278 DMPLETE ANGLER. 



YiAT. I have him now, but he is gone down towards the 

 bottom : I cannot see what lie is, yet he should be a good fish 

 by his weight ; but he makes no great stir. 



Pise. Why then, by what you say, I dare venture to assure 

 you it is a grayling, who is one of the deadest-hearted fishes 

 in the world, and the bigger he is, the more easily taken. 

 Look you, now you see him plain ; I told you what he was : 

 bring hither that landing-net, boy : and now, sir, he is your 

 own ; and believe me a good one, sixteen inches long, I warrant 

 him : I have taken none such this year. 



YIAT. I never saw a grayling before look so black. 



Pise. Did you not ? Why then, let me tell you, that you 

 never saw one before in right season ; for then a grayling is 

 very black about his head, gills, and down his back ; and has 

 his belly of a dark gray, dappled with black spots, as you see 

 this is ; and I am apt to conclude that from thence he derives 

 his name of umber. Though I must tell you this fish 

 is past his prime, and begins to decline, and was in better 

 season at Christmas than he is now. But move on : for 

 it grows towards dinner time; and there is a very great 

 and fine stream below, under that rock, that fills the 

 deepest pool in all the river, where you are almost sure of 

 a good fish. 



YIAT. Let him come, I'll try a fall with him. But I had 

 thought that the grayling had been always in season with the 

 trout, and had come in and gone out with him. 



Pise. Oh, no ! assure yourself a grayling is a winter fish ; 

 but such a one as would deceive any but such as know him 

 very well indeed ; for his flesh, even in his worst season, is so 

 firm, and will so easily calver, that in plain truth he is very- 

 good meat at all times : but in his perfect season (which, by 

 the way, none but an overgrown grayling will ever be), I think 

 him so good a fish, as to be little inferior to the best trout 

 that ever I tasted in my life. 



YIAT. Here's another skipjack ; and I have raised five or 

 six more at least while you were speaking. Well, go thy 

 way, little Dove ! thou art the finest river that ever I saw, 

 and the fullest of fish. Indeed, sir, I like it so well, that I 

 am afraid you will be troubled with me once a year, so long 

 as we two live. 



Pise. I am afraid I shall not, sir : but were you once here 

 a May or a June, if good sport would tempt you, I should 

 then expect you would sometimes see me ; for you would then 



