Hal.—It is a salmon, and one above 10lbs. Play him with care, and do not let him run into the rough part of the stream, where the large stones are.
Poiet.—It is, I think, the most active fish I have yet played with. See how high he leaps! He is making for the sea.
Hal.—Hold him tight, or you will lose him.
Poiet.—Fear me not. I trust, in spite of his strength, I shall turn him. You see, I show him the but of the rod, and his force is counterpoised by a very long lever.
Hal.—You do well. But he has made a violent spring, and, I fear, is off.
Poiet.—He is!—but not, I think, by any fault of mine: he has carried off something.
Hal.—You played that fish so well, that I am angry at his loss: either the hook, link, or line, failed you.
Poiet.—It is the hook, which you see is broken, and not merely at the barb, but likewise in the shank. What a fool I was ever to use one of these London or Birmingham made hooks.
Hal.—The thing has happened to me often. I now never use any hooks for salmon fishing, except those which I am sure have been made by O’Shaughnessy, of Limerick; for even those made in Dublin, though they seldom break, yet they now and then bend; and the English hooks, made of cast steel in imitation of Irish ones, are the worst of all. There is a fly nearly of the same colour as that which is destroyed; and I can tell you, that I saw it made at Limerick by O’Shaughnessy himself, and tied on one of his own hooks. Should you catch with it a fish even of 30lbs. I will answer for its strength and temper: it will neither break nor bend.
Poiet.—Whilst I am attaching your present, so kindly made, to my line, pray tell me how these hooks are made, for I know you interested yourself in this subject when at Limerick.