Part 2

Having just hooked a heavy fish, when you are using the blowing-line, and seeing the silk break about two feet above your hand; then watching the broken end as it travels quickly through each successive ring, till it finally leaves the top of your rod, and follows the fish to the bottom of the river.

XXIV.

Receiving a very elegant new rod from London, and being told by one of the most skilful of your brother anglers, that it is so stiff,--and by another, that it is so pliant, that it is not possible for any man to throw a fly properly with it.

XXV.

Being obliged to listen to a long story about the difficulties which one of your friends had to encounter in landing a very fine trout which has just been placed on the table for dinner, when you have no story of the same sort to tell in return.

XXVI.

Hooking a large trout, and then turning the handle of your reel the wrong way; thus producing an effect diametrically opposite to that of shortening your line, and making the fish more unmanageable than before.

XXVII.

Arriving just before sunset at a shallow, where the fish are rising beautifully, and finding that they are all about to be immediately driven away by five-and-twenty cows, which are preparing to walk very leisurely across the river in open files.

XXVIII.

Coming to an ugly ditch in your way across a water-meadow late in the day, when you are too tired to jump, and being obliged to walk half a mile in search of a place where you think you can step over it.

XXIX.

Flattering yourself that you had brought home the largest fish of the day, and then finding that two of your party have each of them caught a trout more than half a pound heavier than yours.

XXX.

Finding yourself reduced to the necessity of talking about the beautiful form and colour of some trout, which you have caught, being well aware that in the important particular of _weight_, they are much inferior to several of those taken on the same day by one of your companions.

XXXI.

Telling a long story after dinner, tending to show (with full particulars of time and place) how that, under very difficult circumstances, and notwithstanding very great skill on your part, your tackle had been that morning broken and carried away by a very large fish; and then having the identical fly, lost by you on that occasion, returned to you by one of your party, who found it in the mouth of a trout, caught by him, about an hour after your disaster, on the very spot so accurately described by you--the said very large fish being, after all, a very small one.

XXXII.

Arriving at a friend's house in the country, one very cold evening in March, and being told by his keeper that there are a great many large pike in the water, and that you are sure of having good sport on the following day; and then looking out of your bed-room window the next morning, and seeing two unhappy swans dancing an awkward sort of minuet on the ice, the surface of the lake having been completely frozen during the night.

R. P.

LONDON, _March, 1833._

MORE MISERIES.

(Continuation of Story from page 24.)

ON a subsequent occasion our honest anglers repeated their visit to Mr. Jenkins, who, with the view of making himself more agreeable to his guests, had, in the meantime, agreed to pay an annual rent to the miller, for the exclusive right of fishing in some water belonging to the mill, which was said to contain the largest fish in the river.

Now, this miller had a son, who, whilst he followed his father's daily occupation of preparing matter for the _loaves_, sometimes thought of the _fishes_ too; and he was better known in the neighbourhood for his great skill in fishing, than for any unusual acquaintance with the mysteries of grinding. He had frequently used much argument and entreaty to dissuade his father from letting the fishery; but the prudent old miller thought that L15 per annum, to be paid by Mr. Jenkins, would be more profitable to him, than any pleasure which his son might derive from catching many fine brace of trout during the season.

Such was the state of affairs in this part of the world, when Mr. Jackson and Mr. Thompson arrived early one morning, by special invitation, to make a first trial of their skill in the new water. The usual conversation about the state of the weather was quickly despatched at breakfast. The wind was, for once, pronounced to be in the right quarter. It was unanimously agreed that there could not well be a more favourable day for fishing, and that, therefore, the gentlemen ought to lose no time in going down to the river. Our old friend, Thompson, who, as we have already seen, was not always very successful with a fly, had lately, in order that he might have two strings to his bow[A], been learning another branch of the gentle art, called "Spinning a minnow;" and he now sallied forth, not "equal to both," but "armed for either field," and walked with a confident step to a celebrated spot below the mill. This new acquirement had been kept a profound secret from Jackson, who went out, as usual, fly-fishing, and proceeded to a part of the stream above the mill.

It was not to be expected that the young miller would work cheerfully at the mill that morning. He felt that, although he had been cruelly deprived of the fishery by his father, he surely had a right to _look_ at the gentlemen if he pleased; he therefore put on his dusty hat and walked, in a surly mood, to the river side,--taking with him, as the companion of his sorrows, a ragged little boy, who had often witnessed his exploits with envy and admiration, and occasionally imitated his great example in a very humble manner by fishing for gudgeons in the canal.

The youth and the boy found Thompson so busily engaged in arranging his new spinning-tackle, that he did not perceive that they had established themselves within a few yards of him. There he stood upon the bank, deeply impressed with the value of some excellent instructions which he had lately received for his guidance, and fully sensible of the vast superiority over Jackson which he now possessed. Having at last settled every preliminary to his entire satisfaction, he was just about to cast in his minnow for the first time, when the miller attracted Thompson's notice by that peculiar sort of short cough which is a relief to suppressed insolence, and acts as a safety-valve to prevent explosion.

Poor Thompson! He did not feel quite qualified for a performance of the kind before a critic so well able to judge, and so little disposed to admire; but he considered that it would be _infra dig._ to appear disconcerted by the young miller's presence,--so he assumed a look of defiance, and manfully commenced operations.

After one or two bad throws, and sundry awkward attempts at improvement, a fine trout (_mirabile dictu!_) darted from under the bank and seized his minnow. "Who cares for the miller now?" thought Thompson; but, alas! the happy thought passed through his mind--

"Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say--It lightens."

He unfortunately (vide Maxim IX.) held the fish a little too hard against the stream, and pulled him so very triumphantly, that the thrilling sensation of tugging pressure on the rod suddenly ceased, and the hookless end of the broken line flew into the air!!

At this awful crisis the young miller's cough became very troublesome, and the boy coolly called out to him--

"_I say, Jack!--I'll lay a penny that wouldn't ha' happened if you had had hold on 'im!!!_"

* * * * *

Long before Thompson had recovered from the effects of this sad disaster, Jenkins came up to him to announce that luncheon was ready. Overwhelming our poor sufferer with a torrent of well-meant condolence, he said--

"Well, Thompson!

"What! no sport?

"That _is_ unlucky!

"I am very anxious that _you_ should catch a good fish. _Jackson_ has just caught a brace of very fine ones!

"This is exactly the spot where I expected that you would have the best sport!

"The miller tells me that the largest fish lie there[B], near that broken post under the opposite bank. Pray cast your minnow close to that, and you will be sure to run a fish almost immediately."

Jenkins little knew what he was asking. The aforesaid post was at a formidable distance,--it could only be reached by a most skilful hand. Thompson felt by no means disposed to attempt it, because, although Jenkins appeared to think that it would be an easy task for so finished an angler as Thompson, he himself had no doubt that the odious miller, who was still looking on, was of a very different opinion. He therefore thought that it would be wise to leave the question undetermined, and not to give a _casting_ vote on the occasion.

And now Thompson, turning his back on the river, walked home arm-in-arm with his friend Mr. Jenkins, grieving much about the fish which he had lost, and perhaps a little about those which Jackson had caught.

The brace of very fine trout, said to have been caught by Mr. Jackson, were exhibited by him in due form to Mr. Thompson and the ladies, just before luncheon. Whilst he was pointing out the beautiful condition of the fish, without at all underrating their weight, Miss Smith, who was staying on a visit with her sister, Mrs. Jenkins, pleasantly remarked that Mr. Jackson was very _lucky_ to have caught two such fine fish whilst Mr. Thompson had not caught any. This led to an interesting conversation about the caprice of the fickle goddess, so often alluded to in the lamentations of an unsuccessful angler. Thompson took no part in the discussion, and he did not refer them to the miller or the little boy for any other explanation[C] of the cause of his failure; but he begged that they would allow him to eat his luncheon, without waiting for the rest of the party, as he was anxious to return as soon as possible to the river, where he expected to have great sport in the evening.

After luncheon, our unfortunate hero did not catch any fish, and he found that he could not throw his minnow within several yards of the far-famed post, even when he was not annoyed by spectators. He contrived, however, to get fast hold of another, at a much less distance from him; in consequence of which, he was obliged to abandon a second set of his best minnow tackle (price 2_s._ 6_d._) to its fate in the middle of the river.

At the end of _his day's sport_, Thompson omitted to use the wise precaution of taking his rod to pieces[D], before leaving the river side. On his way homewards, in the evening, he met the little boy, who slily asked him if he had had good sport _since_. This brought to his recollection the fact of his having to pass through the mill, in order to cross the river; and the prospect of his being asked a similar question by the miller was not agreeable. When he arrived at the mill, all was quiet; and he, therefore, flattered himself that the miller was comfortably enjoying his pipe at the ale-house.--Thompson was now so elated at the idea of passing through unobserved, that he quite forgot the exalted state of his rod, until he was reminded of it by a sudden jerk which broke off the top, leaving his third and last set of tackle, with a brilliant artificial minnow, sticking fast in a projecting rafter[E] above his reach. Hastily shoving the broken joint (Thompson never swears) into the butt of his rod, he hoped that he should be able to conceal all knowledge of this last misfortune. He, however, felt very unwilling that the shining little minnow should remain in its present position, as a glaring proof of his awkwardness; and it immediately occurred to him, that a small ladder, which was close at hand, was a thing exactly suited to the occasion; but at the very moment when he became convinced, by actual experiment, that it was too short for his purpose, his ears were assailed by a loud repetition of the cruel cough, and his eyes were met by a killing glance from those of the miller's son.

On the following day, Thompson returned, much out of spirits, to London. On that day, too, the young miller resumed his duties at the mill, less out of humour than before. Very shortly after this the old miller died, and the son then took the fishery into his own hands; and, however closely he may now resemble his late grandfather (who formerly lived on the River Dee), in caring for nobody, he never, whilst Thompson lives, will be able to say "Nobody cares for me."

* * * * *

"So ends my Tale:" for I fear that the reader must think that, like Thompson, he has now had quite enough of "THE MISERIES OF FISHING." I feel, however, assured that he will forgive me for relating this story, because, although his attention may be fatigued by the perusal of it, his eye will be gratified by the beauty of several new illustrations, which I owe to the kindness of my friends, the distinguished artists, whose names are printed under their welcome contributions to my little book.

R. P.

_Whitehall, March, 1839._

FOOTNOTES:

[A] It was a long one, when he talked about fishing.

[B] There the fish did not _lie_, but the miller did. He well knew that, since the letting of the fishery, his son had taken good care that the best of them should be gradually removed to Billingsgate by a more summary process than that of rod and line.

[C] Neither did Mr. Jackson think it necessary to explain to the ladies, or even to his friend Thompson, that the very fine fish, about which he had received so many compliments, had been taken by fixing his landing-net at the mouth of one of the narrow water-courses, up which they had worked their way in search of minnows;--a secret method of ensuring good sport, well known to some few very cunning anglers, whose motto is

"Unde habeas quaerit Nemo, sed oportet habere."--JUV.

[D] I understand that Thompson has written a long letter, complaining of my not having given any maxim or hint on this important point. I beg leave here to apologise for the omission; and I have no hesitation in advising him, if he should ever put his rod together again, not to omit taking it to pieces as soon as he has done fishing.

[E] Piscium et summa genus haesit ulmo.--HOR.

MAXIMS AND HINTS

FOR A

CHESS PLAYER.

"_Lorsque je veux, sans y faire semblant, me livrer aux meditations d'une douce philosophie, je vais a la peche. Ma longue experience me tient en garde contre les inconveniens d'une mauvaise pratique; et je jouis de mon succes, qu'aucun jaloux ne vient troubler. Ma peche finie, eh bien! je rentre dans le mouvement de la vie, je fais ma partie d'echecs; je triomphe, mon sang circule; je suis battu, mais je me releve._"--TACTIQUE DES RECREATIONS.

MAXIMS AND HINTS

FOR A

CHESS PLAYER.

I.

WIN as often as you can, but never make any display of insulting joy on the occasion. When you cannot win--lose (though you may not like it) with good temper.

II.

If your adversary, after you have won a game, wishes to prove that you have done so in consequence of some fault of his rather than by your own good play, you need not enter into much argument on the subject, whilst he is explaining to the by-standers the mode by which he might have won the game, _but did not_.

III.

Nor need you make yourself uneasy if your adversary should console himself by pointing out a mode by which you might have won the game in a shorter and more masterly manner. Listen patiently to his explanation--it cannot prove that your way was not good enough. _Tous les chemins sont bons qui menent a la victoire._

IV.

When you are playing with an opponent whom you feel sure that you can master, do not insult him by saying that you consider him a stronger player than yourself,--but that perhaps particular circumstances may prevent him from playing with his usual force to-day, &c. &c. Men usually play as well as they can: they are glad when they win, and sorry when they lose.

V.

Sometimes--when, alas! you have lost the game--an unmerciful conqueror will insist on "murdering Pizarro all over again," and glories in explaining how that your game was irretrievable after you had given a certain injudicious check with the queen,[F] (the consequence of which _he says_ that he immediately foresaw,) and that then, by a succession of very good moves on his part, he won easily. You must bear all this as well as you can, although it is certainly not fair to "preach'ee and flog'ee too."

VI.

A good player seldom complains that another is slow. He is glad to have the opportunity thus afforded to him of attentively considering the state of the game. Do not, therefore, be impatient when it is your adversary's turn to move. Take as much time as you require (_and no more_) when it is your own turn.

VII.

If, whilst you are playing, your adversary will talk about the state of the game, it is very provoking, but you cannot help it, and the pieces will give you ample revenge, if you can avail yourself of their power.

VIII.

If the by-standers talk, it is still more annoying: they always claim the merit of having foreseen every good move which is made, and they sometimes express great surprise at your not making a particular move; which, if you had made it, would probably have led to your speedily losing the game--before which time they would have walked away to another table.

IX.

Almost every moderate player thinks himself fully qualified to criticise the move by which a game has been lost.--Although, if he had himself been in the loser's place, he would, very probably, have been check-mated twenty moves sooner than the opportunity occurred for committing the particular mistake, which he thinks he should have avoided.

X.

Amongst good players, it is considered to be as much an indispensable condition of the game, that a piece once touched must be moved, as that the queen is not allowed to have the knight's, or a rook the bishop's move.

XI.

Some persons, when they are playing with a stranger who entreats to be allowed to take back a move, let him do so the first time: then, almost immediately afterwards, they put their own queen _en prise_; and when the mistake is politely pointed out to them, they say that _they_ never take back a move, but that they are ready to begin another game.

XII.

Do not be alarmed about the state of your adversary's health, when, after losing two or three games, he complains of having a bad head-ache, or of feeling very unwell. If he should win the next game, you will probably hear no more of this.

XIII.

Never (if you can avoid it) lose a game to a person who rarely wins when he plays with you. If you do so, you may afterwards find that this one game has been talked of to all his friends, although he may have forgotten to mention ninety-nine others which had a different result. Chess players have a very retentive memory with regard to the games which they win.

XIV.

If, therefore, any one should tell you that on a certain day last week he won a game from one of your friends, it may be as well to ask how many other games were played on the same day.

XV.

There is no better way of deciding on the comparative skill of two players than by the result of a number of games. Be satisfied with that result, and do not attempt to reason upon it.

XVI.

Remember the Italian proverb, "Never make a good move without first looking out for a better." Even if your adversary should leave his queen _en prise_, do not snap hastily at it. The queen is a good thing to win, but the game is a better.

XVII.

Between even, and tolerably good, players a mere trifle frequently decides the event of a game; but when you have gained a small advantage, you must be satisfied with it for the time. Do not, by attempting too much, lose that which you have gained. Your object should be to win the game, and the dullest way of winning is better for you than the most brilliant of losing.

XVIII.

If your knowledge of "the books" enables you to see that a person, with whom you are playing for the first time, opens his game badly, do not suppose, as a matter of course, that you are going to check-mate him in ten or twelve moves. Many moves called _very bad_ are only such if well opposed; and you can derive but little advantage from them unless you are well acquainted with the system of crowding your adversary,--one of the most difficult parts of the game.

XIX.

Some players have by study acquired mechanically the art of opening their game in a style much above their real force; but when they have exhausted their store of _book-knowledge_, they soon fall all to pieces, and become an easy prey to those who have genuine talent for the game. Others do not know how to open their game on scientific principles, and yet, if they can stagger through the beginning without decided loss, fight most nobly when there are but few pieces and pawns left on the board. All these varieties of play must be carefully studied by those who wish to win. It is only talent for the game, combined with much study and great practice, which can make a truly good player.

XX.

Although no degree of instruction derived from "books" will make a good player, without much practice with all sorts of opponents, yet, on the other hand, when you hear a person, who has had great practice, boast of never having looked into a chess-book, you may be sure either that he is a bad player, or that he is not nearly so good a player as he might become by attentively studying the laborious works which have been published on almost every conceivable opening, by such players as Ercole del Rio, Ponziani, Philidor, Sarratt, and Lewis.

XXI.

Between fine players, small odds (viz. pawn, with one, or with two moves) are of great consequence. Between inferior players they are of none. The value of these odds consists chiefly in position; and in every long game between weak players, such an advantage is gained and lost several times, without either party being aware of it.

XXII.

Almost all good players (_and some others_) have a much higher opinion of their own strength than it really deserves. One person feels sure that he is a better player than some particular opponent, although he cannot but confess that, for some unaccountable reason, or other, he does not always win a majority of games from him. Another attributes his failure solely to want of attention to details which he considers hardly to involve any real genius for the game; and he is obliged to content himself with boasting of having certainly, at one time, had much the best of a game, which he afterwards lost, _only by a mistake_. A third thinks that he must be a good player, because he has discovered almost all the many difficult check-mates which have been published as problems. He may be able to do this, and yet be unable to play a whole game well, it being much more easy to find out, at your leisure, the way to do that which you are told beforehand is practicable, than to decide, in actual play, whether, or not, it is prudent to make the attempt.

XXIII.