Poiet.—Alas! he broke me,—turned sulky, and went to the bottom; and when he was roused again, my line came back without the fly; so that I conclude he had cut my links by rubbing them against some sharp stone. But I have caught two grilses and a sea trout since, and lost two others, salmons or grilses, that fairly got the hooks out of their mouths.
Hal.—And, Ornither, what have you done? Well, I see,—a salmon, a grilse, and a sea trout. And Physicus?
Phys.—I have lost three fish; one of which broke me, at the top of the pool, by running amongst the rocks; and I have only one small sea trout.
Hal.—Your fortune will come another day. Why, you have not a single crimped fish for dinner, and it is now nearly two o’clock; and you have been catching for the picklers, for those fish may all go to the boiling-house. I must again be your purveyor. Can you point out to me any part of this pool where you have not fished?
All.—No.
Hal.—Then I have little chance.
Phys.—O yes! you have a charm for catching fish.
Hal.—Let me know what flies you have tried, and I may perhaps tell you if I have a chance. With my small bright humming bird, as you call it, I will make an essay.
Poiet.—But this fishery is really very limited; and two pools for four persons a small allowance.
Hal.—If you could have seen this river twenty years ago, when the cruives were a mile higher up, then you might have enjoyed fishing. There were eight or ten pools, of the finest character possible for angling, where a fisherman of my acquaintance has hooked thirty fish in a morning. The river was then perfect, and it might easily be brought again into the same state; but even as it is now, with this single good pool and this second tolerable one, I know no place where I could, in the summer months, be so secure of sport as here—certainly no where in Great Britain.