A UTUMN. 67 



decided that the fish should not be returned to die a 

 painful death. 



The autumnal general-fishing of the rivers produces, as a 

 rule, larger fish than are taken in the summer. The weeds 

 soon begin to rot after Michaelmas, and most of the coarse 

 fish betake themselves, without more ado, to their winter 

 quarters in the deeps. The prettiest hour's roach fishing 

 I ever saw was on a September evening, on returning from 

 whipping a ford where the large dace were in the habit of 

 congregating. Above one of those small noisy weirs which 

 are laid across our lesser rivers, there meandered through 

 the meadow some 200 yards of even current, still but deep. 

 There were three rustic seats stationed upon the bank, for 

 the convenience of the members of the club who rented the 

 fishery. Upon one of these sat a veteran angler, who had 

 had his share of the more energetic descriptions of sport 

 for half a century, and who was now content with the 

 tranquil amusement of roach fishing. He thoroughly 

 understood the art, and would have deemed that the roach 

 were insulted if angled for with other than a tight hair line 

 and a long bamboo rod. His process was troublesome, 

 but remunerative. At every swim he enveloped his paste 

 bait with a thin wrapping of the bran composition with 

 which he had been ground-baiting, and it was a liberal 

 education to watch his fortunes. The float, shotted down 

 to a quarter of an inch of the surface, to my eye indicated 

 no bite, but invariably, when the end of the swim had been 

 reached, within a foot or so, my good friend was somehow 

 playing a fish, following it hither and thither under the 

 point of his rod. The 20-foot bamboo was unshipped 

 after the orthodox Lea style, reducing its length, and the 

 angler netted his fish without a splash or alarming move- 

 ment. 



F 2 



