60 WILD SPORTS OF THE HIGHLANDS. [CHAP. vi. 



finished Limerick-made hook. Here are three different sub- 

 stances brought into play already. I next begin at the tail of 

 the fly : first come two turns of gold thread, then a tenth part of 

 an inch of red floss-silk ; next comes the tail, consisting of a 

 bright gold feather from the crest of the golden pheasant. The 

 body is now to be made of, alternately, a stripe of green, a stripe 

 of blue, and the remainder of orange-coloured floss-silk, with a 

 double binding of gold thread and silver tinsel ; the legs are 

 made of a black barn-door cock's hackle, taken from him, in 

 winter, when the bird is in full plumage ; next to the wing comes 

 a turn of grouse's feather, and two or three turns of the purple- 

 black feather which is pendant on the breast of an old cock heron. 

 Now for the wing, which is composed of a mixture of feathers from 

 the mallard killed in this country ; from the teal drake, also a 

 native ; from the turkey-cock ; the bustard, from India ; a stripe 

 or two of green parrot ; a little of the tippet of the gold pheasant ; 

 a thread or two from the peacock's tail ; a bit from the Argus 

 pheasant, and from the tail of a common hen pheasant : all these 

 mixed and blended together form an irresistible wing. Round the 

 shoulder of the wing a turn of the blue and black feather off a 

 jay's wing. For the head, a small portion of that substance called 

 pig's wool, so mysterious to the uninitiated, pigs not being the 

 usual animals from which wool is supposed to be derived ; then 

 finished off with a few turns of black ostrich feather ; not forget- 

 ting that finish to the whole, two horns of red and blue macaw's 

 feather. Now, all this makes a fly, either of the dragon or some 

 other species, which no salmon who is in a taking mood (one 

 can hardly suppose he swallows it out of hunger) can resist. 

 See the gallant fish, as he rises suddenly up from the dark depths 

 of the pool, poises himself for a moment, as the fly hovers before 

 him, in the twirling eddy, then darts forward, seizes the gaudy 

 bait, and retreats again, apparently well satisfied with his skill 

 in fly-catching, till lie suddenly finds himself pulled up, and held 

 fast by the unexpected strength of the insect. I suspect that a 

 salmon, after a quarter of an hour's struggle on a line, would 

 scarcely call the fisherman at the other end " a fool," even if he 

 took the fly to be some newly discovered glittering worm. 

 Skill in fly-fishing can only be acquired by practice, and no 

 directions can make a good angler. And even when fairly 



