310 FISHING GOSSIP. 
times, however, the fish are “all on the feed.” I knew 
of a party of four who, relying on such news as the 
above, came to a quiet retreat near Windsor. They 
got out of their beds at half-past two in the morning, 
and fished away in their punt till half-past nine, and 
when they came back to breakfast they had captured, 
the four of them, one gudgeon and one roach. What 
a contrast this is with a professed angler of my ac- 
quaintance, who has caught two hundred-weight of 
fish—barbel, roach, perch, ete—in one day, and who 
has come home “with the punt-well so full that all 
the fish had turned up”—ze. died of exhaustion. I 
believe his story, as he is a great professor of the - 
science. It is a treat to see him get ready : he punts 
quietly up the river, as silent as a red Indian, peering 
deep down into the water. All at once in goes the 
rypeck (the pole used to fix the boat) and over slides, 
without a splash, the junk stone (a heavy stone weight, 
having a cord attached) and the punt swings across 
stream into “the swim.” 
“This will do, sir.’ Then out comes the tackle : 
‘a few hanks of gut, a few loose hooks, and a very 
tustic-looking float, or more often a quill from the 
wing of a swan ; and then the line, not a great thick 
cart-rope, but a delicate silken cord, fit almost to 
make ladies’ purses or hair-nets. “Fish is artful 
things,” says he; “you can’t fish too fine for ’em.” 
Most anglers imagine that fish can neither see nor 
