172 FISH CULTUEE. 



striven to drive the swans away from their disgusting 

 meal, and with very little success. They will suffer 

 you when thus engaged to come near enough to 

 strike them with a stick— nay, they will almost fight 

 for the spawn, and the moment your back is turned 

 they commence anew. I dwell upon this point with 

 special force, because all poaching and all other means 

 of destruction sink into utter insignificance beside the 

 ravages of swans, particularly on the Thames. 



I once, when at Marlow early in the month 

 of May, saw the long shallow some distance below 

 the river covered with large fish (barbel, chub, 

 roach, &c.) engaged in depositing their spawn. I 

 watched them for some days; how long they had 

 been there before I came I know not. The shallow, 

 for near a hundred square yards, was black with 

 shoals of fish ; so thick were they in places that I, who 

 happened one day to be fly-fishing, could not throw 

 the fly on the water in many parts without foul-hook- 

 ing either a large roach or a chub. At length the fish 

 ceased spawning, and dropped off the shallows, ex- 

 hausted, into the deeper, stiller water below. As 

 soon as the fish left, I saw a troop of swans, about 

 five-and-twenty in number, come sailing up the 

 river, led by a patriarchal old villain with a huge 

 knob over his beak. He appeared perfectly aware of 



