148 



THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY 



trout did not bite, I, as a boy might be supposed to do, at- 

 tributed the faihire, not to the philosophy of the fish, but to 

 their want of appetite. 



I love fly-fishing; because it is fishing divested of much of 

 its barbarity. I mean, of course, the a>"//y?C2V// fly. It is all 

 very fair to catch a voracious fish, while he is endeavouring to 

 gobble up what he supposes a nice little fly. I alwa)''s disliked 

 to use live bait, and never did when I could avoid it. Walton 

 had many kind feelings, and in instructing you how to impale 

 a frog in such a manner as to keep the poor devil alive as long 

 as possible, he pathetically urges it upon you to "use him as 

 though you loved himf for which afiectionate admonition 

 he has been sneered at most unmercifully by half a dozen peo- 

 ple, who although they may be very accomplished writers, 

 are no fishermen. But in my early fishing da3fs, I learnt more 

 humanity from Thomson than from any other person, and 

 for a long time, whenever I thought of going a fishing, I 

 had humming in my ears: 



'' But let not on your hook the tortured worm, 

 Convulsive, twist in agonizing folds j 

 Which by rapacious hunger swallowed deep. 

 Gives, as you tear it from the bieeding breast 

 Of the weak, liarmless, uncomplaining wretch, 

 Harsh pain and liorror to the lender hand." 



These lines saved many a worm. It was Thomson, I 

 think, who, some lady said, showed plainly in his works, 

 that he was a great fisherman and a great swimmer; but 

 who, notwithstanding the lady's sagacity, and I must say 

 that she drew a very fair inference, judging from his works, 

 never took a fishing rod in his hand, and never went into 

 the water. Thomson's worm puts me in mind of a time 

 when I was trying to entice into my pouch some Trout from 

 the Choconut creek — You have been there with me — They 

 were shy, and I thought I would try some other bait, and 

 searching around I found a worm. My head had been 

 running on mixed mathematics, and the doctrine of 

 chances — a foolish thing to puzzle one's self with when fish- 

 ing. As I sauntered along, I had been proving to myself 

 that the probability of two subsequent events, both happen- 

 ing, is equal to the product of the probability of the hap- 

 pening of those events, considered separately. Q. E. D. 

 And had demonstrated the thing in my head most scholas- 

 tically, when I said to myself, — Here is this poor worm. 

 What was the chance that in the immense extent of this 

 globe, it should be here, in this spot; and in the great 

 lapse of time since the formation of worms, that this very 

 one should have existed at all; and if existing, been here, 

 at this point of time; and that I — the individual /— 

 should be here now, of all times; and be here in this spot 

 in all space, for the purpose of catching a Trout. That be- 

 ing here, at this time, of all times past, present, and to 



come, / should have found this worm, of all the worms of 

 the earth, and should put it on this hook, among the trillions 

 of hooks, to catch a particular trout, in this particular creek, 

 of all the creeks in the world. And yet that chance has 

 become a certainty! Prove me that, Mr. De Moivre! 

 Poh! poh! 'tis all a folly, and it shan't happen; and you 

 shan't be put upon this hook, nor be eaten by that trout, 

 poor little worm. There, go off with you — wriggle away 

 as fast as you can, and thank the doctrine of chances for 

 your escape; and I'll bother myself no more with them: I 

 dare say it was they that made me lose that last trout. 



What fishing may be compared with fly-fishing for trout, 

 in a fine, clear, spring brook, overarched by spreading 

 beeches, birches, and elms! — the day so warm as to give a 

 pleasing consciousness of the protection derived from the 

 majestic trees — the water so clear as to tempt you from the 

 bank to walk into the stream, that runs dancing over stones 

 and pebbles, or whirling around rocks, as if for the purpose 

 of forming lurking places for the trout. You throw your 

 fly, and they see it in its light descent, and dart at it; but 

 one, more alert than his fellows, springs out of the water 

 and seizes it, before it reaches the surface! I am sure, my 

 dear E., that you will always recollect that fishing when 

 we caught thirty-six dozens, (or was it thirty-five and a 

 half? I always said that; but you contended that it was 

 thirty-six,) and the boy who attended with the horse and 

 panniers, could scarcely put them away, wrapped up in the 

 fresh green leaves, as fast as we caught them. Do you re- 

 collect the pool, where I stood over my knees in the water, 

 and from one place, caught my fishing-bag full three times 

 over — the boy being called that often to empty it ? When, 

 as the fly was descending, we could see trout dashing from 

 difierent parts of the clear water, to the point where it was 

 expected to fall, and the surface would be thrown into 

 ebullition by the struggle among them to see who should 

 be the fortunate fellow to seize it? Do you recollect what 

 a delicious lunch we made that day, about twelve o'clock, 

 you may call it a dejeuner a-la-fourchctte, if you please 

 — having been walking in the stream, the forest all the 

 way overhead, from sunrise — how we sat on the bank, sub 

 tegmino fagi, with our feet in the water, and how often you 

 exclaimed, " How delightful this is!" Do you remember 

 how the pellucid stream put us in mind of Professor 

 Carlyle's translation from the Arabic poet, in lines which 

 might be supposed to describe the limpid rivulet before 

 us : 



*' So smooth the pebbles on its shore, 



That not a maid can thitlier stray. 

 But counts her strings of jewels o'er. 



And thinks the pearls liave slipped away." 



Do you recollect, as we lay thrown back upon the grass. 



