Hal.—It is very possible. It is not likely that three other fish of that size should occupy the same haunts.
Poiet.—But I thought after a fish had been hooked, he remained sick and sulky for some time, feeling his wounds uncomfortable.
Hal.—The fish that I hooked is not rising in the same place, and therefore, probably, was hurt by the hook; but one of these fish seems to be the same that carried off your fly, and it is probable that the hook only struck him in a part of the mouth where there are no nerves; and that he suffered little at the moment, and does not now feel his annoyance.
Poiet.—I have seen him take four or five flies: I shall throw over him. There, he rose, but refused the fly. He has at least learnt, from the experiment he has made, to distinguish the natural from the artificial fly.
Hal.—This, I think, always happens after a fish has been hooked with an artificial fly. He becomes cautious, and is seldom caught that year, at least with the same means in the same pool: but I dare say that fish might be taken with a natural fly; or, what is better, two upon the hook.
Poiet.—Pray try him.
Hal.—I am no artist at this kind of angling, but Ornither I know has fished in June with the clubs at Stockbridge, where this method of fishing is usual. Pray let him try his fortune, though it is hardly fair play; and it is rather to endeavour to recover your tackle, than for the sake of the fish, that I encourage him to make the essay.
Poiet.—Pray make no apologies for the trial. Such a fish—certainly a monster for this river—should be caught by fair means, if possible, but caught by any means.
Orn.—You lost that fish, and you overrate his size, as you will see, if I have good luck. I put my live flies on the hook with some regret and some disgust. I will not employ another person to be my minister of cruelty, as I remember a lady of fashion once did, who was very fond of fishing for perch, and who employed her daughter, a little girl of nine years of age, to pass the hook through the body of the worm! Now there is a good wind, and the fish has just taken a natural fly. I shall drop the flies, if possible, within a few inches of his nose. He has risen. He is caught! I must carry him down stream to avoid the bed of weeds above. I now have him on fair ground, and he fights with vigour. Fortunately, my silk worm gut is very strong, for he is not a fish to be trifled with. He begins to be tired; prepare the net. We have him safe, and see your link hangs to his lower jaw: the hook had struck the cartilage on the outside of the bone, and the fly, probably, was scarcely felt by him.
Phys.—I am surprised! That fish evidently had discovered that the artificial fly was a dangerous bait, yet he took the natural fly which was on a hook, and when the silk-worm gut must have been visible.