FOREST AND STREAM 
265 
THE MICHIGAN GRAYLING— {Thymallus- 
Tncolor. 
W E present to our readers with no little pride the first 
engraving of the American grayling ever produced 
in the United States. As there had been a great deal of 
interest manifested in this fish, we wrote some time ago to 
Professor Baird, of the Smithsonian Institution, who very 
kindly sent us a photograph. The .picture was not a per¬ 
fect one, however, and Professor Baird informed us that it 
was taken from rather a poor specimen. It is to our most 
able correspondent and indefatigable pisciculturist, Fred. 
Mather, Esq., that we are mainly indebted for the picture 
of the Thymalltjs Tricolor. Addressing Mr. Mather on 
this subject he very kindly sent us on ice a fine specimen 
of the grayling from his fish ponds at Honeoye Falls, and 
Mr. Forbes, the artist, being in attendance on its arrival, 
the fish was taken from life, and drawn with exceeding ac¬ 
curacy on the block. The exact size of the fish was ten 
inches. We cannot describe the grayling better than by 
taking Professor James W. Milner’s and Mr. F. Mather’s 
accounts of the fish from former numbers of Forest and 
Stream. Professor Milner thus writes of the grayling:— 
“In shape the fish is like a trout, a trifle slimmer, perhaps, 
and not so thick near the tail, but the fin on the back of a 
trout looks so small and square, so deficient in outline and 
color, after beholding the graceful curve of a grayling’s 
dorsal. The scale is large, silvery, with sometimes a copper 
tinge; near the shoulders there are black spots, sometimes 
triangular, and at others V shaped; in some fish these ex¬ 
tend nearly to the tail near the back; they are in lines which 
gradually shorten towards the belly; the mouth is small 
(nearly square when opened), and the teeth are merely a 
slight roughness on the lips, none on the tongue. But you 
want to see him come in on a line, with his fins all stand¬ 
ing, and your eye will then give you a better idea than all 
the cold-blooded descriptions could ever do.” 
In another article (May 22) Mr. Mather says 
“I wish to add a little to the description given in my for¬ 
mer article, as a little longer acquaintance has developed 
new beauties. The eye of the grayling is large and full, with 
a beautiful yellow iris, and when I wrote “the tail is forked 
and plain,” I had not observed its pinkish edge, nor the 
changeak'e, metallic green lustre that it shows in some 
lights, which is more like that seen in silk. A arlint of the 
same is also observable on the second dorsal. Many letters 
have asked the question:—“Is this fish as handsome as the 
trout?” And in answer I will say yes, to some eyes, while 
to others it may not be. Seen from above it does not ap¬ 
pear so, as the pink and white of the trout fins are more 
showy. The form of the grayling is more graceful than 
“There is no species sought for by anglers that surpasses 
the grayling in beauty. They are more elegantly formed 
than the trout, and their great dorsal fin is a superb mark 
of beauty. When the well-lids were lifted, and the sun- 
rays admitted, lighting up the delicate olive-brown tints of 
the back and sides, the blueish white of the abdomen, and 
the mingling of tints of rose, pale blue, and purplish pink 
on the fins, it displayed a combination of living colors that 
is equalled by no fish outside of the tropics.” 
What follows is from Mr. Mather’s admirable article in 
our number of April 23d, which has attracted so much at¬ 
tention:— 
“The grayling has all the fins of a trout; his pectorals are 
olive-brown, with a blueish cast at the end (I am describing 
him in the water as I saw him in my ponds an hour ago), 
the ventrals are large and beautifully striped with alternate 
streaks of brown and pink, the anal is plain brown, the 
caudal is very forked and plain, while the crowning glory 
is its immense dorsal; this fin rises forward of the middle 
of its back, and in a fish a foot long it will be nearly three 
inches in length by two high, having a graceful curved out¬ 
line, and from eighteen to twenty rays dotted with large 
red or bluish purple spots, which in life are brilliant, and 
are surrounded with a splendid emerald green, which fades 
after death; it does not seem as if this green could be rep¬ 
resented by the painters’ art; it is that changeable shade 
seen in the tail of the peacock. 
the trout’s, and the head is beautiful, while the side of the 
trout and its lower fins are more gorgeous than those of the 
grayling. The trout has not a handsome head to my eye; 
the lines are hard, and there is an expression of savageness 
in the jaws.” 
We call particular attention to the marks on the fish. 
They will be found to be arranged in a certain positive 
order, running in accurate diagonals from left to right. 
What Mr. Mather calls “the crowning glory of the gray¬ 
ling” is its immense dorsal, which streams out like a pen¬ 
non on a lance. The curious adipose fin which marks it 
as one of the salmonidse is clearly shown. We trust soon 
to be able to give the distinguishing traits between our na¬ 
tive fish and the English grayling. 
We suppose that there are innumerable people in this 
world who will urge that the world is flat. We do know 
some that are sceptical as to fish, whr deny the existence of 
the grayling, and from never having seen the fish dead or 
alive, are ready to declare that the Thymallus of our waters, 
has no spots at all, no dorsal fin, and that it is a mythical 
creature, the offspring of some diseased pisciculturist’s 
brain. Of course we are unwilling to enter into a contfo- 
versey with such people. The picture we present must 
settle all disputes. It is truthful in every detail. 
DUCK SHOOTIN G ON EN GLISH WATERS. 
[From our Special Correspondent.] 
jpOSSIBLY of all English shooting I like wild fowl 
, shooting the best in its varied phases and exciting 
vicissitudes. I used to live near a quantity of “back 
water” which gave place at times to the blackest and 
f imiest acreage of mud, and which was esteemed a charm¬ 
ing habitat by the birds of the sea. It was called “the 
swale.” This turbid tributary and its waters were of a rich 
iown color, only equalled by Dunn’s soluble or rather in¬ 
soluble chocolate. It formed a sort of creek, and by that 
means a harbor, but there was not much traffic on it, and 
save a few fishing smacks and coal barges, the ducks had it 
Vev y much to themselves. At low water it was a woful 
®!ght, for there were miles of mud 'and banks, whose per- 
umes, when wafted to the nostrils, smelt of anything but 
lyme and violets. Here and there stuck up in the sand the 
mighty ribs of some worn out old collier looking like the 
s e e ^ 0ri of a deceased Mammoth, and the shoals of sea gulls 
v* ch settled on the cockle beds and circled round in the air 
ove our heads, used to deafen us with their screams. I 
Wa ^ s ^ es Pised such small deer and let them live, as they 
‘ vi D °i» arm ’h lIt r atfi er good, though they often considerably 
I* j me ^ P utt ing up the black geese and ducks before 
I g0 nea . r them. Like vultures these gulls scent their prey 
^°m a distance, and if fishermen throw away the refuse of 
t^en nets the air immediately swarms with them, though 
]Q ei e was not one in sight a moment before. I procured a 
and ^ Panted her white, rigged her with a lug sail, 
^ when the hard weather came I set to work like a pro- 
I c Sl ° 1 n , a ^ bowler. From my boat drawing but little water, 
. .. u c ^ u * 3 011 ^ ie s h a U° ws > an d a s she was scarcely 
Jle and locked almost like another duck, I frequently 
1 ^ c * ose to m y birds before they knew what was up. 
j" arte(a first unaccompanied, save by my retriever, but 
of r o V°-d that didn’t do, as from my own experience, I 
en ^ 0UI1 d myself left suddenly by the tide on some rising 
ground with the pleasant prospect of having to remain their 
till it came in again. Therefore, taught by experience, 
which I have always found the very best tutor, I enlisted 
the services of an experienced boatman, and I was soon 
able to give a good account of my day’s sport. 
It was really very exciting, that blissful time when we 
had discerned in the grey cold morning a long dark line of 
black geese and widgeon feeding in happy ignorance of the 
machinations of their foes. I have often caught myself 
trembling with emotion as we gradually floated towards 
them, lying flat in our tiny scallop, I myself gripping my 
breech-loader and my man steering and holding the muzzle 
of his long single-barrel in dangerous proximity to my 
head, our fingers numbed and our teeth chattering, but an 
eager expectation preventing our feeling the cold. Some¬ 
times at about seventy yards distance the boat would sud¬ 
denly stop short, having stuck on the mud, and we had to 
let her swing round and drift off or give the birds a long 
shot, jump up and push her off. Sometimes the wary 
geese would huddle together, lift up their heads and slope 
quietly off in a long black line, which provokingly settled 
again about half a mile in front of us. If we did get near 
enough to give them a broadside we let them have it double 
shotted. My boatman, who saw nothing ignoble in “pot¬ 
ting” his game, used to let drive at them on the mud with 
his long shoulder punt-gun whilst I followed suit with my 
snap-action Powell as soon as they were fairly on the wing, 
and then gave them left with a wire cartridge, which burst 
at fifty yards and spread destruction through their ranks. A 
wave of my hand was sufficient to my wavy-coated retriever 
and he was splashing amongst the wounded, diving after 
the most refractory widgeon and bringing him tenderly to 
the boat’s side. Often we would meet with shoals of ox 
birds and olives which whirled around showing the silvery 
lining of their wings in their hawk-like flight, and on one 
occasion I mistook the black fin of a porpoise or sea-pig for 
the head of a diver, and it was not until I had expended a 
considerable number of cartridges that I discovered the 
fishy quality of my quarry. 
I have often gone out at night and anchored, waiting for 
the sound of rustling wings as the flight of ducks swept up 
the creek, but I found it very difficult to find the slain in 
the uncertain light, and though a sporting tailor had estab¬ 
lished himself in a stationery tub with great success, chiefly 
owing to the alacrity of his dog and his knowledge of the 
habits of “the goose,” yet I did not imitate him and pre¬ 
ferred going out on the garish light of day. 
A far different style of duck shooting I have enjoyed in 
one of the Southern counties. Imagine a wide and desolate 
heath stretching as far as the eye can reach, of a grayish 
neutral tint, relieved here and there by patches of yellow 
gorse and purple heather, whilst in one part there runs a 
long, undulating pine wood forest. Imbedded in the 
woodland is one of the most beautiful little lakes which I 
have ever met with. Not a grand expanse of water like a 
Highland Loch, but forming a picturesque little quiet nook 
like one of those charming water-color sketches at the 
Academy ‘ ‘ irinxit Frederick Taylor .” It is full of bull- 
rushes and lilies—too overgrown, in fact, for much rowing, 
though in the summer time I paddle about on it in an oTd 
tub, a sort of ‘ ‘ dug-out canoe,” and alternately fish, smoke 
and read, anchored in a bed of blue forget-me-nots or yel¬ 
low water flowers. It has a gravelly bottom where the 
stream runs through it, and in some places I regret to say 
there is mud. Hemmed in as it is by bushes, rhododendrous 
and larches, it is secure from the noise and bustle of the 
busy haunts of men, and it is appreciated by wild fowl ac¬ 
cordingly. Numbers of “ flappers” are bred there every 
year, and it perfectly swarms with coots and moorhens, 
and I have seen the “ slot” of an otter amongst the tracks 
of the water rats. On a summer evening it has for me 
charms which I seek for in vain at Geneva, Lucerne, or 
Venice. You may see the big trout rushing at the flies, the 
bigger carp muzzling like swine amongst the lily roots, the 
kingfishers swimming swiftly across like flashes of blue 
light, the sparrow hawks swooping at their prey, the herons 
angling for dace, and the bats chasing the moths. It is in¬ 
deed a perfect sanctuary of nature. I am not much of a 
poet, but I believe only Byron could do it ample justice. 
We havu only had one poet in onr neighborhood lately, and 
he was a farmer’s son. He came home from school one 
fine day and chalked on his father’s barn door— 
“Have no more fear, ye mice and rats, 
For ‘Cab’ and I have killed the cats.” 
Some one told his father that a poet he’d heard of up in 
London named Tennyson was making five guineas a line 
for such writing, and the old man actually consulted the 
Squire as to the advisability of making his son and heir 
“ a sort of ’prentice, like, to this here Mr. Tennyson.” But 
joking apart, the lake I have been trying to describe is very 
pretty, and an excellent harbor for ducks. 
In the summer they have a pretty easy time of it, but 
when the winter begins, and the pond is frozen over with 
the exception of the upper part, where a warm spring pre¬ 
vents it from congealing, their close time is up and they 
have to look out for the enemy. At intervals along the 
bank are placed screens and semi-hovels made of turf, 
gorse, and peat. In each of these recesses is placed a gun, 
so that with the exercise of tact, keeping strict silence, and 
having due regard for the wind, we have often surrounded 
the unsuspecting wild fowl whilst they were quietly feed¬ 
ing. After the first volley from the breech-loaders, the 
mallards usually make themselves scarce, but the teal come 
arching round whisking plaintively and courting destruc¬ 
tion, falling to the sharp reports which ring out on the 
frd*sty air, with dull thuds on tlie ice, from whence it is 
often difficult and even dangerous for a dog to get them, 
when the surface doesn’t “ bear” properly. I have fre¬ 
quently seen at this little lake, which is about a mile and 
a-half in length and irregular in shape, quite a duck battue, 
and as we generally knocked down a few herons and sea 
pheasants, as they call them, with the addition of a coot or 
two, our bag at the end of the day was a very large and 
varied one. You must have a good retriever for wild 
fowl. Nothing on earth is a greater nuisance than a brute 
who brings a duck half the distance and then quietly drops 
it, swims ashore, and photographs himself upon your boots 
and gaiters. Worse than useless, too, is the dog that 
is always jumping in behind your back with enough noise 
to alarm everything living within a hundred yards. Your 
retriever must be tender-mouthed and fond of water, and 
be able to withstand the cold. It must have a good coat 
and a good constitution. If he obeys the slightest sign and 
never disobeys; if he is quick and intelligent, and can use 
his nose, I care not much what color or treed he is, but at 
the sgme time I like a black and wavy coated one, and don’t 
choose my black servant like the sultanas do, for ugliness. 
I have had them as sensible as Christians and as sharp 
after winged game as a money lender—on the scent of sixty 
per “cent.” I have had them very obstinate, very resolute, 
and very teachable; but if their natural gifts are good and 
they are not deficient in “nous,” I am seldom unable to 
break them. If trusted solely to my own powers of observa - 
tion, many a fat snipe and many a luscious woodcock 
weuld linger with the agony of broken wing 
till he became an easy prey to a passing fox, 
or weasel, instead of gracing my breakfast table. There 
are two things required to break a dog—Patience and Firm¬ 
ness. Without these qualities, Van Amburgh would soon 
have had his head bitten off by the lions, and without them 
no dog is ever made a companion fit for a sportsman. 
Idstone Junior. 
Faversham, England , May 20, 4874. 
Quail are abundant at the east end of Long Island this 
spring. 
