such severe discipline, I do not think a fish would rise for many hours, even at a natural bait.

Poiet.—Your experience is so great, that I dare say I was mistaken, yet it seemed a fish of the same size.

Hal.—Salmon often in this season haunt the streams in pairs; but so far from rising again after being pricked, they appear to me to learn, when they have been some time in the river, that the artificial fly is not food, even without having been touched by the hook. In the river at Galway, in Ireland, I have seen above the bridge some hundreds of salmon lying in rapid streams, and from five to ten fishermen tempting them with every variety of fly, but in vain. After a fish had been thrown over a few times, and risen once or twice and refused the fly, he rarely ever took any notice of it again in that place. It was generally nearest the tide that fish were taken, and the place next the sea was the most successful stand, and the most coveted; and when the water is low and clear in this river, the Galway fishermen resort to the practice of fishing with a naked hook, endeavouring to entangle it in the bodies of the fish; a most unartistlike practice. In spring fishing, I have known a hungry, half-starved salmon rise at the artificial fly a second time, after having been very slightly touched by it; but even this rarely happens, and when I have seen it, the water has been coloured.

Phys.—Can you tell us why the fish rise better at the fly when the tide is flowing, than when it is ebbing? There seems no reason why flies should be sought for by the fish at one of these seasons, rather than at the other.

Hal.—The turn of the salt water brings up aquatic insects, and perhaps small fish; and I suppose salmon know this, and search for food at a time when it is likely to be found. I cannot think, that in these pools they can be on the look-out for flies, for there are never any on the surface of the water; and I imagine they take the gaudy fly, with its blue kingfisher and golden pheasant’s feathers, for a small fish.

Orn.—I have always supposed that they took it for a libella, or dragon-fly; for I have often seen these brilliant flies haunting the water.

Hal.—I never saw a dragon-fly drop on the water, or taken by a fish; and salmon sometimes rise even in the salt water, where dragon-flies are never found. There is no difficulty in explaining why salmon in inland rivers should take flies, where natural flies are abundant; but fish, when they have lain long in pools in the river and fed on natural flies, will no longer take these bright flies, and then even a trout-fly is often most successful. I have sometimes thought that the rising of salmon and sea trout at these bright flies, as soon as they come from the sea into rivers, might depend upon a sort of imperfect memory of their early food and habits; for flies form a great part of the food of the salmon fry, which, for a month or two after they are hatched, feed like young trouts—and in March and April the spring flies are their principal nourishment. In going back to fresh water, they may perhaps have their habits of feeding recalled to them, and naturally search for their food at the surface.

Poiet.—This appears to me very probable.—But it is late, and we must return and compare the crimped trout and salmon; and I hope we shall have another good day to-morrow, for the clouds are red in the west.

Phys.—I have no doubt of it, for the red has a tint of purple.

Hal.—Do you know why this tint portends fine weather?

Phys.—The air, when dry, I believe, refracts more red, or heat-making, rays; and as dry air is not perfectly transparent, they are again reflected in the horizon. I have generally observed a coppery or yellow sunset to foretel rain; but, as an indication of wet weather approaching, nothing is more certain than a halo round the moon, which is produced by the precipitated water; and the larger the circle, the nearer the clouds, and consequently the more ready to fall.

Hal.—I have often observed, that the old proverb is correct—

Can you explain this omen?

Phys.—A rainbow can only occur when the clouds containing, or depositing, the rain are opposite to the sun,—and in the evening the rainbow is in the east, and in the morning in the west; and as our heavy rains, in this climate, are usually brought by the westerly wind, a rainbow in the west indicates, that the bad weather is on the road, by the wind, to us; whereas the rainbow in the east proves, that the rain in these clouds is passing from us.

Poiet.—I have often observed, that when the swallows fly high, fine weather is to be expected or continued; but when they fly low, and close to the ground, rain is almost surely approaching. Can you account for this?

Hal.—Swallows follow the flies and gnats, and flies and gnats usually delight in warm strata of air; and as warm air is lighter, and usually moister, than cold air, when the warm strata of air are high, there is less chance of moisture being thrown down from them by the mixture with cold air; but when the warm and moist air is close to the surface, it is almost certain, that, as the cold air flows down into it, a deposition of water will take place.

Poiet.—I have often seen sea-gulls assemble on the land, and have almost always observed, that very stormy and rainy weather was approaching. I conclude, that these animals, sensible of a current of air approaching from the ocean, retire to the land to shelter themselves from the storm.

Orn.—No such thing. The storm is their element; and the little petrel enjoys the heaviest gale, because, living on the smaller sea insects, he is sure to find his food in the spray of a heavy wave—and you may see him flitting above the edge of the highest surge. I believe, that the reason of this migration of seagulls, and other sea birds, to the land, is their security of finding food. They may be observed, at this time, feeding greedily on the earth worms and larvÆ, driven out of the ground by severe floods; and the fish, on which they prey in fine weather in the sea, leave the surface, when storms prevail and go deeper. The search after food, as we agreed on a former occasion, is the principal cause why animals change their places. The different tribes of the wading birds always migrate when rain is about to take place; and I remember once, in Italy, having been long waiting, in the end of March, for the arrival of the double snipe in the Campagna of Rome,—a great flight appeared on the 3d of April, and the day after heavy rain set in, which greatly interfered with my sport. The vulture, upon the same principle, follows armies; and I have no doubt, that the augury of the ancients was a good deal founded upon the observation of the instincts of birds. There are many superstitions of the vulgar owing to the same source. For anglers, in spring, it is always unlucky to see single magpies,—but two may be always regarded as a favourable omen; and the reason is, that in cold and stormy weather one magpie alone leaves the nest in search of food, the other remaining sitting upon the eggs or the young ones; but when two go out together, the weather is warm and mild, and thus favourable for fishing.

Poiet.—The singular connexions of causes and effects, to which you have just referred, make superstition less to be wondered at, particularly amongst the vulgar; and when two facts, naturally unconnected, have been accidentally coincident, it is not singular that this coincidence should have been observed and registered, and that omens of the most absurd kind should be trusted in. In the west of England, half a century ago, a particular hollow noise on the sea coast was referred to a spirit or goblin, called Bucca, and was supposed to foretel a shipwreck: the philosopher knows, that sound travels much faster than currents in the air—and the sound always foretold the approach of a very heavy storm, which seldom takes place on that wild and rocky coast, surrounded as it is by the Atlantic, without a shipwreck on some part of its extensive shores.

Phys.—All the instances of omens you have mentioned are founded on reason; but how can you explain such absurdities as Friday being an unlucky day, the terror of spilling salt, or meeting an old woman? I knew a man, of very high dignity, who was exceedingly moved by these omens, and who never went out shooting without a bittern’s claw fastened to his buttonhole by a ribband—which he thought ensured him good luck.

Poiet.—These, as well as the omens of death watches, dreams, &c., are for the most part founded upon some accidental coincidences; but spilling of salt, on an uncommon occasion, may, as I have known it, arise from a disposition to apoplexy, shown by an incipient numbness in the hand, and may be a fatal symptom; and persons, dispirited by bad omens, sometimes prepare the way for evil fortune; for confidence in success is a great means of ensuring it. The dream of Brutus, before the field of Philippi, probably produced a species of irresolution and despondency, which was the principal cause of his losing the battle: and I have heard, that the illustrious sportsman, to whom you referred just now, was always observed to shoot ill, because he shot carelessly, after one of his dispiriting omens.

Hal.—I have in life met with a few things, which I found it impossible to explain, either by chance coincidences or by natural connexions; and I have known minds of a very superior class affected by them,—persons in the habit of reasoning deeply and profoundly.

Phys.—In my opinion, profound minds are the most likely to think lightly of the resources of human reason: it is the pert, superficial thinker who is generally strongest in every kind of unbelief. The deep philosopher sees chains of causes and effects so wonderfully and strangely linked together, that he is usually the last person to decide upon the impossibility of any two series of events being independent of each other; and in science, so many natural miracles, as it were, have been brought to light,—such as the fall of stones from meteors in the atmosphere, the disarming a thunder cloud by a metallic point, the production of fire from ice by a metal white as silver, and referring certain laws of motion of the sea to the moon,—that the physical inquirer is seldom disposed to assert, confidently, on any abstruse subjects belonging to the order of natural things, and still less so on those relating to the more mysterious relations of moral events and intellectual natures.