EVENING.
Hal.—You have, I am sure, gentlemen, dined well; no one ever dined otherwise in this house. It is a beautiful calm evening, and many fish might be caught where we fished in the morning; but I will take you to another part of the river; you shall each catch a fish, and then we will give over; for the evening’s sport should be kept till a late season,—July or August,—when there is little fly on in the day-time: and it would be spoiling the diversion of our host, to catch or prick all the fish in the upper water; and with a gentleman so truly liberal, and so profuse of his means of giving pleasure to others, no improper liberties should be taken. I shall not fish myself, but shall have my pleasure in witnessing your sport. It must be in a boat, and you must steal slowly up the calm water, and glide like aerial beings on the surface, making no motion in the water, and showing no shadow. Your fly must be an orange or brown palmer with a yellow body; for the gray drake is not yet on the water. The fish here are large, and the river weedy, so you must take care of your fish and your tackle.
Poiet.—We have at least passed over half-a-mile of water, and have seen no fish rise; yet there is a yellowish or reddish fly in the air, which moves like a drake; and there are clouds of pale brown flies encircling the alders. Now I think I see a large trout rise below that alder.
Hal.—That is not a trout, for he rises in a different place now, and is probably a large roach or chub; do not waste your time upon him. You may always know a large trout when feeding in the evening. He rises continuously, or at small intervals,—in a still water almost always in the same place,—and makes little noise,—barely elevating his mouth to suck in the fly, and sometimes showing his back-fin and tail. A large circle spreads around him, but there are seldom many bubbles when he breaks the water, which usually indicate the coarser fish: we will wait a few minutes; I know there must be trout here, and the sun is setting, and the yellow fly, or dun cut, coming on the water. See, beneath that alder is a trout rising, and now there is another thirty yards higher up. Take care, get your line out in another part of the water, and in order, for reaching the fish, and do not throw till you are sure you can reach the spot, and throw at least half-a-yard above the fish.
Orn.—He rose, I suppose, at a natural fly, the moment before my fly touched the water.
Hal.—Try again. You have hooked him, and you have done well not to strike when he rose. Now hold him tight, wind up your line, and carry him down the stream. Push the boat down stream, fisherman. Keep your fish’s head up. He begins to tire,—and there is landed. A fine well-fed fish, not much less than 4lbs. Throw him into the well. Now, Poietes, try that fish rising above,—and there are two more.
Poiet.—I have him!
Hal.—Take care. He has turned you, and you have suffered him to run out your line, and he is gone into the weeds under the willow: let him fall down stream.
Poiet.—I cannot get him out.
Hal.—Then wind up. I fear he is lost, yet we will try to recover him by taking the boat up. The line is loose: he has left the link entangled in the weeds, and carried your fly with him. He must have been a large fish, or he could not have disentangled himself from so strong a gut. Try again, there are fish now rising above and below; where the water is in motion, opposite that willow, there are two fish rising.
Poiet.—I have one of them.
Hal.—Now you are doing well. Down with the boat, and drag your fish downwards. Continue to do so, as there are weeds all round you. You can master him now; keep him high, and he is your own. Put the net under him, and bring him into the boat; he is a well-fed fish, but not of the proper size for a victim: about 2lbs. Now, Physicus, try your fortune with the fish above that rises so merrily still. You have him! Now use him as Poietes did the last. Very well; I see he is a large fish,—take your time. He is landed; a fish nearly of 3lbs., and in excellent season.
Phys.—Anche Io son Pescatore—I am too a fisherman—a triumph.
Hal.—Now we have finished our fishing, and must return to the light supper of our host. It would be easy now, and between this hour and ten, to take half-a-dozen large fish in this part of the water; but for the reason I have already stated, it would be improper.
Poiet.—Pray would not this be a good part of the water for day-fishing?
Hal.—Undoubtedly, a skilful angler might take fish here in the day; but the bank is shaded by trees, there is seldom any sensible wind on the water, and the apparatus and the boat in motion are easily perceived in the daylight; and the water is so deep, that a great quantity of fly is necessary to call up the fish; and in general there is a larger quantity of fly in hot summer evenings, than even in the brightest sunshine.
Phys.—The fly appears to me like a moth that is now on the water.
Hal.—It is.
Poiet.—What flies come on late in the season here?
Hal.—Flies of the same species; some darker, and some with a deeper shade of red; and there are likewise the true moths, the brown and white, which, in June and July, are seized with avidity by the fish; and being large flies, take large fish.
Orn.—Surely the May-fly season is not the only season for day-fishing in this river?
Hal.—Certainly not. There are as many fish to be taken perhaps in the Spring fishing; but in this deep river they are seldom in good season till the May-fly has been on, and a fortnight hence they will be still better than even now. In September there may be good fish taken here; but the autumnal flies are less plentiful in this river than the spring flies.
Phys.—Pray tell me what are the species of fly which take in these two seasons.
Hal.—You know that trout spawn or deposit their ova and seminal fluid in the end of the autumn or beginning of winter, from the middle of November till the beginning of January, their maturity depending upon the temperature of the season, their quantity of food, &c. For some time (a month or six weeks) before they are prepared for the sexual function, or that of re-production, they become less fat, particularly the females; the large quantity of eggs and their size probably affecting the health of the animal, and compressing generally the vital organs in the abdomen. They are at least six weeks or two months after they have spawned before they recover their flesh: and the time when these fish are at the worst is likewise the worst time for fly-fishing, both on account of the cold weather and because there are fewer flies on the water than at any other season. Even in December and January there are a few small gnats or water-flies on the water in the middle of the day, in bright days, or when there is sunshine. These are generally black, and they escape the influence of the frost by the effects of light on their black bodies, and probably by the extreme rapidity of the motions of their fluids, and generally of their organs. They are found only at the surface of the water, where the temperature must be above the freezing point. In February a few double-winged water-flies which swim down the stream are usually found in the middle of the day,—such as the willow-fly; and the cow-dung-fly is sometimes carried on the water by winds. In March there are several flies found on most rivers. The grannam or green-tail-fly, with a wing like a moth, comes on generally morning and evening, from five till eight o’clock, A. M. in mild weather in the end of March and through April. Then there are the blue and the brown, both Ephemeræ, which come on, the first in dark days, the second in bright days; these flies, when well imitated, are very destructive to fish. The first is a small fly with a palish-yellow body, and slender beautiful wings, which rest on the back as it floats down the water. The second, called the cob in Wales, is three or four times as large, and has brown wings, which likewise protrude from the back, and its wings are shaded like those of a partridge, brown and yellow brown. These three kinds of flies lay their eggs in the water, which produce larvæ that remain in the state of worms, feeding and breathing in the water till they are prepared for their metamorphosis and quit the bottoms of the rivers, and the mud and stones, for the surface, and the light and air. The brown fly usually disappears before the end of April, likewise the grannam; but of the blue dun, there is a succession of different tints, or species, or varieties, which appear in the middle of the day all the summer and autumn long. These are the principal flies on the Wandle—the best and clearest stream near London. In early spring these flies have dark olive bodies; in the end of April and the beginning of May they are found yellow; and in the summer they become cinnamon-coloured; and again, as the winter approaches, gain a darker hue. I do not, however, mean to say that they are the same flies, but more probably successive generations of Ephemeræ of the same species.
The excess of heat seems equally unfavourable, as the excess of cold, to the existence of the smaller species of water-insects, which, during the intensity of sunshine, seldom appear in summer, but rise morning and evening only. The blue dun has in June and July a yellow body, and there is a water-fly which in the evening is generally found before the moths appear, called the red-spinner. Towards the end of August, the Ephemeræ appear again in the middle of the day: a very pale small Ephemera, which is of the same colour as that which is seen in some rivers in the beginning of July. In September and October this kind of fly is found with an olive body, and it becomes darker in October, and paler in November. There are two other flies which appear in the end of September, and continue during October if the weather be mild: a large yellow fly with a fleshy body and wings like a moth; and a small fly with four wings, with a dark or claret-coloured body, that when it falls on the water has its wings like the great yellow fly, flat on its back. This, or a claret-bodied fly, very similar in character, may be likewise found in March or April, on some waters. In this river I have often caught many large trout in April and the beginning of May, with the blue dun, having the yellow body; and in the upper part of the stream below St. Albans, and between that and Watford, I have sometimes, even as early as April, caught fish in good condition: but the true season for the Colne is the season of the May-fly. The same may be said of most of the large English rivers containing large trouts, and abounding in May-fly;—such as the Test and the Kennet; the one running by Stockbridge, the other by Hungerford. But in the Wandle at Carshalton and Beddington, the May-fly is not found; and the little blues are the constant, and when well imitated, killing flies on this water; to which may be joined a dark alder-fly, and a red evening fly. In the Avon, at Ringwood and Fordingbridge, the May-fly is likewise a killing fly; but as this is a grayling river, the other flies, particularly the grannam and blue and brown, are good in spring, and the alder-fly or pale blue later, and the blue dun in September and October, and even November. In the streams in the mountainous parts of Britain, the spring and autumnal flies are by far the most killing. The Usk was formerly a very productive trout stream, and the fish being well-fed by the worms washed down by the winter floods, were often in good season, cutting red, in March, and the beginning of April: and at this season the blues and browns, particularly when the water was a little stained after a small flood, afforded the angler good sport. In Herefordshire and Derbyshire, where trout and grayling are often found together, the same periods are generally best for angling; but in the Dove, Lathkill, and Wye, with the natural May-fly, many fish may be taken; and in old times, in peculiarly windy days, or high and troubled water, even the artificial May-fly, according to Cotton, was very killing.
Poiet.—I have heard various accounts of the excellent fishing in some of the great lakes in Ireland. Can you tell us any thing on the subject, and if the same flies may be used in that island?
Hal.—I have been several times in Ireland, but never at this season, which is considered as best for lake-fishing. I have heard that in some of the lakes in Westmeath, very large trout, and great quantities may be taken in the beginning of June, with the very flies we have been using this day. Wind is necessary; and a good angler sometimes takes in a day, or rather formerly took, from ten to twelve fish, which weighed from 3 to 10lbs., and which occasionally were even larger. In the summer after June, and in the autumn, the only seasons when I have fished in Ireland, I have seldom taken any large trout; but in the river Boyle, late in October, after a flood, I once had some sport with these fish, that were running up the river from Lock Key to spawn. I caught one day two above 3lbs. that took a large reddish-brown fly of the same kind as a salmon fly; and I saw some taken that weighed 5lbs., and heard of one that equalled 9lbs. These fish were in good season, even at this late period, and had no spots, but were coloured red and brown—mottled like tortoise-shell, only with smaller bars. I have in July, likewise, fished in Loch Con, near Ballina, and Loch Melvin, near Ballyshannon. In Loch Con, the party caught many small good trout, that cut red; and in the other I caught a very few trout only, but as many of them were gillaroo or gizzard trout as common trout.
Poiet.—This must have been an interesting kind of fishing. In what does the gillaroo differ from the trout?
Hal.—In appearance very little, except that they have more red spots, and a yellow or golden-coloured belly and fins, and are generally a broader and thicker fish; but internally they have a different organization, possessing a large thick muscular stomach, which has been improperly compared to a fowl’s, and which generally contains a quantity of small shell-fish of three or four kinds: and though in those I caught the stomachs were full of these shell-fish, yet they rose greedily at the fly.
Poiet.—Are they not common trout which have gained the habit of feeding on shell-fish?
Hal.—If so, they have been altered in a succession of generations. The common trouts of this lake have stomachs like other trouts, which never, as far as my experience has gone, contain shell-fish; but of the gillaroo trout, I have caught with a fly some not longer than my finger, which have had as perfect a hard stomach as the larger ones, with the coats as thick in proportion, and the same shells within; so that this animal is at least now a distinct species, and is a sort of link between the trout and char, which has a stomach of the same kind with the gillaroo, but not quite so thick, and which feeds at the bottom in the same way. I have often looked in the lakes abroad for gillaroo trout, and never found one. In a small lake at the foot of the Crest of the Brenner, above 4000 feet above the level of the sea, I once caught some trout, which, from their thickness and red spots, I suspected were gillaroo, but on opening the stomach I found I was mistaken; it had no particular thickness, and was filled with grasshoppers: but there were char, which fed on shell-fish, in the same lake.
Poiet.—Are water-flies found on all rivers?
Hal.—This is a question which I find it impossible to answer; yet from my own experience I should suppose, that in all the habitable parts of the globe certain water-flies exist wherever there is running water. Even in the most ardent temperature, gnats and musquitoes are found, which lay their congeries of eggs on the water, which, when hatched, become first worms, afterwards small shrimp-like aurelia, and lastly flies. There are a great number of the largest species of these flies on stagnant waters and lakes, which form a part of the food of various fishes, principally of the carp kind: but the true fisherman’s flies,—those which are imitated in our art, principally belong to the northern, or at least temperate part of Europe, and I believe are nowhere more abundant than in England. It appears to me, that since I have been a fisherman, which is now the best part of half a century, I have observed in some rivers where I have been accustomed to fish habitually, a diminution of the numbers of flies. There were always some seasons in which the temperature was favourable to a quantity of fly; for instance, fine warm days in spring for the grannam, or brown fly; and like days in May and June for the alder-fly, May-fly, and stone-fly; but I should say that within these last twenty years I have observed a general diminution of the spring and autumnal flies, except in those rivers which are fed from sources that run from chalk, and which are perennial—such as the Wandle, and the Hampshire and Buckinghamshire rivers; in these streams the temperature is more uniform, and the quantity of water does not vary much. I attribute the change of the quantity of flies in the rivers to the cultivation of the country. Most of the bogs or marshes which fed many considerable streams are drained; and the consequence is, that they are more likely to be affected by severe droughts and great floods—the first killing, and the second washing away the larvæ and aurelias. May-flies thirty years ago were abundant in the upper part of the Teme river in Herefordshire, where it receives the Clun: they are now rarely seen. Most of the rivers of that part of England, as well as of the west, with the exception of those that rise in the still uncultivated parts of Dartmoor and Exmoor, are rapid and unfordable torrents after rain, and in dry summers little more than scanty rills; and Exmoor and Dartmoor, almost the only considerable remains of those moist, spongy, or peaty soils, which once covered the greatest part of the high lands of England, are becoming cultivated, and their sources will gradually gain the same character as those of our midland and highly-improved counties. I cannot give you an idea of the effects of peat mosses and grassy marshes on the water thrown down from the atmosphere, better, than by comparing their effects to those of roofs of houses of thatched straw, as contrasted with roofs of slate, on a shower of rain. The slate begins to drop immediately, and sends down what it receives in a rapid torrent, and is dry soon after the shower is over. From the sponge-like roof of thatch, on the contrary, it is long before the water drops; but it continues dropping and wet for hours after the shower is over and the slate dry.
Poiet.—You spoke just now of the gillaroo trout, as belonging only to Ireland. I can, however, hardly bring myself to believe, that such a fish is not to be found elsewhere. For lakes with shell-fish and char are common in various parts of Europe, and as the gillaroo trout is congenerous, it ought to exist both in Scotland and the Alpine countries.
Hal.—It is not possible from analogies of this kind to draw certain inferences. Subterraneous cavities and subterranean waters are common in various countries, yet the Proteus Anguinus is only found in two places in Carniola—at Adelsburg and Sittich. As I mentioned before, I have never yet met with a gillaroo trout except in Ireland. It is true, it is only lately that I have had my attention directed to this subject, and other fishermen or naturalists may be more fortunate.
Poiet.—Have you ever observed any other varieties of the trout kind, which may be considered as, like the gillaroo, forming a distinct species?
Hal.—I think the par, samlet, or brandling, common to most of our rivers, which communicate with the sea, has a claim to be considered a distinct species; yet the history of this fish is so obscure, and so little understood, that, perhaps, I ought not to venture to give an account of it. But in doing so, you will consider me as rather asking for new information, than as attempting a satisfactory view of this little animal.
Orn.—I have seen this fish in the rivers of Wales and Herefordshire, and have heard it asserted, on what appeared to me good authority, that it was a mule,—the offspring of a trout and a salmon.
Hal.—This opinion, I know, has been supported by the fact, that it is found only in streams, which are occasionally visited by salmon; yet I know no direct evidence in favour of the opinion, and I should think it much more probable, if it be a mixed race, that it is produced by the sea trout and common trout. In a small river, which runs into the Moy, near Ballina in Ireland, I once caught in October a great number of small sea trout, which were generally about half-a-pound in weight, and were all males; and unless it be supposed, that the females were in the river likewise, and would not take the fly, these fish, in which the spermatic system was fully developed, could only have impregnated the ova of the common river trout. The sea trout and river trout are, indeed, so like each other in character, that such a mixture seems exceedingly probable; but I know no reason why such mules should always continue small, except that it may be a mark of imperfection. The only difference between the par and common small trout is in the colours, and its possessing one or two spines more in the pectoral fin. The par has large blue or olive bluish marks on the sides, as if they had been made by the impression of the fingers of a hand; and hence the fish is called in some places fingerling. The river and sea trout seem capable of changing permanently their places of residence; and sea trout appear often to become river trout. In this case they lose their silvery colour, and gain more spots; and in their offspring these changes are more distinct. Fish, likewise, which are ill-fed remain small; and pars are exceedingly numerous in those rivers where they are found, which are never separated from the sea by impassable falls; from which I think it possible that they are produced by a cross between sea and river trout. The varieties of the common trout are almost infinite; from the great lake trout, which weighs above 60 or 70lbs., to the trouts of the little mountain brook or small mountain lake, or tarn, which is scarcely larger than the finger. The smallest trout spawn nearly at the same time with the larger ones, and their ova are of the same size; but in the large trout there are tens of thousands, and in the small one rarely as many as forty,—often from ten to forty. So that in the physical constitution of these animals, their production is diminished as their food is small in quantity; and it is remarkable, that the ova of the large and beautiful species which exist in certain lakes, and which seem always to associate together, appear to produce offspring, which, in colour, form, and power of growth and reproduction, resemble the parent fishes; and they generally choose the same river for their spawning. Thus, in the lake of Guarda, the Benacus of the ancients, the magnificent trout, or Salmo fario, which in colour and appearance is like a fresh run salmon, spawns in the river at Riva, beginning to run up for that purpose in June, and continuing to do so all the summer; and this river is fed by streams from snow and glaciers in the Tyrol, and is generally foul: whilst the small spotted common trouts, which are likewise found in this lake, go into the small brooks, which have their sources not far off, and in which, it is probable, they were originally bred. I have seen taken in the same net small fish of both these varieties which were as marked as possible in their characters:—one silvery, like a young salmon, blue on the back, and with small black spots only; the other, with yellow belly and red spots, and an olive-coloured back. I have made similar observations in other lakes, particularly in that of the Tarun near Gmunden, and likewise at Loch Neah in Ireland. Indeed, considering the sea trout as the type of the species trout, I think all the other true trouts may not improperly be considered as varieties, where the differences of food and of habits have occasioned, in a long course of ages, differences of shape and colours, transmitted to offspring in the same manner as in the variety of dogs, which may all be referred to one primitive type.[[4]]
Phys.—I am somewhat amused at your idea of the change produced in the species of trout by the formation of particular characters by particular accidents, and their hereditary transmission. It reminds me of the ingenious but somewhat unsound views of Darwin on the same subject.
Hal.—I will not allow you to assimilate my views to those of an author, who, however ingenious, is far too speculative; whose poetry has always appeared to me weak philosophy, and his philosophy indifferent poetry: and to whom I have been often accustomed to apply Blumenbach’s saying, that there were many things new and many things true in his doctrines; but that what was new was not true, and what was true was not new.
Poiet.—I think Halieus is quite in the right to be a little angry at your observation, Physicus, in making him a disciple of a writer, who, as well as I can recollect, has deduced the genesis of the human being, by a succession of changes dependant upon irritabilities, sensibilities, and appetencies, from the fish; blending the wild fancies of Buffon with the profound ideas of Hartly, and thus endeavouring to give currency to an absurd romance, by mixing with it some philosophical truths. I hope your parallel will induce him to do us the favour to state his own notions more at large.
Hal.—Physicus has mistaken me; and I will explain. What I mentioned of the varieties of dogs as sprung from one type, he will, I am sure, allow me to apply, with some modifications, to all our cultivated breeds of animals, whether horses, oxen, sheep, hogs, geese, ducks, turkies, or pigeons; and he will allow, that certain characters gained by accidents, either from peculiar food, air, water, or domestic treatment, are transmitted to, and often strengthened in the next generation; the qualities being, as it were, doubled when belonging to both parents, and retained in spite of counteracting causes. It will be sufficient for me to mention only a few cases. The blood-horse of Arabia, is become the favourite of the north of Europe, and the colts possess all the superior qualities of their parents, even in the polar circle. The offspring of the Merino sheep retain the fineness of their wool in England and Saxony. Poultry, bantams, tumbling and carrier pigeons, geese, ducks, turkies, &c., all afford instances of the same kind; and in the goose and duck, not only is the colour of the feathers changed, but the form of the muscles of the legs and wings; those of the wings, being little employed, become weak and slender; those of the legs, on the contrary, being much used, are strong and fleshy; and it is well to know this, as, in the young birds, the muscles of the legs and thighs are the best parts for the epicure, a large quantity of flesh being developed there, but not yet hardened or rendered tough by exercise. These facts are of the same kind and depend on the same principles, as the peculiarity of the breeds or races in trouts. Fish in a clear cool river, that feed much on larvæ, and that swallow their hard cases, become yellower, and the red spots increase so as to outnumber the black ones; and these qualities become fixed in the young fishes, and establish a particular variety. If trout from a lake, or another river of a different variety, were introduced into this river, they would not at once change their characters; but the change would take place gradually. Thus I have known trout from a lake in Scotland, remarkable for their deep red flesh, introduced into another lake, where the trout had only white flesh, and they retained the peculiar redness of their flesh for many years. At first they all associated together in spawning in the brook which fed the lake, but those newly introduced were easily known from their darker backs and brighter sides. By degrees, however, from the influence of food and other causes, they became changed; the young trout of the introduced variety had flesh less red than their parents; and in about twenty years the variety was entirely lost, and all the fish were in their original white state. A very speculative reasoner might certainly defend the hypothesis, of the change of species in a long course of ages, from the establishment of particular characters as hereditary. It might be said, that trout, after having thickened their stomachs by feeding on larvæ with hard cases, gained the power of eating shell-fish, and were gradually changed to gillaroos and to char; their red spots and the yellow colour of their belly and fins increasing. In the same manner it might be said, that the large trout which feed almost entirely on small fishes, gained more spines in the pectoral fins, and became a new species; but I shall not go so far, and I know no facts of this kind. The gillaroo and the char appear always with the same characters: and I have never seen any fish that seemed in a state of transition from a trout to gillaroo or a char; which I think, must have been the case if such changes took place. I hope, after this explanation, Physicus will not find any analogy between my ideas and those of a school, to which I am not ambitious of being thought to belong; and that he will allow my views to be sound, or at least founded upon correct analogies.
Poiet.—Do you know any facts of a similar kind in confirmation of your idea that the par is a mule?
Hal.—I have heard of similar instances, but I cannot say I have myself witnessed them. The common carp and the cruscian are said to produce a mixed race, and likewise the rud and the roach; but I have never paid much attention to varieties of the carp kind. A friend of mine informed me, that in a branch of the Test, into which graylings had recently been introduced, his fisherman caught a fish, which appeared to be from a cross between the trout and grayling, having the high back fin of the grayling, and the head and spots of the trout: this is the more remarkable, if correct, as the grayling spawns in the late spring, and the trout in the late autumn or winter: yet I do recollect that I once took a grayling in the end of November, in which the ova were so large, as nearly to be ready for protrusion. The fisherman of the Gründtl See, in Styria, informed me, that he had seen a fish which he believed to be a mule between the trout and char, the fins of which resembled those of a trout, though the body was in other respects like that of a char. The seasons at which these two species spawn approach nearer to each other; but the char spawns in still and the trout in running water. In general the trout are mature before the char, yet I have seen in the Leopoldstein See, in Styria, a female char, of which the eggs were almost fully developed as early as June: the fisherman of the Gründtl See said, that these peculiar fish were very rare, and that he caught only one in about 500 char. It is not, I think, impossible, that it may be an umbla, a fish that might be expected to be found in that deep, cold, Alpine lake, a peculiar species and not a mixed variety. It is a fertile and very curious subject for new experiments, that of crossing the breeds of fishes, and offers a very interesting and untouched field of investigation, which I hope will soon be taken up by some enlightened country gentleman, who in this way might make not only curious but useful discoveries.
Poiet.—So much science would be required to make these experiments with success, and there would be so many difficulties in the way of preserving fishes at the time they are proper for reproduction, that I fear very few country gentlemen would be capable of prosecuting the inquiry.
Hal.—The science required for this object is easily attained, and the difficulties are quite imaginary. The impregnation of the ova of fishes is performed out of the body, and it is only necessary to pour the seminal liquor from the melt upon the ova in water. Mr. Jacobi, a German gentleman, who made many years ago experiments on the increase of trout and salmon, informs us, that the ova and melt of mature fish, recently dead, will produce living offspring. His plan of raising trout from the egg was a very simple one. He had a box made with a small wire grating at one end in the cover, for admitting water from a fresh source or stream, and at the other end of the side of the box there were a number of holes to permit the exit of the water: the bottom of the box was filled with pebbles and gravel of different sizes, which were kept covered with water that was always in motion. In November or the beginning of December, when the trout were in full maturity for spawning, and collected in the rivers for this purpose upon beds of gravel, he caught males and females in a net, and by the pressure of his hands, received the ova in a basin of water, and suffered the melt or seminal fluid to pass into the basin; and after they had remained a few minutes together, he introduced them upon the gravel in the box, which was placed under a source of fresh, cool, and pure water. In a few weeks the eggs burst, and the box was filled with an immense number of young trout, which had a small bag attached to the lower part of their body containing a part of the yolk of the egg, which was still their nourishment. In this state they were easily carried from place to place in confined portions of fresh water for some days, requiring apparently no food; but, after about a week, the nourishment in their bag being exhausted, they began to seek their food in the water, and rapidly increased in size. As I have said before, Mr. Jacobi assures us, that the experiment succeeded as well with mature fish, that had been killed for the purpose of procuring the roe and melt, these having been mixed together in cold water immediately after they were taken out of the body. I have had this experiment tried twice, and with perfect success, and it offers a very good mode of increasing to any extent the quantity of trout in rivers or lakes, for the young ones are preserved from the attacks of fishes, and other voracious animals or insects, at the time when they are most easily destroyed, and perfectly helpless. The same plan, I have no doubt, would answer equally well with grayling or other varieties of the salmo genus. But in all experiments of this kind, the great principle is, to have a constant current of fresh and aerated water running over the eggs. The uniform supply of air to the fœtus in the egg is essential for its life and growth, and such eggs as are not supplied with water saturated with air are unproductive. The experimenter must be guided exactly by the instinct of the parent fishes, who take care to deposit the impregnated eggs, that are to produce their offspring, only in sources continually abounding in fresh and aerated water.
Phys.—But as every species of fish has a particular and usually different time for spawning, I do not see how it could be contrived to cross their breeds, or how the ova of a trout, which spawns in December, could be impregnated by the seminal fluid of the grayling, which spawns in May; for I conclude it would be impossible to preserve the eggs of a fish out of the body in a state in which they could retain or recover their vitality.
Hal.—I believe I mentioned before, that I had found instances, in which the ova of fish were developed at a different period from their natural one; and I have no doubt, that a little inquiry respecting the habits of fishes would enable us to acquire a knowledge of the circumstances, which either hasten or retard their maturity. Plenty of food and a genial season hasten the period of their reproduction, which is delayed by want of proper nourishment, and by unfavourable weather. Males and females likewise, confined from each other, have their generative powers impeded; and trout, grayling, and salmon, will not deposit their ova except in running water; so that by keeping them in tanks, the period of their maturity might be considerably altered. I have seen char even, which had been kept in confined water from September till July; and so slow had been the progress of the ova, that they appeared to be about this time fit for exclusion, though, in the natural course of things, they would have been ripe in the end of October of the year before. By attending to and controlling all these circumstances, I have no doubt many interesting experiments might be made, as to the possibility of modifying the varieties of the salmo, by impregnating the ova of one species with the seminal fluid of another. With fishes of other genera the task would be still more easy. Carp, perch, and pike, deposit their ova in still water in spring and summer, when it is supplied with air by the growth of vegetables: and it is to the leaves of plants, which afford a continual supply of oxygen to the water, that the impregnated eggs usually adhere; so that researches of this kind might be conducted within doors in close vessels, filled with plants, exposed to the sun. I have myself kept minnows and sticklebacks alive for many months in the same confined quantity of water, containing a few confervæ; and their ova and melt increased in the same manner, as if they had been in their natural situation.
Orn.—I conclude from your statements, Halieus, that nothing more is required for the production of fishes from impregnated eggs, than a constant supply of water of a certain temperature furnished with air; and of course the same principles will apply to fishes of the sea.
Hal.—There can be no doubt of it: and fishes in spawning time always approach great shallows, or shores covered with weeds, that, in the process of their growth, under the influence of the sunshine, constantly supply pure air to the water in contact with them.
Poiet.—In every thing belonging to the economy of nature, I find new reasons for wondering at the designs of Providence,—at the infinite intelligence by which so many complicated effects are produced by the most simple causes. The precipitation of water from the atmosphere, its rapid motion in rivers, and its falls in cataracts, not only preserve this element pure, but give it its vitality, and render it subservient even to the embryo life of the fish; and the storms which agitate the ocean, and mingle it with the atmosphere, supply at once food to marine plants, and afford a principle of life to the fishes which inhabit its depths. So that the perturbation and motion of the winds and waves possess a use, and ought to impress us with a beauty higher and more delightful even than that of the peaceful and glorious calm.
THIRD DAY.
HALIEUS—POIETES—ORNITHER—PHYSICUS.
SCENE—DENHAM.
Morning.
Hal.—You will soon take your leave, gentlemen, of this agreeable villa, but we must catch at least two brace of trout, to carry with us to London as a present for two worthy patrons of the angle. For though I know our liberal host will have a basket of fish packed up for each of our party, yet fish taken this morning will be imagined a more acceptable present than those caught yesterday. The May-fly is already upon the water, though not in great quantity, and it will consequently be more easy to catch the fish, which I see are rising with great activity. I advise you to go to the deep water below, where you will find the largest fish, and I will soon follow you.
Poiet.—I hope I shall catch a large fish,—a companion to that which Ornither took yesterday with a natural fly.
[Halieus leaves them fishing, and returns to the house; but soon comes back and joins his companions, whom he finds fishing below in the river.]
Hal.—Well, gentlemen, what sport?
Poiet.—The fish are rising every where; but though we have been throwing over them with all our skill for a quarter of an hour, yet not a single one will take, and I am afraid we shall return to breakfast without our prey.
Hal.—I will try; but I shall go to the other side, where I see a very large fish rising. There!—I have him at the very first throw. Land this fish, and put him into the well. Now I have another; and I have no doubt I could take half a dozen in this very place, where you have been so long fishing without success.
Phys.—You must have a different fly; or have you some unguent or charm to tempt the fish?
Hal.—No such thing. If any of you will give me your rod and fly, I will answer for it, I shall have the same success. I take your rod, Physicus.—And lo! I have a fish!
Phys.—What can be the reason of this? It is perfectly inexplicable to me. Yet Poietes seems to throw as light as you do, and as well as he did yesterday.
Hal.—I am surprised, that you, who are a philosopher, cannot discover the reason of this. Think a little.
All.—We cannot.
Hal.—As you are my scholars, I believe I must teach you. The sun is bright, and you have been, naturally enough, fishing with your backs to the sun, which, not being very high, has thrown the shadows of your rods and yourselves upon the water, and you have alarmed the fish, whenever you have thrown a fly. You see I have fished with my face towards the sun, and though inconvenienced by the light, have given no alarm. Follow my example, and you will soon have sport, as there is a breeze playing on the water.
Phys.—Your sagacity puts me in mind of an anecdote which I remember to have heard respecting the late eloquent statesman, Charles James Fox; who, walking up Bond-street from one of the club-houses with an illustrious personage, laid him a wager, that he would see more cats than the Prince in his walk, and that he might take which side of the street he liked. When they got to the top, it was found, that Mr. Fox had seen thirteen cats, and the Prince not one. The royal personage asked for an explanation of this apparent miracle, and Mr. Fox said, “Your Royal Highness took, of course, the shady side of the way, as most agreeable; I knew that the sunny side would be left to me, and cats always prefer the sunshine.”
Hal.—There! Poietes, by following my advice you have immediately hooked a fish; and while you are catching a brace, I will tell you an anecdote, which as much relates to fly-fishing as that of Physicus, and affords an elucidation of a particular effect of light.
A manufacturer of carmine, who was aware of the superiority of the French colour, went to Lyons for the purpose of improving his process, and bargained with the most celebrated manufacturer in that capital for the acquisition of his secret, for which he was to pay a thousand pounds. He was shown all the processes, and saw a beautiful colour produced, yet he found not the least difference in the French mode of fabrication and that which he had constantly adopted. He appealed to the manufacturer, and insisted that he must have concealed something. The manufacturer assured him that he had not, and invited him to see the process a second time. He minutely examined the water and the materials, which were the same as his own, and, very much surprised, said, “I have lost my labour and my money, for the air of England does not permit us to make good carmine.” “Stay,” says the Frenchman, “do not deceive yourself: what kind of weather is it now?” “A bright sunny day,” said the Englishman. “And such are the days,” said the Frenchman, “on which I make my colour. Were I to attempt to manufacture it on a dark or cloudy day, my result would be the same as yours. Let me advise you, my friend, always to make carmine on bright and sunny days.” “I will,” says the Englishman; “but I fear I shall make very little in London.”
Poiet.—Your anecdote is as much to the purpose as Physicus’s; yet I am much obliged to you for the hint respecting the effect of shadow, for I have several times in May and June had to complain of too clear a sky, and wished, with Cotton, for
A day with not too bright a beam;
A warm, but not a scorching, sun.
Hal.—Whilst we have been conversing, the May-flies, which were in such quantities, have become much fewer; and I believe the reason is, that they have been greatly diminished by the flocks of swallows, which every where pursue them: I have seen a single swallow take four, in less than a quarter of a minute, that were descending to the water.
Poiet.—I delight in this living landscape! The swallow is one of my favourite birds, and a rival of the nightingale; for he cheers my sense of seeing as much as the other does my sense of hearing. He is the glad prophet of the year—the harbinger of the best season: he lives a life of enjoyment amongst the loveliest forms of nature: winter is unknown to him; and he leaves the green meadows of England in autumn, for the myrtle and orange groves of Italy, and for the palms of Africa:—he has always objects of pursuit, and his success is secure. Even the beings selected for his prey are poetical, beautiful, and transient. The ephemeræ are saved by his means from a slow and lingering death in the evening, and killed in a moment, when they have known nothing of life but pleasure. He is the constant destroyer of insects,—the friend of man; and, with the stork and the ibis, may be regarded as a sacred bird. His instinct, which gives him his appointed seasons, and teaches him always when and where to move, may be regarded as flowing from a Divine Source; and he belongs to the Oracles of Nature, which speak the awful and intelligible language of a present Deity.
FOURTH DAY.
HALIEUS—POIETES—ORNITHER—PHYSICUS.
FISHING FOR SALMON AND SEA TROUT.
Scene—Loch Maree, West of Rosshire, Scotland.
Time—Middle of July.
Poiet.—I begin to be tired. This is really a long day’s journey; and these last ten miles through bogs, with no other view than that of mountains half hid in mists, and brown waters that can hardly be called lakes, and with no other trees than a few stunted birches, that look so little alive, that they might be supposed immediately descended from the bog-wood, every where scattered beneath our feet, have rendered it extremely tedious. This is the most barren part of one of the most desolate countries I have ever passed through in Europe; and though the inn at Strathgarve is tolerable, that of Auchnasheen is certainly the worst I have ever seen,—and I hope the worst I shall ever see. We ought to have good amusement at Pool Ewe, to compensate us for this uncomfortable day’s journey.
Hal.—I trust we shall have sport, as far as salmon and sea trout can furnish sport. But the difficulties of our journey are almost over. See, Loch Maree is stretched at our feet, and a good boat with four oars will carry us in four or five hours to our fishing ground; a time that will not be misspent, for this lake is not devoid of beautiful, and even grand scenery.
Poiet.—The scenery begins to improve; and that cloud-breasted mountain on the left is of the best character of Scotch mountains: these woods, likewise, are respectable for this northern country. I think I see islands also in the distance: and the quantity of cloud always gives effect to this kind of view; and perhaps, without such assistance to the imagination, there would be nothing even approaching to the sublime in these countries; but cloud and mist, by creating obscurity and offering a substitute for greatness and distance, give something of an alpine and majestic character to this region.
Orn.—As we are now fixed in our places in the boat, you will surely put out a rod or two with a set of flies, or try the tail of the par for a large trout or salmon: our fishing will not hinder our progress.
Hal.—In most other lakes I should do so; here I have often tried the experiment, but never with success. This lake is extremely deep, and there are very few fish which haunt it generally except char; and salmon seldom rest but in particular parts along the shore, which we shall not touch. Our voyage will be a picturesque, rather than an angling one. I see we shall have little occasion for the oars, for a strong breeze is rising, and blowing directly down the lake; we shall be in it in a minute. Hoist the sails; On we go!—we shall make our voyage in half the number of hours I had calculated upon; and I hope to catch a salmon in time for dinner.
Poiet.—The scenery improves as we advance nearer the lower parts of the lake. The mountains become higher, and that small island or peninsula presents a bold, craggy outline; and the birch wood below it, and the pines above, form a scene somewhat Alpine in character. But what is that large bird soaring above the pointed rock, towards the end of the lake? Surely it is an eagle!
Hal.—Your are right, it is an eagle, and of a rare and peculiar species—the gray or silver eagle, a noble bird! From the size of the animal, in must be the female; and her aery is in that high rock. I dare say the male is not far off.
Phys.—I think I see another bird, of a smaller size, perched on the rock below, which is similar in form.
Hal.—You do: it is the consort of that beautiful and powerful bird; and I have no doubt their young ones are near at hand.
Poiet.—Look at the bird! How she dashes into the water, falling like a rock, and raising a colume of spray: she has dropped from a great height. And now she rises again into the air: what an extraordinary sight!
Hal.—She is pursuing her prey, and is one of our fraternity,—a catcher of fish. She has missed her quarry this time, and has soared further down towards the river, to fall again from a great height. There! You see her rise with a fish in her talons.
Poiet.—She gives an interest to this scene, which I hardly expected to have found. Pray are there many of these animals in this country?
Hal.—Of this species, I have seen but these two, and I believe the young ones migrate as soon as they can provide for themselves; for this solitary bird requires a large space to move and feed in, and does not allow its offspring to partake its reign, or to live near it. Of other species of the eagle, there are some in different parts of the mountains, particularly of the Osprey, and of the great fishing or brown eagle. I once saw a very fine and interesting sight above one of the Crags of Ben Weevis, near Strathgarve, as I was going, on the 20th of August, in pursuit of black game. Two parent eagles were teaching their offspring—two young birds, the manœuvres of flight. They began by rising from the top of a mountain in the eye of the sun (it was about midday, and bright for this climate). They at first made small circles, and the young birds imitated them; they paused on their wings, waiting till they had made their first flight, and then took a second and larger gyration,—always rising towards the sun, and enlarging their circle of flight so as to make a gradually extending spiral. The young ones still slowly followed, apparently flying better as they mounted; and they continued this sublime kind of exercise, always rising, till they became mere points in the air, and the young ones were lost, and afterwards their parents, to our aching sight. But we have touched the shore, and the lake has terminated: you are now on the river Ewe.
Poiet.—Are we to fish here? It is a broad clear stream, but I see no fish, and cannot think it a good angling river.
Hal.—We are nearly a mile above our fishing station, and we must first see our quarters and provide for our lodging, before we begin our fishing: to the inn we have only a short walk.
Poiet.—Why this inn is a second edition of Auchnasheen.
Hal.—The interior is better than the exterior, thanks to the Laird of Brahan: we shall find one tolerable room and bed; and we must put up our cots and provide our food. What is our store, Mr. Purveyor?
Phys.—I know we have good bread, tea, and sugar. Then there is the quarter of roe-buck presented to us at Gordon Castle; and Ornither has furnished us with a brace of wild ducks, three leash of snipes, and a brace of golden plovers, by his mountain expedition of yesterday; and for fish we depend on you. Yet our host says there are fresh herrings to be had, and small cod-fish, and salmon and trout in any quantity, and the claret and the Ferintosh are safe.
Hal.—Why we shall fare sumptuously. As it is not time yet for shooting grouse, we must divide our spoil for the few days we shall stay here. Yet there are young snipes and plovers on the mountains above, and I have no doubt we might obtain the Laird’s permission to kill a roe-buck in the woods or a hart on the mountains; but this is always an uncertain event, and I advise you, Ornither, to become a fisherman.
Orn.—I shall wait till I see the results of your skill. At all events, in this country I can never want amusement, and I dare say there are plenty of seals at the mouth of the river, and killing them is more useful to other fishermen than catching fish.
Hal.—Let there be a kettle of water with salt ready boiling in an hour, mine host, for the fish we catch or buy; and see that the potatoes are well dressed: the servants will look to the rest of our fare. Now for our rods.
Poiet.—This is a fine river; clear, full, but not too large: with the two handed rod it may be commanded in most parts.
Hal.—It is larger than usual. The strong wind which brought us so quickly down has made it fuller; and it is not in such good order for fishing as it was before the wind rose.
Poiet.—I thought the river was always the better for a flood, when clear.
Hal.—Better after a flood from rain; for this brings the fish up, who know when rain is coming, and likewise brings down food and makes the fish feed. But when the water is raised by a strong wind, the fish never run, as they are sure to find no increase in the spring heads, which are their objects in running.
Poiet.—You give the fish credit for great sagacity.
Hal.—Call it instinct rather; for if they reasoned, they would run with every large water, whether from wind or rain. What the feeling or power is, which makes them travel with rain, I will not pretend to define. But now for our sport.
Poiet.—The fish are beginning to rise; I have seen two here already, and there is a third, and a fourth—scarcely a quarter of a minute elapses without a fish rising in some parts of the pool.
Hal.—As the day is dark, I shall use a bright and rather a large fly with jay’s hackle, kingfisher’s feather under the wing, and golden pheasant’s tail, and wing of mixed grouse and argus pheasant’s tail. I shall throw over these fish: I ought to raise one.
Poiet.—Either you are not skilful, or the fish know their danger: they will not rise.
Hal.—I will try another and a smaller fly.
Poiet.—You do nothing.
Hal.—I have changed my fly a third time, yet no fish rises. I cannot understand this. The water is not in good order, or I should certainly have raised a fish or two. Now I will wager ten to one, that this pool has been fished before to-day.
Orn.—By whom?
Hal.—I know not; but take my wager and we will ascertain.
Orn.—I shall ascertain without the wager if possible. See, a man connected with the fishery advances, let us ask him.—There you see; it has been fished once or twice by one, who claims without charter the right of angling.
Hal.—I told you so. Now I know this, I shall put on another kind of fly, such as I am sure they have not seen this day.
Poiet.—It is very small and very gaudy, I believe made with humming bird’s feathers.
Hal.—No. The brightest Java dove’s hackle; kingfisher’s blue, and golden pheasant’s feathers, and the red feathers of the paroquet. There was a fish that rose and missed the fly—a sea trout. There, he has taken it, a fresh run fish, from his white belly and blue back.
Poiet.—How he springs out of the water! He must be 6 or 7lbs.
Hal.—Under five, I am sure; he will soon be tired. He fights with less spirit: put the net under him. There, he is a fine fed sea trout, between 4 and 5lbs. But our intrusive brother angler (as I must call him) is coming down the river to take his evening cast. A stout Highlander, with a powerful tail,—or, as we should call it in England, suite. He is resolved not to be driven off, and I am not sure that the Laird himself could divert him from his purpose, except by a stronger tail, and force of arms; but I will try my eloquence upon him. “Sir, we hope you will excuse us for fishing in this pool, where it seems you were going to take your cast; but the Laird has desired us to stand in his shoes for a few days, and has given up angling while we are here; and as we come nearly a thousand miles for this amusement, we are sure you are too much of a gentleman to spoil our sport; and we will take care to supply your fish kettle while we are here, morning and evening, and we shall send you, as we hope, a salmon before night.”
Poiet.—He grumbles good sport to us, and is off with his tail: you have hit him in the right place. He is a pot fisher, I am sure, and somewhat hungry, and, provided he gets the salmon, does not care who catches it!
Hal.—You are severe on the Highland gentleman, and I think extremely unjust. Nothing could be more ready than his assent, and a keen fisherman must not be expected to be in the best possible humour, when he finds sport which he believes he has a right to, and which perhaps he generally enjoys without interruption, taken away from him by entire strangers. There is, I know, a disputed point about fishing with the rod, between him and the Laird; and it would have been too much to have anticipated a courteous greeting from one, who considers us as the representatives of an enemy. But I see there is a large fish which has just risen at the tail of the pool. I think he is fresh run from the sea, for the tide is coming in. My fly and tackle are almost too fine for so large a fish, and I will put on my first fly with a very strong single gut link and a stretcher of triple gut. He has taken my fly, and I hold him—a powerful fish: he must be between 10 and 15lbs. He fights well, and tries to get up the rapid at the top of the pool. I must try my strength with him, to keep him off that rock, or he will break me. I have turned him, and he is now in a good part of the pool: such a fish cannot be tired in a minute or two, but requires from ten to twenty, depending upon his activity and strength, and the rapidity of the stream he moves against. He is now playing against the strongest rapid in the river, and will soon give in, should he keep his present place.
Poiet.—You have tired him.
Hal.—He seems fairly tired: I shall bring him in to shore. Now gaff him; strike as near the tail as you can. He is safe; we must prepare him for the pot.—Give him a stunning blow on the head to deprive him of sensation, and then make a transverse cut just below the gills, and crimp him, by cutting to the bone on each side, so as almost to divide him into slices: and now hold him by the tail that he may bleed. There is a small spring, I see, close under that bank, which I dare say has the mean temperature of the atmosphere in this climate, and is much under 50°—place him there, and let him remain for ten minutes; then carry him to the pot, and before you put in a slice let the water and salt boil furiously, and give time to the water to recover its heat before you throw in another; and so proceed with the whole fish: leave the head out, and throw in the thickest pieces first.
Phys.—Why did you not crimp your trout?
Hal.—We will have him fried. Our poacher prevented me from attending to the preparation; but for frying he is better not crimped, as he is not large enough to give good transverse slices.
Poiet.—This salmon is a good fish, and fresh as you said from the sea. You see the salt-water louse adheres to his sides, and he is bright and silvery, and a thick fish; I dare say his weight is not less than 14lbs., and I know of no better fish for the table than one of that size.
Phys.—It appears to me that so powerful a fish ought to have struggled much longer: yet, without great exertions on your part, in ten minutes he appeared quite exhausted, and lay on his side as if dying: this induces me to suppose, that there must be some truth in the vulgar opinion of anglers, that fish are, as it were, drowned by the play of the rod and reel.
Hal.—The vulgar opinion of anglers on this subject I believe to be perfectly correct: though, to apply the word drowning to an animal that lives in the water is not quite a fit use of language. Fish, as you ought to know, respire by passing water, which always holds common air in solution, through their gills or bronchial membrane, by the use of a system of muscles surrounding the fauces, which occasion constant contractions and expansions, or openings and closings of this membrane, and the life of the fish is dependant on the process in the same manner as that of a quadruped is on inspiring and expiring air. When a fish is hooked in the upper part of the mouth by the strength of the rod applied as a lever to the line, it is scarcely possible for him to open the gills as long as this force is exerted, particularly when he is moving in a rapid stream; and when he is hooked in the lower jaw, his mouth is kept closed by the same application of the strength of the rod, so that no aerated water can be inspired. Under these circumstances he is quickly deprived of his vital forces, particularly when he exhausts his strength by moving in a rapid stream. A fish, hooked in a part of the mouth where the force of the rod will render his efforts to respire unavailing, is much in the same state as that of a deer caught round the neck by the lasso of a South American peon, who gallops forwards, dragging his victim after him, which is killed by strangulation in a very short time. When fishes are hooked foul, that is, on the outside of the body, as in the fins or tail, they will often fight for many hours, and in such cases very large salmon are seldom caught, as they retain their powers of breathing unimpaired; and if they do not exhaust themselves by violent muscular efforts, they may bid defiance to the temper and the skill of the fisherman. A large salmon, hooked in the upper part of the mouth in the cartilage or bone, will sometimes likewise fight for a long while, particularly if he keep in the deep and still parts of the river: for he is able to prevent the force of the hook, applied by the rod, from interfering with his respiration, and by a powerful effort, can maintain his place, and continue to breathe in spite of the exertions of the angler. A fish, in such case, is said to be sulky, and his instinct, or his sagacity, generally enables him to conquer his enemy. It is, however, rarely that fishes hooked in the mouth are capable of using freely the muscles subservient to respiration; and their powers are generally, sooner or later, destroyed by suffocation.
Poiet.—The explanation that you have just been giving us of the effects of playing fish, I confess alarms me, and makes me more afraid than I was before, that we are pursuing a very cruel amusement; for death by strangling, I conceive, must be very laborious, slow, and painful.
Phys.—I think as I did before I was an angler, as to the merciless character of field-sports; but I doubt if this part of the process of the fly-fisher ought so strongly to alarm your feelings. As far as analogies from warm-blooded animals can apply to the case, the death that follows obstructed respiration is quick, and preceded by insensibility. There are many instances of persons who have recovered from the apparent death produced by drowning, and had no recollection of any violent or intense agony; indeed, the alarm or passion of fear generally absorbs all the sensibility, and the physical suffering is lost in the mental agitation. I can answer from my own experience, that there is no pain which precedes the insensibility occasioned by breathing gasses unfitted for supporting life, but oftener a pleasurable feeling, as in the case of the respiration of nitrous oxide. And in the suffocation produced by the gradual abstraction of air in a close room where charcoal is burning, we have the record of the son of a celebrated chymist, that the sensation which precedes the deep sleep that ends in death is agreeable. There is far more pain in recovering from the insensibility produced by the abstraction of air than in undergoing it, as I can answer from my own feelings; and it is, I believe, quite true, what has been asserted, that the pain of being born, which is acquiring the power of respiration, is greater than that of dying, which is losing the power.
Orn.—I have heard, that persons, who have been recovered from the insensibility produced by hanging, have never any recollection of the sufferings which preceded it; and as the blood is immediately determined to the head in this operation, probably apoplectic insensibility is almost instantaneous.
There is on record a very remarkable trial respecting the death of an Italian, who was for many years in the habit of being hanged for the purpose of producing the temporary excitement of organs that had lost their power, and who ultimately fell a victim to this depraved and dangerous practice; but I will not dwell upon this case, which is well authenticated, and which is equally revolting to good feelings and delicacy.
Hal.—The laws of nature are all directed by Divine Wisdom for the purpose of preserving life and increasing happiness. Pain seems in all cases to precede the mutilation or destruction of those organs which are essential to vitality, and for the end of preserving them; but the mere process of dying seems to be the falling into a deep slumber; and in animals, who have no fear of death dependent upon imagination, it can hardly be accompanied by very intense suffering. In the human being, moral and intellectual motives constantly operate in enhancing the fear of death, which, without these motives in a reasoning being, would probably become null, and the love of life be lost upon every slight occasion of pain or disgust; but imagination is creative with respect to both these passions, which, if they exist in animals, exist independent of reason, or as instincts. Pain seems intended by an all-wise Providence to prevent the dissolution of organs, and cannot follow their destruction. I know several instances in which the process of death has been observed, even to its termination, by good philosophers; and the instances are worth repeating: Dr. Cullen, when dying, is said to have faintly articulated to one of his intimates, “I wish I had the power of writing or speaking, for then I would describe to you how pleasant a thing it is to die.” Dr. Black, worn out by age and a disposition to pulmonary hemorrhage, which obliged him to live very low, whilst eating his customary meal of bread and milk, fell asleep, and died in so tranquil a manner, that he had not even spilt the contents of the spoon which he held in his hand. And the late Sir Charles Blagden, whilst at a social meal with his friends, Mons. and Mad. Berthollet and Gay-Lussac, died in his chair so quietly, that not a drop of the coffee in the cup which he held in his hand was spilt.
Poiet.—Give us no more such instances, for I do not think it wise to diminish the love of life, or to destroy the fear of death.
Hal.—There is no danger of this. These passions are founded on immutable laws of our nature, which philosophy cannot change; and it would be good if we could give the same security of duration to the love of virtue and the fear of vice or shame, which are connected with immutable interests, and which ought to occupy far more the consideration of beings destined for immortality.—But to our business.
Now we have fish for dinner, my task is finished: Physicus and Poietes, try your skill. I have not fished over the best parts of this pool: you may catch a brace of fish here before dinner is ready.
Phys.—It is too late, and I shall go and see that all is right.
Poiet.—I will take one or two casts; but give me your fly: I like always to be sure that the tackle is taking.
Hal.—Try at first the very top of the pool,—though I fear you will get nothing there; but here is a cast which I think the Highlander can hardly have commanded from the other side, and which is rarely without a good fish. There, he rose: a large trout of 10lbs., or a salmon. Now wait a few minutes. When a fish has missed the fly, he will not rise again till after a pause—particularly if he has been for some time in the fresh water. Now try him again. He has risen, but he is a dark fish that has been some time in the water, and he tries to drown the fly with a blow of his tail. I fear you will not hook him except foul, when most likely he would break you. Try the bottom of the pool, below where I caught my fish.
Poiet.—I have tried all the casts, and nothing rises.
Hal.—Come, we will change the fly for that which I used.
Poiet.—Now I have one: he has taken the fly under water, and I cannot see him.
Hal.—Straighten your line, and we shall soon see him. He is a sea trout, but not a large one.
Poiet.—But he fights like a salmon, and must be near 5lbs.
Hal.—Under 3lbs.; but these fish are always strong and active, and sometimes give more sport than larger fish. Shorten your line, or he will carry you over the stones and cut the link gut. He is there already: you have allowed him to carry out too much line; wind up as quick as you can, and keep a tight hand upon him. He is now back to a good place, and in a few minutes more will be spent. I have the net. There, he is a sea trout of nearly 3lbs. This will be a good addition to our dinner: I will crimp him, that you may compare boiled sea trout with broiled, and with salmon. Now, if you please, we will cool this fish at the spring, and then go to our inn.
Poiet.—If you like. I am endeavouring to find a reason for the effect of crimping and cold in preserving the curd of fish. Have you ever thought on this subject?
Hal.—Yes: I conclude that the fat of salmon between the flakes of the muscles is mixed with much albumen and gelatine, and is extremely liable to decompose, and by keeping it cool, the decomposition is retarded; and by the boiling salt and water, which is of a higher temperature than that of common boiling water, the albumen is coagulated, and the curdiness preserved. The crimping, by preventing the irritability of the fibre from being gradually exhausted, seems to preserve it so hard and crisp, that it breaks under the teeth; and a fresh fish not crimped is generally tough. A friend of mine, an excellent angler, has made some experiments on the fat of fish; and he considers the red colour of trout, salmon, and char, as owing to a peculiar coloured oil, which may be extracted by alcohol; and this accounts for the want of it in fish that have fed ill, and after spawning. In general, the depth of the red colour and the quantity of curd are proportional.
Poiet.—Would not the fish be still better, or at least possess more curd, if caught in a net and killed immediately? In the operation of tiring by the reel there must be considerable muscular exertion, and I should suppose expenditure of oily matter.
Hal.—There can be no doubt but the fish would be in a more perfect state for the table from the nets; yet a fish in high season does not lose so much fat during the short time he is on the hook, as to make much difference; and I am not sure, that the action of crimping after does not give a better sort of crispness to the fibre. This, however, may be fancy; we will discuss the matter again at table. See! our companion on the lake, the eagle, is coming down the river, and has pounced upon a fish in the pool near the sea.
Phys.—I fear he will interfere with our sport: let us request Ornither to shoot him. I wish to see him nearer, and to preserve him as a specimen for the Zoological Society.
Hal.—O! no. He will not spoil our sport; and I think it would be a pity to deprive this spot of one of its poetical ornaments. Besides, the pool where he is now fishing contains scarcely any thing but trout; it is too shallow for salmon, who run into the cruives.
Poiet.—I am of your opinion, and shall use my eloquence to prevent Ornither from attempting the life of so beautiful a bird; so majestic in its form, so well suited to the scenery, and so picturesque in all its habits.
The Innkeeper.—Gentlemen, dinner is ready.