1 62 By Stream and Sea. 



which is commonly supposed to be an absolutely fatal lure. 

 What our Hazelbarn perch prefer in the winter is a lively 

 gudgeon, and first of all a stone gudgeon. Now, gudgeon 

 require a considerable amount of trouble, if you have to get 

 them by yourself with a cast net, and hence it frequently 

 happens that when the curate's wife comes down, as she 

 will be certain to do in all weathers, about one o'clock, with 

 something appetising in her reticule, and something to tell 

 us of London news, and recent books, she finds us fretting 

 and fuming at our ill success with the net. When either of 

 us captures a two-pound perch — and that is no novelty in 

 this part of the world — the two families sup together, taking 

 turns at the parsonage and Hazelbarn. 



And a perch night is always a musical night. We have 

 the perch boiled in his jacket, scales and all ; the music is 

 both instrumental and vocal. Parsley and butter is in- 

 variably served up for sauce with the fish; Mrs. Green 

 Vernon or our grown-up daughters play the accompaniments 

 in the warm, lamp-lighted sitting-room. The perch thus 

 eaten is a delicious morsel ; and somehow we have all got 

 to associate that brightly-vestured fish with " Ring out, Wild 

 Bells," " Cleansing Fires," " Come into the Garden, Maud," 

 " The Heart Bow'd Down," and so on. 



Discussions of the most furious kind took place between 

 the curate and myself upon the vital question of spinning 

 versus trolling. The curate being a stout, and therefore 

 somewhat of a lazy man, is partial to live baiting with 

 gorge tackle ; I stand by spinning or trolling, chiefly the 

 latter, because it is found to be the most killing, as it is the 

 easiest plan for our particular river. You must never lay 

 down general rules for angling. We have fought this battle 

 for four winters now, and on the threshold of a fifth we are 

 fighting it still. Last Christmas Day, of all others, we made 



