CHAPTER III. 



THE THAMES. 



" From his oozy bed 



Old Father Thames advanced his rev'rend head, 

 His tresses drooped with dews, and o'er the stream 



His shining horns diffused a golden gleam ; 

 . Graved on his urn appeared the moon, that guides 



His swelling waters and alternate tides : 



The figured streams in waves of silver roll'd, 



And on his banks Augusta, robed in gold ; 



Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood, 



Who swell with tributary urns his flood : 



First, the famed authors of his ancient name, 

 The winding Isis and[the fruitful Thame." 



CAN or will the queenly Thames be ever made a salmon 

 river ? That is the^question askedjyear after year, to remain 

 year after year unanswered. At times we are startled by 

 reports from Thames-side of a salmon seen and nearly cap- 

 tured. During a whole season two or three years ago artful 

 and exciting rumours j reached town respecting a veritable 

 salmo salar said to be creating a sensation at a certain 

 station on the river. He*was w seen feeding every morning ; 

 Jack Rowlocks had obtained a full view of him as he 

 leaped a yard out of the water in the summer twilight. Sc- 

 ran the story, and in various^ways that fish has ever since 

 been employed to fpoint^fishing morals and adorn waterside 

 tales. He was evidently made to rise again in the following 



