CHAPTER XXIII. 



"FYSSHE AND FYSSHEYNGE." 



[Before the Minnesota Academy of Sciences, 1881.] 



THUS as written, wrote Dame Juliana Berners four centuries ago. We do not 

 spell it that way nowadays, but the subject stands the same, unchangeable, fixed, 

 eternal. The same interest invests it now as then ; the same enthusiasm is kindled 

 in old and young alike. In infancy it is the initial out-of-door pastime. When old 

 age has outlived its usefulness, it still can fish; and even after the mortal coil is 

 shuffled off there gleams a constellation in the heavens, beyond the dead line, to 

 illuminate the angler's path to glory ! Thus from the beginning of antiquity, when 

 "the waters covered the face of the earth," until the ultimate end of time, the art 

 and the subject are alike illustrated 'and ennobled. The pride of his calling dig- 

 nifies the fisherman, while topics much less scaly fail to win equal plaudits for 

 the pen. 



From the days of Oppian, who was chief poet of the second century, until the 

 most recent rhapsody of the modern author, the art of angling has been chanted 

 in song and expatiated upon in prose. Prof. J. J. Manley, of London, tells us that 

 there are no less than 800 books on angling and cognate subjects. The literature 

 of angling embraces the names of some of the most distinguished men of the cen- 

 turies. Angling is a standard gossip in the tackle shops and around the camp fire. 

 It is a subject on which any self-constituted censor may assume to talk intelligently. 

 So kaleidoscopic are its phases that none may venture to gainsay the most random 

 statements ; so tuneful are its changes that it never grows trite. Its associations are 

 hallowed by its ''ancient and fish-like smell," like the old wines of Tokay and 

 Johannisberg by the must of the cellars. Nevertheless it is an uncertain field of 

 research, and I approach it with some such wariness as I would an old root under 

 a river bank, stuck full of fouled hooks, and bristling with broken snoods and bits 

 of line, knowing full well, from the circumstantial evidences, that there is a big 

 fish under there difficult to handle. 



Ah! here we have an immediate suggestion of the charm of angling. A big 

 fish difficult to handle ! Herein consist the challenge and incentive to any essay of 

 personal skill. How the wary old fisherman will rub his hands and chuckle, as he 

 cunningly selects and adjusts his most captivating lines, to victimize that educated 

 fish who has outwitted all before him! How carefully he lays out his lines and 

 establishes his approaches! And if he can only once get fairly hung of that fish, 

 what a crown of glory will he begin to burnish up for himself ! 



But I do not intend a tilt in the open field of angling. I will not even attempt 

 to epitomize a subject of such vast amplitude and illimitable ramifications. I am 

 a free lance, merely touching a few salient points with the lambent flight of the bee. 



Imprimis, I find that there is a certain kind of ozone in the spring atmosphere 

 which makes an angler wish to go a-fishing. He takes to water as naturally as a 

 duck. Thenceforth what enchantment invests the dark and shadowy river with its 

 varying mood and cadences; the rattling ripple and the murmuring eddy; the pale 

 buds of springtime and the umbrageous fronds of June ; the catcall of the jay and 



(ill) 



