262 THE PRACTICAL FISHERMAN. 



shot, the use of which will be seen presently. Now, from the mysterious 

 depths of a capacious pocket, a bullock's horn, pierced with holes, is 

 drawn, and the cork lifted. A bluebottle, dazed and tamed by the 

 previous darkness, slowly makes his appearance, to be taken between 

 the fingers, killed, and impaled on the hook. All being ready, the rod 

 is carefully protruded through the bushes, and, the bait being dropped 

 into the water, the shot sinks it to where our trout is supposed to be 

 lying perdue. 



Now mark the care and interest manifest in the heated face of our 

 puppet-angler. See how rapidly he becomes cool, deliberate, and com- 

 fortable, gently and slowly he lifts and lowers the bait with an enticing 

 movement. Perhaps, with the instinct of an accomplished fisherman, he 

 has become aware of the contiguity of his quarry, but has hitherto not 

 succeeded in tempting it to take the bait. Suddenly, however, he strikes, 

 and, with a splash and a roll, the trout is making valiant efforts to 

 escape. Now the utility of the strong tackle is prominently demon- 

 strated. No gentle handling, as with the ordinary fly tackle, can be 

 allowed, or entanglement would result. Steadily and resolutely the fish 

 is killed and bagged. And so sport continues till the heat is forgotten, 

 and the sun slowly dips beyond the hills. Then does our piscator desist 

 with a glad heart. Around circle the voices of the evening. The 

 "melodyous armony of fowles" is a fit evensong. Insensibly, as he 

 wends his way along tortuous footpaths and through odorous meadows, 

 the soft poetry of the scene steals over his senses soothingly, and with a 

 sweet music of peace. The monotonous landrail is the bass to the hedge 

 warbler's treble, and from the wood anigh the nightingale thrills his 

 heart with an eddying sea of song. The gurgle of the waterbrook, and, 

 perhaps, the dying thunder of the weir are voices in the great choir 

 whose subject song is night. The gloaming comes down thickly, dyeing 

 the distant hills a purple hue, and our angler returns to his cottage or 

 inn, after the good old Waltonian style, to have his "fairtrouts" dressed 

 for supper, and then to bed, between lavender-scented sheets, to dream 

 dreams of quietude and peace. 



As indicated in my explanation of the natural history of the May fly, 

 the creeper or crab is a very deadly bait, and is largely used by fishermen 

 who want to make a basket at any rate. For my own part, I would do 

 away with such fishing on rivers supposed to be preserved but I need 

 not go into the ethics of the subject here, where I am supposed to be 

 explaining the " how " simply, and not the " why." 



The creeper is the larva of the stone fly, and is easily caught as 

 follows : Stick a fine net in the water where they may be expected to be 

 found, then go some yard and a half above and disturb the gravel with 



