42 THE PRACTICAL FISHERMAN. 



silent pines salutes us as we put off in the little fishing punt. There is a 

 soft ripple on the water from the north-west too gentle to be cold. 

 The coots rise and fall in the distance on the tiny waves, and their white 

 bills shine in the clear sunshine, and their querulous voices come ever 

 and anon to us as we gently row to the selected spot. So much for the 

 surroundings. 



There are three of us good anglers and true, and our paternosters 

 are of the finest and strongest, our minnows are of the most lusty and 

 vigorous from the Colne, and the ruby cockspur worms are well scoured 

 and tough in the sphagnum moss, where they have luxuriated for three 

 days. The spot selected is on the south-east side of the water, and we 

 know its sub-aqueous aspect is truly percine of fish, fishy. Judge 

 for yourself, experienced reader ! In summer, the water crowsfoot, and 

 white, thick - stemmed, rough - rooted lily, form a mass of luxuriant 

 blossom and verdure of some sixty feet of Surface by thirty across. 

 At this time its superficial exuberance is no more. The first frost 

 that touched the trees had placed its withering finger on this island of 

 plants, and now only here and there a stray leaf appears to indicate 

 the whilom plenitude of verdant growth. In fact, the stems, half 

 rotten, remain only, and amongst them, lingering after the late feast 

 on animalculae, furnished by the growing plants, we expect to find our 

 " pearches" ravenous after their protracted abstinence, and, like a flock 

 of sheep, ready to follow their leader. 



We duly arrived at this much-to-be-desired trysting place, and, 

 dropping the weight overboard quietly, and fixing a short rypeck to 

 the stern of the punt, we essayed to commence operations. The pater- 

 nostei box was opened and the Nottingham rod appointed with its 

 delicate but strong eight plait line and its free running reel. What had 

 we forgotten ? for each one, ere attempting to adjust the baits, paused as 

 if something were wanting. Ah, Eureka ! Taking from the capacious 

 tackle basket a curious flask, your obedient servant poured out a nepenthe 

 liquid, Spiritus Hordei Scotici Anglice, Scotch whisky, supposed to be 

 peculiarly efficacious when perch fishing and the cup passed round with 

 the customary appropriate invocation to the water god, so nearly 

 forgotten. Had such a ceremonial been omitted I should probably not 

 have had a chance of chronicling the splendid ensuing results. 



However, we duly drank to good luck, and I baited my hooks and 

 gently lowered them overboard just outside the submerged weeds. My 

 friends did likewise, and we waited. No answer during the first five 

 minutes, as we kept our lines gradually moving, now here and now there. 

 Presently a run on my^line, and, after a short interval, a nice 41b. pike 

 lay panting and exhibiting his mottled sides to his exulting captor. 



