CHAPTER VI.

The finest trout-fishing in the world is to be obtained at Lake Superior; although larger fish may be killed in the lakes and streams of Maine, and greater numbers in the brooks of New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, and Pennsylvania, nowhere is to be found the same abundance of trout, averaging above two pounds, and wonderfully game and vigorous, and nowhere a more beautiful region to explore or pleasanter waters to fish over. The entire rocky shore of the lake, along both coasts, is one extensive fishing-ground, where the skilful angler can at any point find delightful sport; the innumerable tributaries, large and small, of the British or American territory, unless shut out by precipitous falls, are crowded with myriads of the speckled beauties; and the rapids at the outlet furnish trout of the largest size.

The true mode of enjoying the sport is by camping out, when the adventurous sportsman roams from point to point and river to river, from camping-ground to camping-ground, at his own unrestrained will, varying the sights and sounds of beauty that are ever present in the wilderness; but excellent fishing can be had at numerous places, united with comfortable accommodation. At the Sault St. Marie, at Marquette, at Grand Island, and at Bayfield public-houses are to be found, and so plentiful a supply of fine fish that the heart of man cannot fail to be satisfied; but the finest sport is to be realized along the Canadian shore, where camping-out is a necessity; for while on the southern coast the trout average a pound, on the northern they will run fully two pounds in weight.

To reach Lake Superior from the Eastern States the angler must either take the steamers at Cleveland upon days advertised in the local papers, or join them the next evening at Sarnia, by the Grand Trunk or Great Western railroads of Canada. He will reach the Sault in three days from Cleveland, and can save twenty-four hours in going by the way of Sarnia. At the Sault he will find unequalled bait-fishing, and occasionally excellent fly-fishing; but here, on account of the depth and strength of the water, the bait will kill the largest trout. At this thoroughly American village there is a well-kept hotel, the Chippewa House, and nearly all the requisites for camp-life, except the tent.

A few miles below the Sault the Garden River affords good sport and fair-sized trout, but is a difficult stream to ascend, while the first promontory on the southern shore of the lake, called White Fish Point, has long been famous as a fishing-station. At Marquette, which is a regular stopping-place for the steamers that traverse the lake, the waters are somewhat fished out; but about thirty miles to the eastward, within an easy day’s sail, at Grand Island, there is splendid fishing, magnificent scenery, and a passable boarding-house. Here are the famous Pictured Rocks, ornamented with the fantastic hues of many-colored sandstone, and worn by waves and storms into a thousand odd shapes and strange resemblances, hollowed out into caverns, washed away into pinnacles and spires, at one place representing a yacht under full sail, at another a turreted castle of the olden time.

About sixty miles beyond Marquette are the Dead, the Yellow Dog, and Salmon Trout rivers, which are apt to be encumbered with drift-wood and underbrush, but which are filled with fish, and from one of which a brook-trout of six and a half pounds was taken. The photograph of this fish, or another of about the same size, is preserved at the Sault.

At Bayfield, the further terminus of the steamboat route, named after the first American explorer and surveyor of this region, is the best of fishing, united with good hotel life. In the neighborhood of this village two hundred and fifty pounds weight of speckled trout have been killed in one day by one good fisherman and one poor one; fish of two and three pounds are common, and in the sheltered channels, between the Apostle Islands, the namægoose are taken in unlimited quantities. The Brulé River, and the many streams that empty into the lake in the neighborhood, although often choked with drift, are filled with fine trout.

On the north shore, amid the interminable forests that stretch in primeval solitude to the northern sea, enlivened only with the voice of the Peebiddy bird and one other melancholy warbler, beautified by a rare sprinkling of native wild-flowers,

“In the kingdom of Wabasso, In the land of the white rabbit,”

and along the Canadian shore of the lake, is the paradise of the fly-fisher. Every river swarms, every bay is a reservoir of magnificent fish that find their equals in size, courage, vigor, and beauty only in the salt waters of New Brunswick and Lower Canada. The entire coast is one long fishing-station, the rivers are stew-ponds, and the lake one vast preserve; at every step the angler may cast his fly into some eddy of the discolored stream or over some rocky shoal of the limpid lake with a fair prospect of alluring from the depths a glorious embodiment of piscatory power that shall struggle and fight, leaping from the water, and making many fierce rushes for a good twenty minutes, till he yields himself to the embrace of the net, exhibiting amid its brown folds the glorious silver brilliancy of the loveliest inhabitant of the liquid element. As he advances along the shore, an endless variety of water and land, continuous changes of rock and tree, and dark, bottomless depths or light gray shallows, present themselves to his eye; at one moment he is clambering along the steep, rough side of a precipice, whence he can scarcely toss his line a dozen paces, at the next he is walking securely upon some flat rock whence the receding hills permit him to cast to the utmost limit of his ability, or he may ascend the nearest stream by the aid of his strong barge, or in the light canoe, or else wading waist deep against the rushing current, and there, overshadowed by the hills and shrouded amid the waving trees, he can visit pool after pool, try eddy after eddy, till he and his men and the boat are loaded, and satiety bids him rest.

Along the lake there is scarcely a choice of locality; from the sandy beach at Point aux Pins to the outlet of the Pigeon River--the boundary of two nationalities--at every point, in every cove, trout are to be taken, and often in abundance; but probably the best as well as the most accessible spots are Gros Cap and Mamainse. Of the rivers the most famous is the Neepigon, where barrels of trout, averaging four pounds, have been taken in one day; but the Batchawaung and the Agawa are nearly as good, and within a more convenient distance, while the Harmony is unequalled for wild and romantic scenery.

The fish of Lake Superior excel those of the other inland waters, either in flavor or game qualities, and sometimes, as with trout, in both. The lake-trout and white-fish bring a higher price in the Detroit markets than those of Erie and Ontario, have a more brilliant color and firmer flesh, and the trout infinitely surpass in appearance, strength, and endurance the dull, logy productions of the Umbagog or Moosehead Lake. On taking the fly and experiencing the astonishing disappointment, they make one rush like their fellow-sufferers the salmon, and finding the pain clings to them, they leap with the energy of grilse with wild repetition, in the vain hope of shaking the tormenting barb from their lips. Nor do they resign themselves after a feeble struggle, but retain strength for many a rush when the ugly net is exhibited, often smashing tackle, carrying off leaders, and breaking tips in the course of the contest. Their colors are exquisitely delicate, their backs transparent mottled green, their sides of pearly whiteness, marked with brilliant carmine specks and faint blue spots, and their fins of the hue of clouded cream. Their flesh is flaky and rich, seamed with curd, and delicious to the hungry sportsman.

After having fished from Labrador to the Mississippi, and killed trout in every State where trout are to be killed, I am satisfied that the fishing of Lake Superior surpasses that of any other region on our continent, and is, as a natural consequence, the best in the world.

There are several remarkable peculiarities of scenery, among which are the pictured rocks and the sand dunes; and the sparkling lake, when stirred by a gentle breeze, is beautiful in the effulgence of the vertical summer sun; but the forests are gloomy and sombre, nearly impenetrable on account of fallen trees, and in the lower lands grown up with vast ferns, those evidences of the antiquity of our continent; so that the sportsman is mainly confined to his canoe and the narrow strip of lake shore between the beating waves and the impending hills. Beneath his feet are the hard rocks, seamed with yellow veins of copper, or wave-worn pebbles sparkling with a hundred varying colors, only less beautiful than the glistening fish that the skilful angler entices from the lake and lands among them. From this narrow strip he surveys the broad expanse of the Big-Sea-Water, and dreams of the countless myriads that rest in its liquid depths.

He travels with ease and comparative comfort; in the commodious barge he stows the innumerable articles that fill the measure of a sportsman’s luxuries, including among them a roomy tent, appetizing delicacies, abundant clothes, and whatever else fancy dictates. With the barge, which, although twenty-two feet long, is light and draws little water, he ascends the larger streams; or he hires some passing Indian and his birch canoe, that wonderful structure so beautifully and accurately described by Hiawatha:

“Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-Tree, Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, For the summer-time is coming, And the sun is warm in heaven, And you need no white-skin wrapper.

Give me of your boughs, O Cedar, Of your strong and pliant branches My canoe to make more steady, Make more strong and firm beneath me.

Give me of your roots, O Tamarack, Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-Tree, My canoe to bind together, So to bind the ends together That the water may not enter, That the river may not wet me.

Give me of your balm, O Fir-Tree, Of your balsam and your resin, So to close the seams together That the water may not enter, That the river may not wet me.

Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog, All your quills, O Kagh the hedgehog, I will make a necklace of them, Make a girdle for my beauty And two stars to deck her bosom.

Thus the Birch Canoe was builded In the valley by the river, In the bosom of the forest, And the forest’s life was in it, All its mystery and its magic, All the lightness of the birch-tree, All the toughness of the cedar, All the larch’s supple sinews; And it floated on the river Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, Like a yellow water-lily.”

And in this thing of life and beauty the fisherman finds his way to the head waters of the smallest brooks or crosses portages from one river to another, feeling for the time the joys of independence and savage life.

The gaudy flies known as the Irish lake-flies, dressed on a small salmon-hook of about No. 1½, are successful throughout the entire length of the lake; but in the rivers a common brown or red hackle on the same sized hook, dressed with silver tinsel, scarlet body, and very full, long hackle, is decidedly the most killing, and in the lake answers full as well as the more expensive articles. Very small flies are not desirable, owing probably to the depth and occasional turbulence of the water in the lake and its discoloration in the rivers, which prevent their being perceived by the fish. Stout tackle and a heavy rod are better than lighter gear, as no one wishes to waste time on small fish, and the rises are so frequent that the angler will not become weary by continued casting. A gaff is necessary for the Mackinaw salmon, and a large landing-net for trout, but otherwise nothing is required different from that which the sportsman would take in a day’s trip to the classic haunts of Long Island.

As the region around Lake Superior is well towards the Arctic zone, the weather is cool, and blankets, overcoats, and warm clothes are necessary; but there will be frequently several successive days of extreme heat, when the thermometer will rise to ninety in the shade. The great drawback to this section of country, in fact to all our unopened lands, is the immense number of mosquitoes, black-flies, and sand-flies. These pests are found numerously everywhere in our woods, but nowhere are they so plenty or combined so equally as along the shores of Lake Superior. All day long the black-flies watch their chance to find a bare spot of human flesh to sting and tear; immediately on the falling of the shades of evening the almost invisible sand-flies, the “no see ’ems” of the half-educated Indian, make their appearance in countless millions of infinitesimal torture, and all night long the ceaseless hum of the hungry mosquito drives sleep from the wearied sportsman’s eyelids. Veils and ointments are, therefore, a prime necessity, without which a visit to this section is an impossibility; and even with the best protections, the warm days that give these insects unaccustomed activity are scarcely tolerable. But in spite of these petty discomforts it is a noble lake, beautiful in all its moods, silent and waveless in the warm sunshine, rippled and sparkling in the gentle breeze, or lashed to anger by the storm, when it rages along the shore and bursts in furious surf upon the rocks. Nowhere else can trout-fishing be had in greater perfection and more endless variety, nowhere else can the fisherman find purer sources of enjoyment or finer opportunities to exercise his art, and nowhere else can the lover of nature discover more to amuse or instruct him. It lies in the heart of an almost unbroken wilderness, the largest lake in the world, one huge spring of the coldest ice-water, and filled with trout that the painter can scarce find colors to imitate, and that will dwell in the angler’s memory for ever.

MACKINAW SALMON.

_Namaycush--Salmo Amethystus._

Of all the varieties of _Salmonidæ_ that permanently inhabit the fresh water, this fish, although utterly destitute of game qualities, is alone entitled, on account of his great size and excellence upon the table, to the honored name of Salmon, is found throughout the northern lakes, being prevented by the impassable barrier of Niagara Falls from descending to the sea, occasionally visits Lake Erie, but attains his finest condition around the cold, clear depths of Lakes Huron and Superior. He is named after one of his favorite localities, and reaches the immense weight of nearly or quite one hundred pounds, and is the grandest prize of the inland waters of our northern continent.

In color, the Mackinaw Salmon differs, as does the brook trout, according to the peculiarities of his habitat, whether rocky or muddy shoals, or deep open water; and to such a degree that, according to Professor Agassiz, he is known to the Canadian Voyageurs under different names, and individual specimens are frequently considered half-breeds or a cross between this species and the Siskawitz. Among the aborigines he is distinguished by the appellation which is usually spelled namaycush, although it is pronounced namægoose, and has the accent strongly on the second syllable, and is never by them confounded with any other variety of lake trout. The fish of Lake Superior are of stronger colors; are darker on the back; have redder flesh, and are universally preferred gastronomically to those of other localities.

In Spring and early Summer, they appear to leave the deep water, and seeking the rocky shallows, feed voraciously upon the numerous small fry furnished in abundance by our western lakes. Throughout May, June, July, and August, they can be captured in abundance with the trolling spoon, trailed after a boat propelled by oars or a gentle breeze, but are rarely taken of over twelve pounds weight. At such times they are excellent eating; their flesh being rich, firm, and closely approaching in color that of their congener, the famous _Salmo Salar_, and they are delicious simply boiled or made into the basis of a chowder.

Unfortunately, although they bite voraciously, they give no play whatever, allowing themselves to be drawn in without resistance, and there is no fish approaching them in size which is so utterly devoid of game qualities. At times they seem even to swim gently forward as though they preferred coming towards the boat, till the fisherman is uncertain whether they are still on; and although at the last moment they make a few flounces, their apparent weakness for a fish so powerfully formed, is astonishing. To be sure if a man had a hook in his mouth he would follow the slightest pull; but we do not expect such conduct from a fish, especially from one endowed with the graceful and vigorous shape of the Mackinaw Salmon.

They take any of the trolling spoons, appearing, however, to prefer the old style, copied from the bowl of a spoon, but rather elongated, to the expensive and fanciful modern improvements. Those sold at the Sault St. Marie are from five to six inches long and made of tin; but a better bait will be found in the mother-of-pearl imitation fish. To insure success, the weather should be moderate, either calm or with a gentle breeze rippling the surface of the water, for the reason that in the open lake a strong wind will cause so heavy a swell that the fish cannot see the bait, and the oarsmen cannot control the boat. They are not shy; but as the water is frequently deep, although wonderfully clear, the difficulty is to attract their attention. For this purpose sufficient line must be used to sink the bait slightly beneath the surface, and the boat must not move too rapidly.

They are captured in all the bays and indentations of Lakes Huron and Superior, where the bottom is rocky and the water not over one hundred feet deep. In Lake Superior they are abundant; in Goulais’ Bay, at Michipicotten Island, in the vicinity of Bayfield, and almost everywhere else.

Late in the fall they retire to the sombre depths, and are only taken by still fishing with a long line and live bait, and at such times the deep water abreast of Gros Cap is one of their favorite localities, and they are there frequently caught by the Indians of from fifty to seventy-five pounds. They are salted and smoked by the inhabitants for winter use, but like the speckled trout are too dry for that purpose, and should never be killed by the sportsman except as an article of immediate consumption. They are usually distinguished among Americans as the Mackinaw Salmon, although that universal and totally undescriptive name Lake trout is occasionally applied to them, and are called by the Canadian voyagers _truites du lac_.

The gums of this fish are of a purple tinge, and from this peculiarity, which is by no means invariable, is derived their scientific name. The scales are small and the lateral line is nearly straight. The under gill cover is large and grooved; while there are many teeth, the prominent ones being very sharp and much curved, and the tongue has a row on each side.

The fin rays are:--D. 14, P. 15, V. 9, A. 12, C. 19 6/6.

The tail is narrow at the root, and spreads broad toward the extremity. The color on the back is deep sea green, spotted with green and yellow spots; on the sides it is purple, with lilac spots, and on the belly pure white. The tail is dark and beautifully spotted the whole length. It is, altogether, a remarkably handsome and graceful fish.

The spawning season is October, and the operation is performed in the shallows near shore, at which time the fish are mercilessly speared by the natives.

LAKE TROUT.

_Salmon Trout--Salmo Confinis_.

This variety of the non-migratory _Salmonidæ_, although somewhat similar in general appearance to the foregoing species, does not attain the same gigantic size. It is found numerously throughout the middle and Eastern States, as well as in the great Northern lakes, but bears a vastly inferior rank in the estimation both of the epicurean and the sportsman.

Its gastronomic appreciation, I believe, however, is much influenced by the period of the year in which it is taken. Early in the season it is rich, firm, and of fine flavor, the flesh being of a light orange, and breaking into beautiful flakes. At such times it is unquestionably excellent. In Summer it is admirable as the foundation for a chowder, having some of the peculiarities in a higher development of the cod; and serving as a pleasant change from the ordinary boil or fry of the common trout. It is also quite eatable if cut into steaks and broiled.

Its scientific description is as follows:--The scales are minutely striate; the lateral line is slightly curved near the head; the tongue has large teeth along the central furrow; there are many acute teeth on the palatines and vomer; the tail has a sinuous margin; the bases of the vertical fins are spotted, and the flesh is coarse.

The fin rays are:--D. 14, P. 14, V. 9, A. 12, C. 21 3/3.

In color it is blackish or bluish-black, with numerous pale spots. It is taken with trolling tackle, but rarely or never with the fly. The spawning season is October, when it seeks the shallow water for that purpose.

THE SISKAWITZ.

_Salmo Siscowet._

This species has a dentition very similar to the _Salmo Amethystus_, but not quite so robust. The upper and lower maxillaries and intermaxillaries, and each of the palatines, have a row of teeth. The vomer one and the tongue two rows, beside the acute teeth. The tail is less furcate, and the dorsal fin is larger than in the Mackinaw Salmon. The flesh is rich and of fine flavor, but almost too fat.

The fin rays are:--D. 12, P. 14, A. 12, 14, V. 9, C. 30.

This fish is shorter and stouter, and not so distinctly spotted as the Mackinaw Salmon; it is altogether less handsome, but has similar habits, and bites readily at the trolling spoon. It was first described by Professor Agassiz, not many years ago, during his tour of Lake Superior, but has always been distinguished by the Indians and Voyageurs, and known among them under its distinctive appellation.

The Siskawitz inhabits the upper portion of Lake Superior, and never descends towards the outlet, and is taken in the neighborhood of Isle Royale in abundance. It is said also to be found in some of our other lakes, but is very rare.

STRIPED BASS.

_Rock-fish--Librax Lineatus._

These glorious fish, the delight of the angler’s heart, the bravest and strongest except the salmon, the largest without exception of the finny tribe that the sportsman pursues, frequent every cove and bay of our northern Atlantic coast, and furnish the main attraction of salt-water fishing.

Their mode of capture differs according to the locality; from the rock-bound coast of the Eastern States the adventurous angler, perched upon some projecting rock, casts the simple bait into the crested wave, amid the thundering surf of the stormy sea; along the sandy shores and in the tranquil inlets of the Middle States, gut snells, sinker and float come into play in the rapid tide ways; and among the numerous lagoons and bays of the Southern States the clumsy but effective hand-line is employed.

To the eastward, menhaden and lobster are the favorite baits; in Pennsylvania and New York shrimp, crab, and squid; and in the Southern States killeys, herrings, and other small fish. The artificial baits are the eel-skin, imitation squid, and gaudy bass-fly. The eel-skin used mainly along New England shores is attached to a hand-line, and cast into and drawn rapidly through the boiling surf of the ocean; the squid is towed with trolling tackle behind the sail or row boat, in the quiet waters of the Middle States; while the fly is used with stout rod and long line wherever the fresh current of some river haunted by fish falls directly into the salt water of the sea.

For casting with the menhaden from the rocks, New London harbor, Point Judith, West Island near Newport, Montauk Point, and Newport Island itself, are favorite localities; while the Little Falls of the Potomac at the Chain Bridge, near Washington, where the green waters dash over the sunken rocks and eddy round the cliffs that rise perpendicular from the river’s brink, furnish the finest fly fishing for bass in the world.

For bait-casting the necessary implements are a large reel, running on steel pivots, two hundred yards of flax line attached to a 7° hook with a round head, and a rod of not over nine feet in length, with a large agate funnel top. With such tools experienced fishermen can cast a slice cut from the side of a menhaden, and weighing about three ounces, two hundred, aye, nearly three hundred feet into the curling breakers of the Atlantic ocean, and kill bass that will pull down the scales at fifty, sixty, and seventy pounds.

A mode of preparing a bass line to render it light and water-proof, without weakening it, is recommended by excellent authority, and is simply to soak it for one night in fish oil which does not rot linen, to hang it up to drain the following day, and to place it in mahogany sawdust to dry. When thus prepared it does not soak water, nor even sink.

Fly-fishing for bass, however, is the perfection of the sport, and infinitely surpasses in excitement all other modes of killing these noble fish. The best season on the Potomac is in July or August, and the favorite hours the early morning or the twilight of the evening. The ignorant and debased natives who inhabit the romantic region of hill and valley in the neighborhood of Tenally Town, about five miles northwest of Washington, and who, dead to the beauties that nature has lavished around them, and utterly unacquainted with scientific angling, look merely to their two cents per pound for striped bass, manufacture a fly by winding red or yellow flannel round the shank of a large hook, adding sometimes a few white feathers. They substitute for rod a young cedar sapling, denuded of bark and seasoned by age, and attaching to the upper end a stout cord, fish with the large flannel swathed hook in the rapids and below the falls of the Potomac, at the old chain bridge, and without a reel, kill bass of twenty or thirty pounds.

No spot can be imagined more wild and romantic, and with proper tackle, the reel, the lithe salmon rod, and the artistic fly--no sport can be more exciting. The roar of the angry flood, the bare precipices topped with foliage on the opposite bank, the flat dry bed of the stream where it flows during the heavy freshets, but at other seasons a mass of bare jagged rocks, and the dashing spray of the broken current lend a charm to the scene. While the fish, rendered doubly powerful by the force of the stream, and aided by the numerous rocks and falls, have every chance to escape.

The bass pursue the silvery herring, which is the principal natural bait, and ascend the Little Falls of the Potomac during the summer months in vast numbers. They are captured in such quantities with the net in the salt water and with hook and line in the rapids, as to be almost a drug in the market.

As the season advances, the native crawls upon some rock that reaches out into the stream, and with his coarse but elastic cedar pole, casts the roll of flannel, wrapped round a hook and misnamed a fly, into the seething current; and when the brave fish seizes the clumsy allurement the fisherman contends for the mastery as best he may, occasionally at the risk of a ducking in the stream consequent upon the sudden breaking of his tackle, and accompanied with considerable risk. When a man has but a slight foothold upon the slippery surface of a shelving ledge, and has attached to the end of his rod a vigorous fish of twenty pounds, he is apt to fall if the line parts unexpectedly. Many are the tales of such accidents, and now and then of fatal results. But with proper tackle, the scientific angler is master of the situation; he can reach any part of the current, casting into the eddies at the base of the precipitous cliffs opposite; he can yield to the rush of the prey; can retire, paying out line, to surer footing, and can follow the fish along the shore; and finally, having subdued his spirit and broken his strength, can lead the prize, gleaming through the transparent water with the sun’s rays reflected in rainbow colors from his scales, into some quiet nook where he can gaff him with safety. Such is fly-fishing for striped bass amid the most lovely scenery, gorgeous in its summer dress of green and alternating hill and valley, dotted with pretty farms and smiling grain-fields; and there is but little sport that can surpass it.

Bass are also taken at the Grand Falls, ten miles further up the river; but the Little Falls are their favorite locality, as they are here just passing from the salt tide into the pure, sparkling, broken fresh-water. They frequently weigh twenty pounds, and occasionally much more; but, of course, the main run is smaller, and the number killed in lucky days is prodigious, being counted by hundreds.

Bass are said to be taken with the fly in other rivers of the Southern States, and also to a certain degree in those of the north. At the mouths of narrow inlets, where the tide is rapid and diluted with fresh-water, a gaudy red and white fly with a full body, kept on the surface by the force of the current and not cast as in fly-fishing, will occasionally beguile them; but generally speaking, bass are not fished for with the fly north of the Potomac.

Although the artistic angler naturally despises the miserable flannel abortion manufactured by the stupid boors of Tenally Town, it will often be found as good a lure as though composed of the rarest materials; in fact the bass exhibit none of that daintiness of choice that is universal with salmon. So long as the fly is large and showy they seem to be satisfied, and their immense mouths can readily grasp a No. 7 hook, such as the natives occasionally use. One of half that size is abundantly large, however, and the clearer the water the finer should be the tackle. The rod, reel, and line are those appropriate to salmon fishing, although the line, if it is wet by salt-water, should be afterwards rinsed in fresh to prevent rotting. Some fishermen fasten a float above the fly, and paying out line let it run down stream into distant eddies; but this is not so orthodox a mode of proceeding, and does not require equal skill nor as delicate tackle.

After a fish is struck, the same care has to be exercised if he is heavy that is necessary with the salmon, and he will often compel the angler to follow him a long distance ere the gaff terminates the struggle. Bass make very determined but not such rapid runs as their fellow-denizen of the flood, the _salmo salar_, but rarely retain that reserved force which makes his last dash so often fatal; nevertheless they are resolute and powerful, and have to be handled with care.

Another mode of taking bass, which is strongly recommended, even for the open bays of the north, by one of our best fishermen, but which I have only tried in the narrow coves, inlets, and streams, where the tide-way can be covered by a good cast, is to use the salmon rod, line, and reel, but to substitute a shrimp for the fly. The casting is then done in the ordinary manner, and the gentleman referred to claims, that it is by far the most killing mode. If even equally successful, it is certainly far preferable to the use of the float and sinker, or to the dull monotony of bottom fishing. Any sport that brings into active play the faculties of body or mind, and which demands practice and experience, surpasses the one that requires the merely passive quality of patience.

The most successful, and excepting perhaps fly-fishing, the most skilful method of taking the striped beauties of the northern coasts, is with the menhaden bait, cast into the boiling surf of the ocean, or the larger bays; and this sport is universally enjoyed along the iron-bound shore of New England, from New London to Eastport. This entire reach, is one mass of rock, indented by innumerable bays, or severed by inlets into barren islands, where the tide rushes, and the surf beats; and in every favorable locality are the bass taken with a stout rod, a long line, and menhaden bait. From almost every bold rock, or prominent island, can the angler cast into the vexed water of some current, made by the huge waves rushing over the uneven bottom, and allure thence the fierce bass, who has been attracted from the ocean depths, to feed on the small fry that hide in the clefts and crevices; and waiting with fins often visible above the tide, to pounce upon his prey, mistakes for it the angler’s bait, and after a brave struggle surrenders to human ingenuity.

Although the true fisherman may pursue the small fish of the Delaware or Hudson, of New York Bay or the Sound, may patiently bide their time at Hackensac or Pelham bridges, McComb’s dam or the hedges; and may have true pleasure in capturing them with dancing float and shrimp, or running sinker, and shedder crab; if he can spare a week or two, he should cut adrift from the noise and turmoil, foul stenches, and fouler deeds of the city; and hastening to Newport or Point Judith, enjoy the noblest sport of the salt water--bass-fishing with menhaden bait. He will need stout nerves, strong muscles, good tackle, and abundant skill; for he will be called upon to cast with the utmost of his power, perhaps a hundred yards, and to strike and land fish that may weigh half a hundred pounds. He will be exposed to the sea-breeze, or it may be the storm wind at early day-light, and the spray from the salt waves, and wet and cold will be his portion; but he will forget these trivial evils, when he strikes the bass of forty, fifty, or sixty pounds, the fish that he has been living for, and when he lands him safely on the slippery rocks.

Fishermen of character have been known to assert, that they could cast with the rod, the ordinary menhaden bait, one hundred and twenty yards; and although from a high stand, with the aid of a strong wind, this is possible, the ordinary cast is not over half that distance, and to exceed one hundred when standing on a level with the water is rare indeed. In fact, seventy-five yards is a good cast, and no man need be ashamed who can put out his line fair and true that distance. Rather better can be done with the hand-line than with the rod, but with far greater fatigue, and a painful over-exertion of the muscles of the arm that is almost unendurable to one who has not steady practice. The length of cast is in a measure controlled by the direction and violence of the wind and the elevation of the stand above the water; in a contrary wind the best angler will find it difficult to reach seventy-five yards, while from a high rock, with a favorable wind, he will cover that distance with ease.

The use of the hand line is neither artistic nor adapted to gentlemen who fish for pleasure, although more killing probably than the rival method. For rod fishing, the best tackle and implements are necessary; the rod must be short and stout, the finest being made of cane at a fabulous expense; the reel should have steel pins or run on agate, be made large and perfectly true, and the line must be from two hundred to three hundred yards long. Cane rods are preferred on account of their lightness and elasticity, but they are at present almost unattainable at any price, and the ordinary ones will answer well, although after several hundred casts weight will be found to tell on unaccustomed muscles. The objection to jewelled reels is, that a fall or blow may render them useless, while they run but little smoother than those with steel pins. The reel and guides must be large to deliver the line freely, and if the line is seen to bag during the cast between the guides, it is a sure sign that they are too small. The line is of twisted grass or raw silk, which is the best but most expensive and delicate; of plaited silk, which is the strongest; or of linen, which is cheap and common, but as they are all easily rotted, is the one in general use. The grass line, if it overruns and whips against the bars of the reel, is sure to cut, but it delivers beautifully; the silk line soon becomes water-logged and sticky; and the linen one combines these defects with a faculty of swelling when wet peculiarly its own. A perfect bass-line is a desideratum not yet supplied. The American reels and cane rods are perfection, but the lines are a cause of reproach and vexation of spirit.

Casting the menhaden bait is similar to casting the float and sinker, only the power is enormously increased and deficiencies proportionally magnified. The line is wound up till the bait, if a single one, is almost two feet from the tip, the rod is extended behind the fisherman, who turns his body for the purpose, and then brought forward with a steady but vigorous swing that discharges it without a jerk, like an apple thrown from a stick by rustic youths. The reel is so far restrained by pressure of the thumb that it revolves no faster than the bait travels, but does not in the least detain it, and upon the accuracy of this manipulation mainly depends the result. If too much pressure is used, the line cannot escape rapidly enough and falls short; if too little, the reel overruns and entangles the line, stopping the cast ere half delivered with a jerk that threatens its destruction. The fisherman must be able to use either hand on the reel to rest his arms and to take advantage of the wind.

If he is an adept he will drive the greasy bait straight and true directly to the desired spot, and if the weather is favorable and the fates propitious, he will bring up some scaly monster of twenty-five or mayhap thirty pounds, who will start seaward with bait, and hook, and line, and only be persuaded, after many efforts and determined rushes, that it is in vain. The strong ocean breeze will play with his hair and the salt spume wet his cheek; the vessels, like floating marine monsters, will drift across the waste of waters before him, the seagulls will hover round uttering their harsh cry, and he will cast and cast till arms and legs are weary, and he may kill in a single day a thousand weight of fish. The fresh air will give such a tone to his system, and the exercise such strength to his muscles, and the excitement such vigor to his nerves, that he will hardly believe himself the same relaxed, despondent, listless individual that left the city a week previous.

The most famous localities for the sport are West Island and Point Judith; the former is reached by the way of New London, and the latter by the Connecticut shore line of railway to Kingston. West Island has lately been purchased by a club of gentlemen, but will not probably be reserved exclusively for their use, as the neighboring islands being free to all no special privileges could be secured. There is often great difficulty in obtaining bait, particularly during a storm, which is the time that it is most needed, as the fish bite best in rough weather, and on going from the cities it is well to pack a few hundred menhaden in a box with ice and sawdust, and thus insure a supply for some days ahead.

POINT JUDITH.

It is a long, weary, and dusty ride by the way of the New Haven and Shore Line Railroads to Kingston; but if, at the end of the journey, a pretty little widow, with hazel eyes, is found waiting to drive over to the South Pier in the stage, and you are the only other passenger, you will probably consider yourself repaid for all annoyances.

It is seven miles from Kingston to the South Pier, the driver may happen to be a little tight, very sleepy, and wholly unobservant of what is passing in the back of his vehicle. Moonlight is either reflected with great brilliancy from hazel eyes, or else hazel eyes originate a brilliancy akin to moonlight, and certainly moonlight, hazel eyes, white teeth, rosy lips, soft hands, and a slender waist, are very bewitching in a close carriage of a moonlight night, with a preoccupied driver. Some women have a smile like sunshine, and their laugh rings like a chime of bells; and if you happen to be riding alone with a pretty widow, and something suggests love-making, and her merry laughter slowly dies away into a gentle smile, and the smile fades into a look of sympathetic feeling, that you have to draw very near to see, till you feel her palpitating breath upon your cheek, and her hand trembles when by the merest accident you touch it, and the ride occupies an hour or more, you may, before the South Pier is reached, almost forget that you are married.

If this fortune befalls you at the station, you will probably fail to notice the beauty of Kingston village and Peace Dale as you pass through them, and will find the subsequent lonely ride from South Pier to Point Judith dull and dreary. Some two miles from the Pier is a house kept by John Anthony, the son of Peleg, where sportsmen most do congregate, and where all their reasonable wants, except the wherewithal to quench their thirst, can be supplied, and which is situated within a few steps of the best fishing stations. John Anthony is a Yankee born and bred, honest, faithful, willing, and acquainted with all the habits, devices, and iniquities of bass and blue fish. He will tell you that in May, when the grass plover have their long note, and are heard far up in the air travelling northward, bass are to be caught with the eel-skin; that in June, when high blackberries are in bloom, they begin to take lobster bait; but from July 1st, and all through the fall, they take menhaden, otherwise called bony fish or moss-bunker, the bait that the true and skilful sportsman loves to cast.

In July and August, the largest fish, occasionally bass of fifty and even sixty pounds, rejoice the heart of the angler by surrendering to his skill, while in the Fall, although more numerous, they are smaller. In both these particulars, the fishing at Point Judith and West Island, and further northward, differs from that in the vicinity of New York. Great success, however, depends upon several contingencies. It is supposed that the Gulf Stream, that prolonged current of the Mississippi River, which sweeps with its warmer temperature through mid ocean carrying a genial atmosphere and fertilizing showers to the otherwise arid shores of France and England, changes its course yearly, approaching our coast and sending its swarms of living creatures among the rocks of Narragansett Bay, or withdrawing so as to leave us desolate and to increase the severity of our winters. We all know that our cold seasons differ greatly in intensity, and bass fishermen know that success in fishing varies equally; but from what cause these results flow, no one can positively say.

After a heavy storm has darkened the water by washing impurities from the shore, and at spots where the dashing breakers fill the sea with foam, the bass bite most fearlessly. Every crested wave rising against the horizon ere it breaks, flashes with their sparkling scales, and so sure as the bait cast from the powerful two-handed rod reaches that wave, so sure is it to be grasped by the nearest bass. The breakers drive the spearing and other small fry from their hiding-places among the rocks; the discolored water blinds them to their danger, and bass trusting themselves in the very curl of the heaving swell collect in myriads to the welcome banquet. But as the discoloration misleads the spearing so it also conceals from the bass the line attached to the treacherous bait, and the latter, while pursuing remorselessly his prey, becomes himself a victim.

Neither shrimp nor soft crabs are used in this style of fishing, and the earliest bait, the eel-skin, is prepared by stripping the skin off the tail of an eel from the vent aft to the length of about a foot, leaving it inside out, and drawing it over a couple of hooks so placed on the line that one shall project near the upper and the other near the tail end. A sinker of the size of one’s little finger is inserted at the head, and the bait is cast by hand and drawn rapidly. The rod is not often used in this style of fishing, as the heavy bait is apt to sink ere it can be reeled in. The skin is frequently salted to increase its firmness, and when used must be kept in continual motion, to the great fatigue of the enthusiastic angler.

The menhaden bait is prepared by scaling it and then cutting a slice on one side from near the head to the base of the tail, passing the hook through from the scaly side, and back through both edges, so that the shank is enveloped and the flesh is outwards, and then tying the bait firmly with a small piece of twine that is attached to the hook for that purpose. A menhaden or bony fish furnishes two baits, and the residue, except the back bone, tail, and head, is cut up fine, called chum, and thrown into the water to make a slick. A slick is the oil of the menhaden floating over the waves, and extended frequently by tide or current a long distance, attracts the bass, by suggesting to them that their prey is near at hand.

Where the water is clear it is customary in rod-fishing, which is the only scientific mode, to use two hooks; the smaller, some two feet below the other is attached to a fine line or gut leader, and denominated without any apparent reason the fly-hook. Many of the best fishermen never use more than one bait, and where the fish are large and plenty, one is sufficient. The fly bait is not generally tied on, but twisted round the hook in a manner difficult to describe.

Lobster bait is deficient in tenacity, and has to be tied on like menhaden, and probably the natural squid would be an effective and manageable bait, could it be provided in sufficient quantities. Limerick hooks, except those manufactured expressly for the purpose with a round head, are in great disfavor, having a bad reputation for strength, and a stout but small cod hook is usually preferred. With skill, however, and plenty of line, the fisherman is more to blame than the steel, for the breaking of the latter. The best hook is now manufactured with a round head and is fastened to the line with two half hitches, the end again hitched above them so as to take the friction; and as it is carried off by the first blue-fish, or in the Yankee vernacular horse mackerel, that takes a fancy to it, the angler must be well supplied.

The Bait, especially a single one, is light, but experienced hands claim to be able to cast it more than a hundred yards, a feat that the tyro will scarcely credit; but ordinarily half that distance is all that is requisite. The line should not be less than six hundred and may be a thousand feet long, and if of flax should not be over fifteen strands. The rod, reel, and line, must be of the very best, and the guides and funnel top large, or the angler will fail to do himself justice, and will probably lose his largest fish.

The friction is so great in casting, that the thumb must be protected by a thumb-stall or cot, as the natives call it, or better yet, one for each thumb, so that you can cast from either side, and snub the fish with either hand. They are made of chamois leather, India-rubber, or some equivalent material; and in casting by hand, a similar protection is required for the forefinger. A shoemaker’s knife is admirably adapted to cutting bait.

If, then, familiar with these things, you shall have chosen a favorable time during or at the close of a south-easterly storm, and at break of day, accompanied by John Anthony, shall have posted yourself upon Bog rock, or the Quohog, which is New England and Indian for hard clam, or upon the famous Scarborough, that great station in a heavy north-easter, you may anticipate brave sport. The waves will come rolling in, streaming out in the wind like a courser’s mane, with snowy crest, and breaking with thundering roar they will sink back seething with foam. As the tide rises a few drops will fall pattering upon your feet; shortly the waves will leap up to your knees, then plunge into your pockets, reach to your waist, pour down your neck, and if you are not on the watch will lift you in their embrace and fling you torn and wounded down among the sharp-pointed rocks. You must wear water-proof clothes, and while you keep your eye on the line you must not neglect the inrolling swell, but avoid or brace yourself to meet its shock. And when the bass seizes your bait, and you have fixed the hook by one sharp blow, you must be gentle and moderate, only using severe measures where they are absolutely necessary. If the blue-fish comes, and he does not carry away your hook at the first snatch, reel him in as quickly as his indomitable pluck and vigor will permit. He is not game when you are bass-fishing. If the ungainly flounder, exhibiting unexpected activity, shall chase and grasp your bait, lug him out by main force, treating him, though excellent to eat, like the vulgar commoner he is.

When the day is advanced, and the game has grown wary, you may rest; and looking out to sea, perchance behold the blue-fish chase the menhaden and the porpoise devour the blue-fish, and the thresher shark plough his way through schools of lesser creatures, killing with blows of his powerful tail, and then devouring his prey at his leisure. You may listen to the “wild waves singing,” and watch the continual change of the sky and water, enjoying the refreshing breeze and pure air, or amuse yourself by throwing in the head of a menhaden, and noting how quickly the bass that refuse your bait will strike with a great whirl at the floating object.

Two fishermen engaged with their sport were once standing upon a rock together, when one struck a very large fish supposed to weigh over seventy pounds. The sea was high and wild, and made it difficult to gaff the fish, after a wearying struggle had reduced him to submission. A favorable opportunity was watched when three heavy rollers had passed, covering the rock with spray, and the other fisherman darted to the edge of the surf to make the attempt. Unfortunately the bass, not being quite exhausted, made a short run that delayed the operation, till a gigantic wave, rolling in unheeded, caught the preoccupied fishermen unawares, engulfed them in its green waters, flung one down bruised and sore, and carried off the other who held the gaff, and was nearer the brink, into the deep water beyond. Poor fellow, he could not swim, and the terror of approaching death passed across his features as he looked up beseechingly and tried to cling to the steep and slippery rocks. The waves tossed him about like a plaything, bringing him close to the rocks, dragging him away, and then cruelly hurling him against them. His friend was powerless to save him; but having a stout line, and the fish now floating exhausted upon the surface, shouted to the drowning man to catch the line and support himself by it. This was accomplished, and amid the dashing surf, alone with the shadow of death upon the water, the skilful fisherman, working his way carefully among the rocks, giving to the strain of the surging sea, but gaining every inch of line the strength of his tackle would permit, led the man and the fish, floating side by side, into a cove that was in a measure sheltered from the fury of the waves.

Slowly the line came in; the man lived, and still clung to it, and although occasionally submerged, managed to sustain himself sufficiently. Nearer and nearer he came, quite close even to the shelving rocks, and twice during a lull could have climbed them in safety, had not his strength been too greatly exhausted. He made a feeble effort, still clinging, however, to the line, but was carried back by the receding current, and it became apparent his life depended upon his friend’s ability to help him.

This was no easy matter; the strain upon the line was excessive, the rocks were wet and slippery, and the sea frequently swept across with resistless force. Shortening the line as much as possible, the friend crept down towards the edge, and taking advantage of the first lull, called to the drowning man to cling fast with his hands for a moment, and rushed down to seize him. The instant, however, the line was relaxed, the water carried away its feeble victim, who was quickly beyond reach. Ere he could be brought back a tremendous wave, resolute to devour its prey, came thundering in; it rose above points that had projected many feet out of water, it dashed in flying spray high up upon those that it could not overwhelm, its crest gleamed and hissed, and with one mad leap it sprang over the intervening ledges and threw itself upon the fishermen with fearful power. The one upon the rocks was beaten down, and only by falling in a crevice and holding fast with all his strength was saved from being carried off. When the wave passed he struggled to his feet and looked down into the deep water for his friend. The line was broken, and man and fish were swept away together.

Danger never deterred a sportsman, but rather seems to enhance his enjoyment; and there is just sufficient risk and enough cold water to make fishing from the rocks a pleasurable excitement. The fiercer the storm and the wilder the water the better the fishing, and the peril is more than counter-balanced by the sport. Occasionally, at these times, a fisherman will be lost, but more frequently he will capture the gigantic fish that has been the ambition of his life; and if he does perish it is in a good cause, and he has the sympathies of all his ardent brothers of the angle.

Bass, like other fish, do not feed in a thunder shower, but during the latter part of a north-easterly or south-easterly storm, and immediately after when the wind has hauled to the westward and made casting easier, they are taken in the greatest quantities. In fact it is hardly worth while to fish for them at any other time.

At Point Judith there are some bay snipe and plover after the fifteenth of August, and the quail shooting which begins on the twentieth of September is quite good. Blue-fish or horse-mackerel are not pursued for sport, but rather pursue the angler, taking off his hooks and cutting his line with their sharp teeth most unmercifully. In fact a story is told of one that deliberately bit through the line above a large bass that had been hooked, and apparently released him designedly, from fishy friendship.

That excellent but neglected fish the porgee, which the inhabitants call a scup, is plentiful, and also the tautog or black fish; and the bergall, which they denominate chogset or cunner, a worthless fish, is so abundant as to try the fisherman’s temper by continually devouring his baits.

When the sea has subsided and the fishing is over, and you have as many fish as you want nicely packed in ice, you will have to drive over to the depôt behind the laziest horse, unless Anthony buys a new one, that it was ever your misfortune to ride after. The boyish driver, however, enterprising like his father, will poke and whip and utter that peculiar word comprehensible only to horse-flesh, “tschk,” and if the animal does not absolutely lie down in the ditch you will make the seven miles in about two hours and a half, and be thankful that you have done so well; having reached home, what stories you will tell of the large fish you captured and enormous ones you lost, of the dangers you ran and how beautifully you cast, and your friends that receive of the game will believe in you.

THE SOUTH BAY.

One cloudless day in the fervid month of July, a handsome, bright-eyed youth of something over twenty summers, opened the gate of the little yard in front of Deacon Goodlow’s house and strode with an elastic step towards the side door. He was evidently at home and felt no need of ceremony, for without pausing to knock he turned the knob and entered.

The deacon’s house was one of those innumerable romantic little white cottages with wings added after the main structure, that dot the flat surface of Long Island, or Mattowacs, as the poetical Indians once elegantly named the wonderful sand-bar; it was hidden in trees and almost covered with vines, and had an air of superiority and taste somewhat unusual.

“Well, Katy,” said Harry, addressing a sprightly, rosy-cheeked maiden that he encountered inside, busy at some pottering woman’s work; “what do you think, now? Your father and mine are going fishing to-day. I left them talking it over, and arranging that they were to drive over in your father’s buggy, as our solitary horse is needed for other purpose.”

“I am glad of it, Harry; Mr. Hartley takes too little recreation, and father does so like a day on the Bay. He was speaking about it only yesterday.”

“But how odd that they should go alone; I wonder why your father does not take you, you like the Bay almost as well as he does.”

“Pretty nearly,” she replied with a laugh; “I love the breeze and the water, especially when we run outside and plunge into the monstrous waves of the ocean. It seems so fresh, and limitless, and powerful.”

“Yes, and you like to pull out the blue-fish; it is not all poetry, for to tell the truth, I have always felt convinced from your way of looking at them, that every time you caught a fish you thought of the pot and fancied how nice he would be on table.”

“Take care, sir, or the next time we go I will leave you to your own devices in the way of cooking. Do you remember when I found you trying to cook a big blue-fish on a long stick, over a huge hot fire, without any salt or butter?”

“But the old folks will be sure to fall out over politics or polemics, and come home in a dudgeon, as they have been near doing before this, your father is so fiery; I hope, for my future peace, his daughter does not take after him.”

“Now, Harry!” accompanied with a deep blush, was all the answer, and Katy was turning away, knowing instinctively how to punish her saucy lover, when Harry hastily continued:

“I think I have prevented that, however.”

“Have you? How?”

“I suggested something else for them to talk about, that will occupy their thoughts most of the time.”

With a shy, sidelong glance, like a bird alarmed but uncertain of the danger, Katy replied:

“And what subject was that, pray?”

“Our love, Katy.”

“A very silly subject, that need occupy nobody any time at all. You had better say your love, sir.”

“Now, darling, don’t tease, I have only a moment, or I shall be too late for the cars.”

“Then, why not go at once? I am full as busy. Was not that Jane calling me?” She made a great show of leaving, but managed to remain, evidently anticipating something of importance from her lover’s manner, and in a female way dreading though desiring the disclosure.

“Wait one instant; I need not repeat how I love you, you have heard that often.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“But to-day I am to be admitted to a partnership with my old employer, who kindly offered it, with some complimentary remarks, so late as yesterday.”

“You deserved it long ago.”

“Not at all, I was well paid for my services; but now”--having drawn the willing but skittish beauty towards him, he whispered--“now I can keep a wife.”

Her lips were close, her cheeks were tempting, her eyes turned away, her hands busy with the buttons of his coat, it is not certain he took advantage of these opportunities; but suddenly starting into life, she gave him a gentle tap on the ear, pulled away, and turning to hide her blushes, called out, as she darted from the room:

“You must catch her first, and the train starts in twenty minutes.”

“So it does,” he muttered, as the delighted look of admiration with which he had regarded her faded slowly from his eyes; “what a darling witch, it is so full of fun, and yet, as the neighboring poor can testify, so gentle, generous, and sympathetic.” A thousand thoughts of all the loving acts he would do for her came into his mind as he hastened towards the depot.

“Well, friend,” said Mr. Hartley, as the two deacons were journeying along at a sober gait in the old-fashioned but comfortable buggy of the wealthier, “what a beautiful day it is, not merely for our sport, and it could hardly be better, but to admire the beauties of nature! The summer foliage looks truly gorgeous in the broad sunshine.”

“Yes, indeed, and the influence of such a day must be felt by the moral nature of man. Even upon man debased by vice, I believe in the country as a moral purifier, and think a system should be devised by which criminals would be thrown in contact with it as much as possible.”

“I agree with you fully, and had an evidence this morning how it opens the heart and emboldens the affections. You know Harry has long been attentive to your daughter Katy, and I believe they have had a sort of half understanding.”

“A fine fellow is Harry; true, honorable, and energetic,” said Mr. Goodlow, heartily.

“He is so, and I, as his father, am proud to admit it; but Katy is a noble girl, and worthy of the finest fellow in the world.”

“Well, we start the subject with a hearty accord,” replied the friend, smiling; “I can readily imagine what will follow, and have no doubt we will be equally of accord on that.”

“The short of it is, Harry has just been placed in a position that authorizes him to marry, and he wants you to trust Katy to him. On the subject of support he was satisfactory, and on that of love enthusiastic. He hoped your favorite minister would perform the ceremony.”

This last remark was uttered very slowly, for it must be known the two deacons belonged to rival churches and different persuasions, and had had many a contest over form and ritual.

“That is a matter of small moment,” was the response, “but if any form should be simple it is the marriage ceremony. I really think it had better be performed in your church, where there is less regard for formality.”

“And for that reason I coincided in my son’s selection; our church teaches us that while we are not to insist upon forms as the essence of religion in any of its departments, we are not to indulge prejudice against them. That they are immaterial either way.”

“A strange view, indeed,” responded the opposing deacon, warming to the question; “strange that any one could conceive that the form in which he expressed his adoration was unimportant; in all religion, prayer takes the form of the bowed head and bended knee. Unseemly postures and acts are themselves irreverent, not to advert to the effect they must produce upon the mind that indulges in them on serious occasions. We owe to our fellow-men respectful deportment on solemn occasions, how much more so to our Creator. Form is the embodiment of the spirit of true worship, and partakes of its essence and beauty.”

“We fear,” responded his associate, “that form, from its very beauty, may distract the heart and engross the attention to the neglect of the essentials of devotion. Pleasing forms are beautiful to our senses, but God looks to the pure heart and humble mind; the formalities of religion too often hide an aching void of real principle, and while they quiet the conscience produce no good fruit in the soul. Therefore, we dread them, lest though the sepulchre be whited on the outside it hide rottenness within.”

They were both intelligent men, devoted to their sects, which although in belief almost identical, in forms were dissimilar; and they enforced and illustrated their views with great vigor, learning, and eloquence, and with the ordinary effect of religious discussions, that each was finally more firmly convinced that he was in the right. The hopes of their children were forgotten for the time, an occasional sharp innuendo added spice if not acerbity to the argument, and before their destination was reached a feeling of coldness, approaching dissatisfaction, had sprung up between the two friends.

There were no blue-fish running, and it was determined to try the striped bass that, although small, had begun to be plentiful, and in case of their absence to tempt the flounders, sea bass, black fish, or other like plebeians. In silence they pulled off to the fishing ground, and silently they cast overboard the anchor-stone and baited their hooks. Fishing has a calm, soothing influence incompatible with anger or estrangement. Occasional remarks were made which would doubtless have soon led to a perfect reconciliation had not the Fates prominently interfered. Mr. Hartley, who rowed the boat, had stationed himself in the bow, and strange to say began to take fish as fast as he could land them, while Mr. Goodlow, in the stern, usually the favorite location, caught nothing.

Fishing is a contemplative amusement, but when one contemplates his associate catching all the fish the amusement vanishes. Deacon Goodlow was a devotee of the gentle art, fancied himself an expert, and never doubted his far excelling his less experienced brother; had great faith in skill as opposed to luck, having often expatiated upon the fact that he rarely found an equal, and felt fully convinced that in skill he was not excelled.

Now skill is a very necessary thing and will tell in the long run, but luck is sometimes, doubtless for a wise purpose, permitted to triumph over it. In vain did the unfortunate deacon renew his baits, change the depth of his sinker, fish on the bottom or near the top; the result was the same. His irritation increased and broke forth into ejaculations of impatience, and a sudden desire to move to some other spot.

“There seem to be no fish here, we had better try a new place,” he said pettishly.

“I am doing very well, and doubt whether we could better ourselves,” replied his associate with that hilarity that success engenders, landing two bright little bass at once.

“You do not call that good fishing, they are mere sprats. I have taken many a bass of twenty-four pounds, and two of over fifty.”

“But you know the run is always small in this month.”

“Of course I know that; but I never saw such luck, you must have taken twenty, such as they are.”

“More than twenty, thirty at least; but perhaps we had better change places, I have taken more than I want and you had better try your hand.”

After some demur and a coquettish but half sulky refusal to deprive him of his “good luck,” Mr. Goodlow complied with his friend’s suggestion, but wonderful to say the luck changed at the same time; the fish all fled to the stern of the boat and were landed there faster than they had been previously over the bow. In fact, one line seemed to be bewitched as though the fish were in a piscatorial conspiracy. Even when the unfortunate fisherman extended his line and allowed his float to swing round beyond the stern and even alongside of his companion’s, that of the latter would be dragged under at every moment, while his would remain undisturbed.

“Well, I have seen luck before,” he began, fiercely, “but never such luck as this; how deep are you fishing?”

This question, as betraying the possibility of inferior judgment, fairly stuck in his throat.

“About three feet.”

“Mine is the same. No, it is mere luck, that is all.” Anger was making his language slightly ungrammatical.

Mr. Hartley replied, as he landed another brace: “Of course it is, and now let’s change seats again and see if we cannot outwit the fish.”

Being patronized by an inferior fisherman is almost unbearable, it implies triumph with nothing to justify it; and an assumption of superiority will be suspected if not intended. So Mr. Goodlow held out for a time, saying slightingly: “Oh, it was a mere question of luck, mere luck that must soon change;” but as it did not, and as his friend’s manner was soothing and even submissive, he at last consented, with the air of conferring a favor, to resume his old place in the stern.

At the first cast which Mr. Hartley made after returning to his seat at the bow, he hooked and landed the largest fish yet seen. This was too much, and if people swear inwardly it is greatly to be feared the unfortunate deacon will have to report hereafter one of the commandments broken on that occasion.

“Come,” he said, “we will go home; another time perhaps I can have a little luck. I used to think there was something like skill in fishing, but there does not appear to be in catching these miserable little fish.”

“Why, my last one must have weighed two pounds.”

“Two pounds! Not an ounce over one. I have had enough for this day, and the sun is remarkably hot.”

“Oh, I cannot go just yet; here comes another, nearly as large as the last.”

“I insist upon it,” Mr. Goodlow continued, having reeled up his line and taken apart his rod. “I will not stay longer, my horse must be fed, and it is late.”

“When a person comes out fishing,” replied Deacon Hartley, growing irritated, “it is a poor way to be wanting to go home because another catches the fish, especially as I am perfectly willing to divide equally.”

“What do you think I care for those puny little fish? You may keep them all, in welcome.”

“I suppose I may if I wish; they are mine because I have caught them, or nearly all; but I will give you half if you will cease grumbling at what you call your luck.”

“Well, what is it if not luck! Perhaps you think you surpass me in skill and experience,” answered the other sneeringly. “I tell you I am going home. It is my horse, and you may come or stay, as you choose.”

With that he seized the oars and shipping them into the nearest rowlocks, commenced furiously rowing the boat stern first. But the anchor-stone was down, and although he dragged it a few inches, he did so slowly and with great labor. Mr. Hartley went on deliberately fishing, but of course could catch nothing while the water was being disturbed.

“Pull up the anchor-stone, sir,” said Mr. Goodlow fiercely, the perspiration streaming down his face.

“I will do nothing of the kind,” responded Mr. Hartley.

The tugging at the oars was resumed, but when Mr. Goodlow was nearly exhausted, whether by accident or not will probably never be known, the oar slipped along the surface throwing a shower of water over the quondam friend, fairly taking away his breath. Without a word the latter dropped his rod, and seizing the bailing scoop, a sort of wooden shovel with a short handle, dipped it full of water and threw the contents in his companion’s face; the latter replied with a fresh douche from the oar.

The water fairly flew in mimic cataracts for ten minutes, till both parties were wet to the skin; originally, scoop had the best of it, but as skin and clothes will not take wetting beyond a certain degree, oars caught up, and the two irate lights of the church were as well drenched as if they had fallen overboard. Mutual exhaustion produced a cessation of hostilities, and after a moment’s pause, Deacon Hartley slowly drew up the anchor-stone, and Deacon Goodlow rowed silently to shore. Without a word, without a glance, the latter stepped to his buggy, untied the horse, jumped in and rode off.

Mr. Hartley had to secure the boat, collect his fish, unjoint his rod, and walk four miles home. The day was hot, the road was dusty, the fish were heavy, and tired enough he would have been, if an acquaintance passing in a wagon had not taken him up. The dust having covered him from head to foot helped disguise what had happened, and he allowed the gentleman to think he had slipped into the water.

The thoughts of the two deacons on the way home were not enviable. One had to meet a son, the other a daughter, and the latter dreaded the interview most; not that he admitted he was most to blame, but fearing more her sharp eyes and reproachful countenance.

“Oh, Harry,” said the pretty little girl usually so gay, now with sad-looking tearworn eyes, as she encountered her astonished lover on his way home from the railroad, “your father and mine quarrelled dreadfully to-day, so much so that they would not ride home together.”

“Just as I expected,” replied Harry, triumphantly; “your father is so easily excited.”

“No, but he says it was your father’s fault, at least he does not say so directly, but what he does say gives me that impression. Just think, your father threw water over mine, and he was all mud and dirt when he reached home.”

“Impossible,” said Harry, with a laugh, “he must have fallen overboard.”

“Oh, no, and your father would not ride home with him.”

“How did he get home then? he certainly would not have walked by preference four miles, on so hot a day as this. Imagine his half killing himself to deprive a person of his company who wished to be rid of him.”

“Oh, it must be; father was so angry, he told me I should not see you again.”

This response was illogical, and went far to disprove itself, but was enforced by her bursting into tears. “I have been crying ever since,” she sobbed.

Harry consoled her, sure of her affection; and knowing that parents are a slight affair against affection, he brought back smiles to her lips by his comments on her account of her father’s statement, and promised her it would come right if she only kept on obeying as scrupulously as she was then doing. She punished him for this by flying away in her former merry manner, leaving him to seek an explanation at home.

“Father,” he said, on arriving there and seeking him out, “how spruce you look; that is your best suit. Are you going to pay a visit?”

“I believe not, this evening; my other clothes were soiled while we were fishing.” Strictly true, but not all the truth.

“The deacon across the way came home rather muddy, they say. What luck did you have? Did it rain while you were out? There was not a cloud to be seen in New York.”

The father felt it would be useless to evade the question, and related the whole story, bearing kindly the good-natured comments of his son, between whom and himself there was a feeling of friendship as well as of affection.

“And now, father,” Harry began, after the recital was over, “and now how are you going to make up? You will have to make the first step, because you were not in the wrong.”

“Or, more truly, because my son loves the daughter of the person who has ill-used me. Are you not angry at my being left to walk home this hot day?”

“I should be, if that wagon had not come along; everything depends on that wagon. You know it was much pleasanter than riding with an angry man.”

“But then the dust; my clothes are ruined; a new suit will diminish your patrimony, which is not enormous.”

“Then I’ll make you a present of a splendid suit of black on my wedding day. I am rich, at least in expectation, being a partner and no longer a clerk.”

“To tell the truth,” continued the father, dropping the tone of badinage, “I did feel ashamed of myself, and was arranging a little plan of reconciliation, when our servant girl brought word that Mr. Goodlow had forbidden her drawing water from the well.”

Harry looked at his father with a surprised, troubled, and slightly angry look. The well was on Mr. Goodlow’s land, but had been used from time immemorial by both families, as there was none other near. He began to think the matter was more serious than he had at first supposed.

“I felt this to be unchristian,” continued his father, “and could not bring myself to make the first advance after it.”

“I can hardly believe the story, and will cross-question the girl,” replied Harry.

It turned out to be true, however; the girl had been going to the well, as Deacon Goodlow descended, “all mud,” as she described it, from his buggy, and he seeing her at first seemed inclined to avoid a meeting, but suddenly changing his mind told her angrily never to come there for water again. With all due allowance for kitchen exaggeration, the fact could scarcely be disputed, and Harry suddenly burst forth:

“We will dig a well of our own; I have always hated dependence for anything, even on her father, and then we’ll see--”

What they would see was not very clear, except that they would see the well built, for Harry, with his usual impetuosity, at once set about making the necessary arrangements, his new position enabling him to supply the requisite means. He engaged the men and selected the spot that very evening.

Next day the well was commenced and advanced rapidly towards completion, the water for family use being carted in the mean time from a distance in barrels. What the deacon over the way must have thought when he saw the excavation progressing and the water cart regularly every morning passing in front of his door, no one knows; for not a word did he say. He could not have had an easy conscience nor a pleasant time, however, for Harry had not put his foot on the premises, and consequently Katy’s eyes were almost as full of water as the barrel.

It was a long way down to the region of water, and if truth, as is generally believed, lies so deep, there is no wonder it is rarely reached; but the effort was at length successful, and when the liquid vein was struck the crystal fluid proved plentiful, half filling the deep well.

The water carts ceased their journey, the workmen were discharged, Deacon Hartley had a well of his own, Harry felt independent; but there was something else wanted. The latter had not exactly evaded Katy, who he knew was pining to see him, but, feeling his pride hurt, had not taken as great pains as he might to have thrown himself accidentally in her way. She had felt this neglect, and now when his pride was satisfied hers was aroused, and she kept herself carefully in-doors.

It took a week to build the well, and a week had elapsed since--that was two weeks of misery, all because the fish did not bite as they should have done, and neglected scientific allurements for less artistic attractions. Deacon Goodlow was miserable, because Katy looked unhappy and reproachful, occasionally enforcing her reproaches with a sob or two. Deacon Hartley was miserable, partly because he was ashamed of himself and partly because it went against his whole nature to quarrel; Katy was miserable, because her lover had neglected her, and she had had no chance to disobey her father’s injunctions not to see him; Harry was the most miserable of the party now that the excitement of achieving his independence was over, because he missed the presence of his lady-love, and knew in his heart he had vented a little of his anger by neglecting her.

Harry was pining for her now in a much more rampant way than she had previously pined for him, and had revolved twenty impracticable schemes of restoring matters to their condition previous to the war. The inevitable laws of nature, however, that had caused all these mental wounds, helped to bring them to a crisis and finally to effect a cure. It was Sunday morning, and Harry had resolved twenty times he would join Katy on her way to church, for she went before her father to teach a class of Sunday scholars, and twenty times resolved that he would not. His father had convinced himself as many times that neighborly ill-will should be corrected at a sacrifice even of a little pride, and as often that he could not make the first advance; when a small voice was heard at the door, and electrified them both. It was not a sweet voice nor the tone rich, in fact it might be called harsh and unrefined, but the sound was pleasanter to Harry’s ears than any he had heard in two weeks. The voice belonged to the extra help of Mr. Goodlow’s household.

“Please, sir, master said I mussent, but could we have a little water from your well?”

Harry and his father gazed at each other and then at the girl in wonder.

“Please, sir,” she continued, seeing their bewildered air, and addressing herself to Harry in an injured tone, “our well has run itself dry. Ever since you built yours the water has been getting lower, and last night it all went. Master says it’s on account of the elevation, but I say it’s because yours is further down hill.”

“Do you mean to say you have no water at all?” said Harry.

“But I do, then, unless you call mud water; we managed to make tea last night by tying a new bit on to the rope; but wasn’t it bitter and gritty, though? You ought to have tasted it; but to-day it’s as thick as paste, and you know we cannot send a water cart on Sunday.”

“How did you manage for washing?”

“That’s how it comes we have no water for breakfast. We had saved up a little that had settled the worst down to the bottom, but we did not have enough to wash, and Miss Katy, when she tried to use the well water, came out all streaked, and used up all that we had put by; because, as she said, she would rather go without her breakfast than go dirty. I guess I wouldn’t, though.”

“But why did you not send to us before?” said Mr. Hartley, compassionately.

“Why, because master thought as he had ordered away your girl, you would do the like by me; unless he begged pardon, or something of that sort, and he did not feel equal to that after your throwing him overboard the day you went fishing.”

“He surely never said I threw him overboard?”

“No, but I guessed it; how could he ’a got so wet otherwise, and why was he so mad?”

“Well, you guessed all wrong; I did nothing of the sort, and hope you have told no one such a silly story.”

“Never mind that now,” interrupted Harry. “Mr. Goodlow is waiting for his breakfast; so take as much water as you want or you will be too late.”

“Give my respects to Mr. Goodlow,” added his father, “and say he is welcome to water from our well at any time, and that I regret it has injured his.”

“Yes, and you can add that father will call on him this evening, and now be off; I’ll draw the water for you.” This was very polite in Harry, but respect for woman, even in the humblest ranks, is ever the attribute of an American, and--it is possible Harry may have wished to send a message to Katy. “Leastways,” as the girl would have said, Katy was hardly out of sight of her front gate when she heard a step she well knew.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, turning a pair of sorrowful eyes upon him, that shot reproachful torments into his very heart. “How could you?”

The sentence was incomplete in its construction, but complete enough in its effects; it was enforced with a little sob and made Harry about as contemptible a wretch, in his own esteem, as if she had rehearsed a set speech of an hour’s duration, depicting his enormities.

“I am so sorry, Katy. Do you forgive me? I have been wretched.” This was a good tack, and being borne out by his appearance and evident contrition, went a long way towards securing his pardon.

What exactly was said, the tones being low and the faces close together, will never be discovered, but light came back to Katy’s eyes, color to her cheeks, and a smile, if nothing more, to her lips; and ere the church was reached a happier couple could not be found within it. Joy is doubly blessed if preceded by sorrow, and only those who have known its want can appreciate happiness.

That Sunday evening, as had been his custom, unbroken for many years till the last two weeks, Harry presented himself at Mr. Goodlow’s gate and entered unannounced. It can hardly be said he was wholly undisturbed, but outwardly exhibited perfect composure, prepared to meet and determined to exhaust the worst. Courage dispels danger, and there was nothing and nobody to meet more terrible than Katy herself. She was in splendid spirits, full of fun, rendered more touching and gentle on account, of the recent estrangement, and charmed Harry with the renewal of her former witchery. He gave himself up to the mere enjoyment of her presence, following her every motion with unwearying admiration, and never removing his eyes from her loved form. He seemed as though drinking through his eyes her graceful beauty, and experienced all those charming sensations that love alone bestows.

He had almost forgotten, basking in present joy and dreaming hazily of future happiness, there was an angry father in existence, when the latter gentleman appeared at the door. A gleam of surprise crossed his features, but Harry at once stepped forward and was in the act of boldly justifying his presence, when he saw another figure in the doorway--that of his own parent.

Mr. Goodlow slowly advanced, and extending his hand frankly to Harry, said:

“I am glad to see you, and hope you will forget the errors and weaknesses of humanity, and forgive me the annoyance my foolish and unworthy quarrel has caused.”

“And you, Katy,” said Mr, Hartley, “must do the like by me; we have been guilty of wrong, and should only do worse by being ashamed to own it before our children, whom our example is most likely to affect.”

Harry felt as though he had escaped from a building on fire, and at once recovering his elasticity, replied:

“No; in quarrelling Katy and I never intend to follow any one’s example. Do we, Katy?”

“We only regret,” she continued, evading his gaze, “that a shadow should have come between those we love so dearly.”

“I hope, never to return,” replied Mr. Goodlow, “and that these weeks of folly and punishment may not be lost upon us all; but let us speak no more of it.”

“We have something more serious still to mention,” resumed Mr. Hartley, gaily. “We have been settling your wedding-day, and, Katy, you should be very grateful, for I named an early one.” He took her affectionately in his arms, for she had always been like a daughter, and kissed her warmly while she hid her blushing face.

“That is right, father,” burst forth Harry, enthusiastically. “I suppose you went on the principle, ‘If ’tis well done, when ’tis done, ’twere well ’twere done quickly.’”

“No, Harry, on an entirely different one,” said Mr. Goodlow, laughing heartily. “On the principle, that ‘All’s well that ends well.’ Though that is but a dry joke, as far as we are concerned.”

PROTECTION OF FISH.

The subject of the protection of fish demands the consideration of every political economist, as well as of every sportsman in our country, or we shall soon be reduced to the condition of France, and forced to repopulate our deserted streams and lakes and furnish to the people, with great labor and at high price, one of their chief articles of food. In olden times, during the epicurean days of Rome, and later during the reign of the Catholic fast days, the utmost attention was bestowed upon the preservation, protection, and improvement of fish; enormous revenues were invested in immense tanks where they were fattened, and different species were transported to countries where they were unknown, and domesticated in unaccustomed waters. With the advent of the Roman Catholic religion, several foreign varieties were introduced into England, among others the fat carp and the lean pickerel; and fish ponds were invariably attached to monasteries and convents.

Although the religion that ordains fish-eating to be fasting, having shrunk from its gigantic reach and extent, is confined in our land to a small sect, and the inhabitants of the waters are no longer a religious institution; fish must always constitute a considerable portion of the diet of the poor, and an acceptable change, if not permanently agreeable, to the rich. Whatever serves for food to the people, above all to the lower class, deserves the attention of the statesman, and any practice that will tend to diminish its price demands the assistance of the philanthropist. Consider if the price of fish were suddenly to double, how far the injury would extend, and how much suffering would follow. When a gradual change takes place in the cost of any article of food, man adapts himself to altered circumstances, and the loss, though equally great, is not so perceptible as when the advance is sudden.

That the supply of this food can be exhausted, and its quality easily reduced, is painfully apparent; streams in the neighborhood of New York that formerly were alive with trout are now totally deserted. The Bronx, famous alike for its historical associations and its once excellent fishing, does not now seem to hold a solitary trout, or indeed fish of any kind. The shad that a few years ago swarmed up the Hudson River in numbers incomputable, have become scarce and quadrupled in price during the last decade. Salmon, most nutritious and noblest of fish, which in ancient days paid their yearly visits in vast numbers, if early historians are to be believed, to our principal rivers as far south as the Delaware, are at present taken nowhere to the southward of Maine, and in but limited quantities even in that wild region.

On every portion of our sea-coast, in spite of replenishment from the mighty ocean, the same diminution is visible, while many of our confined inland waters are absolutely depopulated. The insatiable maw of New York market swallows alike the trout from Maine, the bass from Lake Erie, or the white-fish from the Sault Ste. Marie, while the parvenus that have acquired sudden fortunes in that wonderful city, endowed with the instincts of neither gentlemen nor sportsmen, think it magnificent to devour trout in Autumn and black bass in Spring, judging by their extravagant price that they must be rare and therefore good. The rapidity with which a section of country can be fished out by energetic pot-hunters where the law places inadequate restraint, and often in spite of the law’s restraint, has been remarkably evidenced in the history of Sullivan County. When the Erie Railroad was still incomplete, and the tide of explorers had just commenced to penetrate beyond Goshen, and only occasional stragglers reached the land of promise and performance beyond Monticello; the swamps were alive with woodcock and the streams with trout. But as the railroad advanced and gave improved facility of travel, so-called sportsmen poured over the country in myriads, following up every rivulet and ranging every swamp, killing without mercy thousands of trout and hundreds of birds, boasting of their baskets crowded to overflowing, and counting a day’s sport by the hundred; till Bashe’s Kill, where the pearly-sided fish once dwelt abundantly, was empty, and the broad Mongaup, the wild Callicoon, and even the joyous Beaver Kill, with its innumerable tributaries, were exhausted. The woodcock disappeared from the cold black mud of the springy swamps, the trout no longer broke the surface of the noisy rills of that picturesque region, and the hunters and fishermen turned their attention and carried their clumsy rods, bait-hooks, cheap guns, and case-hardened consciences, elsewhere.

So it has been and will be everywhere, unless the people and the real sportsmen take the matter in hand; the farmers, who are after all to be the salvation of our institutions, lose by the destruction of game one of the greatest attractions of their lands, and are interested in preserving for themselves and their city friends the wild dwellers in the lakes and brooks from wanton and ruthless destruction. Lawgivers are concerned in the passage of proper laws on account of public interest, and the increasing necessity of cheap food that a rapidly augmenting population engenders. Sportsmen have the greatest stake, for if they would retain for their old age and leave to their children the best preserver of health, a love of field sports, they must protect game-birds and fish. They should discourage, by their conversation and example, all infringement of the law or any cruel or wasteful prosecution of what should be sport. If they find a man who destroys, for the purpose of destroying, they should not only shun but expose him; if they meet with a case of palpable infraction of the law, they should enforce punishment; by these means, and the enactment of judicious statutes, the beautiful wild creatures that form so pleasant an addition to the charms of country life, may be preserved in undiminished numbers for all time.

The first necessity, however, is that proper and uniform enactments should be passed in every portion of our extensive nationality. If the close times differ in adjoining states, fish will be killed in one and sold in the other; it is useless to attempt to forbid the catching of trout in Maine, if they can be eaten in New York. Pinnated grouse, killed on the western prairies where they are fast being exterminated, are sold openly in New York markets in consequence of their omission from the game law, during the entire spring, until the heat of the weather prevents their transportation. Black bass are frequently exposed on the hucksters’ stands heavy with spawn, and pike-perch are hardly regarded as desirable in any other condition.

The universal rule should be comprehensive and simple, as the habits of the fresh water fish are sufficiently well known; protection should be given during the spawning season, and for such a period before and after as to prevent the annihilation of those who have survived the numerous dangers that surround them, and are ready for the duties of parturition, and to allow them to recover from the exhaustion resulting from the operation.

No trout should be killed except from the first of March to the first of October; no lake trout except from the first day of February to the first day of November, and no black bass or mascallonge from the first day of January to the first day of June. These times may be restricted for certain localities where greater protection is necessary, but should, under no circumstances, be enlarged. Trout spawn from the middle of October to the latter part of November, and do not recover their condition till the opening of Spring. Lake trout spawn about the same time, and mascallonge and black bass in March, April, or even as late as the early part of May.

None of these fish should be taken in nets, nor by spearing, and no fykes, seines, or gill-nets should be used in the waters which they inhabit. Stringent regulations to this effect are necessary, as it has been the habit of the market fishermen of the northern section of our country to use a net with meshes small enough to catch yearling trout, and which they frequently throw to one side and leave to perish miserably. This net fishing is continued all winter, so that not only are thousands of large fish destroyed in the act of spawning, or just after doing so, but millions of the young, the seed of the harvest, are slain without profit, being left on the ice to freeze.

Spearing is also terribly fatal. None can escape the sharp eye of the spearsman, and although many more are wounded than killed they rarely recover, for their natural enemies, the eels, are ever on the alert for such occurrences, and fastening themselves upon the wounded spot suck out the little life that is left. There are many streams of New Jersey which, by persistent gigging, as it is called, have been divested of every swimming thing, so that they are absolutely uninhabited. Not only trout, but cat-fish, eels, and suckers, have met the same untimely fate, and now boys and men search vainly for their prey.

By fair fishing no stream or pond can be entirely exhausted; when trout have the privilege of biting or not, they will exhibit sufficient circumspection to perpetuate their species; but when they can be followed during the hours of darkness to their retreats, and exposed by the glare of the jack, are liable to death by the fatal spear, or in case they may be enveloped by the all-devouring net, they have no defence or escape, and must soon disappear entirely. Their numbers, instead of helping them or delaying the catastrophe, excite the cupidity of the poacher, and accelerate instead of deferring their destruction.

Interested parties in various sections of the country, endeavor to convince themselves and others that trout change their nature in these favored localities, and either spawn from time to time as fancy dictates, or postpone the performance till winter’s frosts have driven profitable visitors to their city homes. The proprietors of the frontier taverns, where sportsmen congregate in search of finny prey, boldly assert that there are several kinds of brook trout, of which one variety spawns in September, another in October, and so on in such manner that it is always right and proper to fish for them. Naturalists have, as yet, failed to discover this peculiarity or describe these varieties; and although they know that individuals may differ casually or delay the act a few weeks, they recognise one well known spawning season. The _ova_ of trout are largely developed in September, and, except in the colder latitudes and where they are extremely abundant, these fish should be exempt after the first of that month; but in October and November, pressing hunger should be the only excuse for killing them.

The laws, however, are not so much to blame as the neglect of their enforcement; perfect statutes will not answer if they are not carried out, and the first duty of sportsmen’s clubs and of individual sportsmen, a duty to humanity, to themselves, and to their fellow creatures, is to enforce the game laws. By game laws are not meant those barbarous statutes of England that made it more criminal in a poor man to slay a hare than a human being--statutes that are deservedly odious to free men, and which by no possibility could be introduced into the New World; but provisions for the protection and preservation of the wild inhabitants of our woods and waters, a common heritage of beauty and sustenance, and the property of our citizens indiscriminately. These creatures are a considerable source of wealth, worthy the most careful attention; they breed and increase of themselves without care or expense; and constitute a large portion of the stock of our markets. It would be an interesting investigation to ascertain how much money is paid yearly in the City of New York for the wild deer and game birds of the west, the sea fishes of our coast, the finer varieties of our inland waters, and the salmon of Canada. The latter, alone, amounts to hundreds of thousands of dollars, and is a severe tax paid to a foreign country for the fatuity that drove those noble fish from our own rivers.

This vast source of revenue will, however, disappear, unless precautions are taken to prevent the untimely slaughter of these unprotected creatures. If their periods of incubation are disregarded, their nests and spawning-beds broken up, and themselves, when engaged in the duties of maternity, disturbed or slain, they will diminish rapidly till the forests shall cease to be vocal with their harmony, and the water animated with their gambols.

In England not only do game preserves produce a good rent from enthusiastic sportsmen, but the fisheries, particularly of salmon, are extremely valuable as commercial enterprises. At present, in our country, we only recognise the value of these advantages by their loss. The Tay produces a rental of $70,000 yearly for the salmon fisheries, and so profitable have fishing rights become, that several rivers that were once exhausted have been restored, and now yield large revenues.

If we would have salmon at our own doors, we also must restock the Hudson, the Connecticut, and the numerous other rivers that were once frequented by them. But the trout and the black bass are still with us, and by decent care and treatment may be plenteous, for the pleasure and support of ourselves, our children, and our children’s children. Considerable attention has been expended upon some of the ponds and streams on Long Island; and although the poacher makes occasional depredations, and lurking through the bushes plants his net, or with wriggling worm draws forth his unseasonable prey during the forbidden periods, the improvement already is remarkable. Ponds that were once empty of fish are made beautiful by the splashes of the playful trout, and streams that were deserted are replenished. Enforce the law thoroughly, and discontinue unreasonable slaughter, and fish, from their enormous fecundity, must increase immensely.

It is probable that the localities in the neighborhood of our large cities have passed their worst days, and that the beautiful lakes and rivers, ensconced in the wild woods and amid the green hills of our unopened country, are in the most danger. A cockney sportsman, by which we mean not a city sportsman, but him who, wherever born or bred, fishes only for quantity, and from a vain-glorious spirit of boastful rivalry, is, indeed, a ruthless thing; he spares neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, whether he can use them for food, or must leave them to putrify, and regardless of the means or implements he employs. This merciless biped invaded Moosehead lake one year, armed with fly and bait rod, and with two additional trolling rods projecting from each side of his boat as he moved from place to place, murdered thousands of glorious trout; supplying his own wants, the public table, and the hog-pen--for the latter was separated from his feeding place--till the pigs, disgusted at his brutality, were surfeited, and bushels of putrescent fish had to be buried or thrown into the lake. Others, almost as murderous, roam the north woods of the State of New York, and even penetrate as far as the unbroken shores of Lake Superior, threatening annihilation to our game of every kind. The man who kills an animal, bird, or fish, knowing that it must be left to spoil, justifies the charge of cruelty against our class, and deserves the scorn and condemnation of all right-thinking men.

Wanton injury to public property, in game, should be punished precisely as similar injury to public property in grounds or buildings, by incarcerating the offender in prison; for of the two, the latter is less injurious in its ultimate results. A building may be replaced, but who can restore life to the fish that bears a thousand undeveloped young in its bosom, or can give back to the starving fawn the mother that has been slain at its side? Mere pecuniary fines are an insufficient punishment; the poaching criminal is the poorest, as he is the meanest, of offenders, and laughs at any attempt to collect penalties that are not enforced by imprisonment; while the wealthy cockney is willing to run the risk of fine if he can, by taking the advantage of honest sportsmen, have the chance of boasting of his wonderful prowess and success. A few months in jail would cure the recklessness of the former and cool the ardor of the latter.

A still more murderous proceeding, so infamous that it is rare even with professional poachers, is to cast poison into the water, thus slaying, by one fell process, large and small, young and old. Condemnation of such a practice is unnecessary; and were it otherwise, fit language could hardly be found to depict its enormity.

By the introduction of unsuitable fish much injury is occasioned, more frequently through ignorance than wilfulness. Perch placed in a sluggish trout pond, like many of those on Long Island, will devour the young fry, and soon diminish the yield; and pickerel, which are especial pets of our farmers, although nearly worthless for food or sport, have devastated some of the best ponds in the country. The former are devotedly fond of minnows or small fish of any kind, and such bold biters as to give rise, in England, to the story of a country gentleman who enticed an ardent angler to his house by stocking one of his ponds with several dozen perch, all but one of which the visitor captured on the day after his arrival, before breakfast. The pickerel is exceedingly voracious, and also right fond of his smaller fellow fish for dinner.

To meet these cases the ponds must be drawn off, as neither perch nor pickerel remain in running water, and the waters must be re-stocked. In fact, wherever, from any cause, the drain is greater than the supply, the deficiency must be made good by artificial means.

By these means can the seductive little beauties, whether of the feathered, furred, or scaly tribe, that allure us to the great woods, the pleasant meadows, or the sparkling brooks, be preserved through endless time in undiminished abundance, furnishing the incentive that leads us away from our dull books or wearying cares, the crowded streets, the congregations of eager men, the trials and excitements of business, to gentle communings with the hills and skies, to contemplative musings beneath the leafy forests, or by the noisy water-falls, strengthening our nerves, renewing our hold of life, and elevating our moral nature.

FLY-MAKING.

Before making an artificial fly, it is essential to ascertain and select the best materials, and the necessary implements for the purpose. In the Game Fish of North America the author has explained the simplest and easiest mode of tying a fly, and if there be any person who has not read that work he should procure it at once. The instructions there contained must be first mastered before the following are attempted, lest discouragement should result; and no one that does not desire great accuracy and finish need waste the time and labor of understanding and executing the ensuing directions. There are a few persons who wish to tie a fly handsomely; this chapter is written for them. The fish probably care little whether the fly is made at Conroy’s establishment, of the finest materials and from the most approved patterns, or by some unknown German wholesale dealer, of any chance feathers.

Remember, however, that he who strives not after perfection never attains mediocrity, and the improvement of himself is one half of the angler’s pleasure. If we are content with an ungainly fly, we will be satisfied with inferiority of rod and tackle; and although the fish may not see the difference, the angler may become, from neglecting one point, slovenly in all. A well-made fly is a beautiful object, an ill-made one an eye-sore and annoyance; and it is a great satisfaction both to exhibit and examine a well-filled book of handsomely tied flies.

Nothing can be thoroughly done unless strict attention is given to minutiæ. The material must be selected and protected with the greatest care, the scissors and knife must be sharp, the spring pliers of suitable strength, and the nails of the workman must be long and his hands scrupulously clean. Hereafter the table-vice, the use of which was recommended in the Game Fish of North America, and which will be found both convenient and for extreme neatness necessary, will be dispensed with, and the hook held in the hand during the entire operation. This at first may appear awkward, require more time, and give an inferior result; but sad would be the case if the loss of a vice were to diminish a man’s capabilities.

The selection of the hook depends mainly upon the fancy of the fisherman, and partly upon the locality of its destined use. If fish are scarce and shy, select one that will insure striking; if they are abundant, but strong and vigorous, choose one that will hold. In trout-fishing there are two that bear the palm in striking, the sneck bent and the Kirby bent Limerick; in holding a fish after he is struck, my preference is for Warren’s Lake-trout hook, which, however, does not make a handsome fly; for salmon-fishing, the O’Shaunessey Limerick is the general favorite. The objection to the straight or hollow-pointed Limerick, is that it may be drawn over a flat surface without catching, while the point of the O’Shaunessey, by projecting, catches and penetrates.

Fish-hooks of the best quality of home manufacture, of all shapes and sizes, may be obtained at from twenty-five to seventy-five cents a hundred, and will be found equal if not superior to any English hook at double the price, or they can be manufactured of any shape desired.

So few persons make their own flies in this country that none of the tackle-makers sell the materials, and hence the amateur will have to collect the latter as opportunity offers. Gut, of course, can be purchased anywhere; but the strongest kind of that suitable for salmon-fishing is often difficult to obtain, if not entirely out of the market. In trout-fishing, select fine, round, transparent strands, and pay from one to two dollars per hank of one hundred strands; for salmon choose the strongest and roundest, and pay from three to four dollars. Gut is imported from Spain and Italy, and is made by drawing out a dead silk-worm till it is of the proper fineness; and none imported from the East, and no imitation of grass, sinew, or the like, is worth using. The quality can be determined by its hardness; if it resists the teeth well, it is good; age weakens and finally decays it.

The best wax, although it is by no means perfect, is made of one part of resin, one of beeswax, and four of shoemaker’s wax, the two former melted together and poured into water, and then worked in with the latter. It should be kept in a small piece of leather. Shoemaker’s wax itself is the strongest, but is sticky in warm weather and hard in cold. The best silk is the finest sewing-machine silk, marked with three 0’s on the spool; but for very small trout-hooks the better plan is to twist two or three strands of spool floss-silk together and wax them carefully.

Tinsel of a superior kind is difficult to obtain; the silver should be both variegated and plain, and the yellow either gold or well covered with gilt, and both flat and wound over fine silk. A mixture of both sorts of a poor quality is used to tie linen goods, and can be obtained at the furnishing stores, but a better article is to be had from the importers of gold and silver braids. The proper kind of floss-silk comes in spools, and can be wound off by the single thread over the hand till a proper thickness is attained, and will work much better than the common floss skeins. If the latter are used, they must be divided into several strands and are apt to bunch.

Worsted of all colors can be obtained in the rough, or the yarn may be picked or used intact; the former is the best plan, and rivals mohair in appearance.

Mohair may be purchased from the importers of woollens, while it seems impossible, except by direct importation from the English tackle-shops, to obtain either pig’s hair or seal’s fur. For salmon-flies the two last are infinitely preferable, having a gloss that no other material possesses.

Mohair and camlets are the finest selection of goat’s hair (the former being carded and the latter combed), and work beautifully. The most elegant flies are those with silk bodies, but they are rarely so effective as those of mohair. Many of the wild animals of our woods furnish a fine fur, such as the grey, red, and black squirrels, martin, mink, rabbit, and others.

A golden pheasant is indispensable for salmon-flies, and a spoiled skin can be obtained from the taxidermists at from two to five dollars, according to their scarcity. Hackles for salmon-flies should be large and from matured cocks, those for dyeing delicate colors pure white; while for trout-flies they should be small, either from hens or from cocks not over two years old, and taken from the upper part of the head. They must taper well to the point and not have a stiff stem, and should have the fibre about the length of the hook shank. For wing-flies they must be smaller than for hackle-flies and palmers, and the superfluous fibres are to be stripped off before the feather is tied on. Small neck feathers of almost any bird will make a hackle sufficiently large for the midge flies. The natural colors afford abundant variety for trout-flies, but for salmon the gayest must be dyed. The necessary colors are red, claret, blue, orange, purple, and yellow; and by suiting the dye to the natural color, so that the latter shall shine through, a fine effect is often produced. Considerable practice and experience will be necessary in selecting hackles to distinguish the weak from the harsh, and to determine the proper size and elasticity. Collect all varieties of dimension and color, and tying each selection round the roots with a thread, keep them in separate papers. After a while, those that experience shall have proved to be unsuitable may be discarded.

The feathers of small birds make good wings for trout flies, and there is not generally much difference in their color. Our brown thrush is nearly the shade of the English land-rail; the robin furnishes a fine and cohesive feather; the woodcock’s tail makes a pretty fly, while the mallard and wood duck are indispensable.

There are two distinct feathers from the mallard which are used for different flies; the brown and grey mallard feather, both taken from the drake, the former from the back near the wings, and the latter from the body beneath the wings. The bird must be in good plumage, and under the most favorable circumstances they are both, except in simple wings as hereafter described, difficult feathers to tie; the fibres, although very fine, being apt to separate. Another light feather, much easier to handle than the grey mallard, is taken from the back of the canvas-back, but is of rather too pale a color; that from the red-head is of darker grey. For salmon flies a larger range is requisite. The turkey of all shades, but especially the black and brown of the wild bird, is the main-stay; the golden pheasant’s tail is somewhat similar; the peacock gives us excellent feathers of many shades, and the finer herls from the eyes of the tail add lustre to a mixed wing. Peacock and ostrich herls are used for the heads and bodies of certain specimens. Ibis, macaw, guinea-fowl, blue-jay, king-fisher, parrot, are all necessary; while the Argus pheasant, although injured by the water, makes an exquisite wing, and the silver pheasant is used with effect in black bass flies.

For dyed feathers the pure white of the swan furnishes an excellent material, while crossing colors, such as yellow over ibis, produces great brilliancy. The mallard and canvas-back are also favorites for dyeing. The principal shades are yellow, blue, and purple.

We will now proceed to make a salmon-fly after the simplest plan on a large hook, and remember that the point is held down, and when the further side is spoken of, it refers to it in that position; the head is always towards the right and that is called the upper part, and towards it is above.

Select a piece of stout gut a little longer than the shank; pare down the ends with a knife; double them together so that one shall extend beyond the other; insert the picker between them, bend at the top and shape it by twisting and pinching the ends. If the hook is very large it is well to take several strands of gut and first twist them together by means of a vice fastened to each end, while they are wet and before shaping them over the picker. When the gut is prepared lay it down and take a well waxed piece of silk about six inches long, and holding the hook in the left hand, wind a number of separated coils from the lower towards the upper end of the shank, but not quite to the head. If the silk is well waxed it will remain in its place while you pick up the gut with your right hand, and lay it along the under side of the shank upon these coils. Hold it there with your left while you wind firmly and closely toward the bend; catch the last turn beneath the gut or pass a half hitch, and cut off the end. Take a fresh piece of silk, always thoroughly waxed, and pass a few turns over its end so as to fasten it; then hold a piece of tinsel four times as long as the shank between your left forefinger and the further side of the hook, just projecting above it, and nearly vertical; pass three turns over it, and wind the silk in separated or loose coils towards the head and let it hang there. Fasten the spring pliers on to the lower end of the tinsel lengthways with it, and holding the shank in the right hand, with the left forefinger in the pliers, twist several turns down and then back to form the tag, covering the edges of the first turns with the second carefully and neatly; let the pliers hang; pass the hook to the left hand; unwind the silk with the right down to the tinsel; fasten off with three turns and cut the tinsel close to the hook. Unwind from the floss-spool over your right hand a dozen strands, and smoothing them evenly together and holding them against the hook with the left, tie in the ends firmly, and again coil the tying silk toward the head out of the way. You may wind the floss with either hand or with the pliers as you please; if you wind with the right hand, hold the hook in the left and press the second finger on each turn as it is passed; this is called stopping it or using the stop. After covering about one sixteenth of an inch, seize the end between your second and third or third and fourth fingers, and hold it firmly while you bring down the tying silk and pass three turns; holding the silk in that way is called using the catch, and is difficult to acquire with facility. Cut the floss off neatly, and selecting a feather from the golden pheasant top-knot, lay it on its face,--the side of the feather which lies nearest the bird from which it is taken, is the inside or back, and the contrary side the outside or face,--and secure it firmly. Stop the tying silk and take up your hackle, which should have been previously prepared by stroking back and pulling out a few fibres toward the point, and holding it by the point with the right hand, lay it on its face with the butt towards the left so that the bare spot shall come at the upper end of the floss silk tip, and pass two turns of the flying silk; insert a piece of tinsel in the same manner parallel to and just over the hackle, and having fastened it, hold the tying silk with the catch; take up the dubbing of mohair with your right hand and spin it over the tying silk towards the left, having again taken the latter into the right as soon as you have caught the end of the mohair with the stop. Shape the mohair so that the body shall taper and twist it evenly together with the tying silk towards the shoulder, using the stop all the way, and do not carry it too close to the head; pull off the superfluous mohair with the fingers of the right hand and pass the silk four turns over the upper end of the body, and winding it towards the head slip it between the gut and the hook. In this way you can always secure the tying silk when you wish to lay down your work. Spring the pliers on to the tinsel, and with the right forefinger pass four even open coils carefully and regularly; unwind the silk, and having secured the tinsel replace it. If these coils are imperfect or irregular, neatness cannot be obtained. Having cut off the tinsel, catch with the spring pliers the butt of the hackle and follow the edge of the tinsel; rolling the hackle on its back so that the fibres shall point down the shank. When you reach the shoulder pass several turns of the hackle close above one another, and bringing down the tying silk secure the butt. If one hackle is not sufficient, and it rarely is, introduce a new hackle close above the first, precisely as you did the other, only on its back, and wind a sufficient number of close coils and again fasten it. The second hackle, if weak, may be fastened in on its back by the butt, and wound with the point.

The silk being hitched under the gut cut it off and apply a new piece as you did the second, and wind it towards the shoulder, letting it hang close down to the hackle. Prepare the wings by cutting with a sharp knife a few fibres from each of two mated feathers, together with a little of the stem, so that the fibres shall not be separated, and taking one piece by the butt in the right hand, lay it on the side of the hook next to you, and holding it with the left pass two turns securely, but not so tight as to derange the feather; then catching the silk, pull the butt fearlessly into its proper place, and passing another turn firmly, hitch the silk under the gut, and bring it over the reversed way on top of the wing. Cut off the butt and taking the hook in the left hand with the head towards the left, apply and hold the other wing with the right hand. Still keeping the hook reversed and wind two turns of silk with the left hand from you, and having arranged the butt pass another turn and hitch the silk again under the gut, so as to reverse it for the second time. If the wings are in their proper place, equally on each side of the hook, restore the latter to its original position in the left hand, and having cut off the butt neatly, pass as many turns as you think advisable; then having with your nails stripped off the fibres from the butt end of an ostrich herl, tie it in with the point towards the left and the elevated ridge of its stem above. Hitching the thread again under the gut, wind with the spring pliers the herl in close coils to form the head; secure and cut it close, and then stopping one end of silk under your forefinger whip the other over it three turns and draw all tight. Apply a little varnish at the head and your fly is finished.

To strengthen the fly, it is well to use a little varnish before the head is commenced, and even before the wings are laid, but the writer’s experience goes to prove that the wings are the last part of the fly to give out. The head will be smaller if instead of the ordinary tying silk three single strands of floss are used.

To make a handsome fly, fasten the hook, the tag, the tip, and the tail as directed, then preparing an ostrich herl as for a head, tie it in and wind several coils close to and covering the butt of the tail, holding the hook in the right hand with the silk coiled up out of the way, and using the pliers to guide the herl. Secure the end, apply with the left hand at the nearer side of the hook, the tinsel, and afterwards at the further side floss, for the body. Coil the tying silk out of the way, and with the left hand wind the floss half way up the shank and secure it; then tie in a hackle and some dubbing as heretofore directed, and having spun the latter on the tying silk with the right hand, work it up towards the head for the second division of the body, and secure it firmly. Hitch the silk under the gut, and thrusting the butt of the hackle down through the gut loop, with the pliers sprung on to the tinsel, and on the left forefinger coil the tinsel up as far as the hackle; withdraw the latter from the loop, hold it and the hook in the left hand, and with the right forefinger continue the tinsel to the head. Secure it; wind and secure the hackle as heretofore, and apply a new piece of tying silk composed of strands of floss.

Select a few fibres of various feathers, which, combined, will produce a pleasing effect, and holding them all together in the left hand twist the lower half, that nearest the stem several times, and break it with the nails of the right thumb and finger, till the fibres are softened at the spot where they are to be tied to the hook. Include with them a piece of herl, and applying them with the right hand to the hook, hold them and it with the left, while you take sufficient turns of silk with the right, hitch the silk and springing the pliers on to the herl, wind and fasten the head and finish off.

There may be as many joints or divisions as fancy shall dictate; and they can be either of floss silk, mohair, or other material. To conceal the joints herl may be wound like a head or a few turns of hackle taken, or two small feathers from the golden pheasant’s neck may be applied, one above and the other below, and after being loosely tied they may be drawn down by the butts till they are separate round the entire joint. The favorite feather for the tail is the golden pheasant top-knot, but in many flies scarlet worsted is preferable, and the fibres of other feathers may be substituted. In making a mixed wing as it is called, separate the fibres as much as possible, and after the wing is fastened, a long golden pheasant top-knot tied over it will often improve the effect. It is common to add to the wing two fibres of blue macaw, one on each side, and to tie them properly the silk should be reversed by passing it under the gut, as directed for tying simple wings. Care and experience are requisite to the selection of a handsome mixed wing, and fibres of mallard or wood duck, plain or dyed, are usually a component part. Delicate feathers produce a finer effect than coarse ones.

In tying in an entire plume reduce it to the proper size by pulling off the fibres, and if the stem is large pare it away and always flatten and work it with the nails; then tie it loosely till it is properly arranged, and finally, secure it with a number of turns. It will slip unless made unusually firm, which the smallness of the head will readily permit.

Where the tail is worsted, it may be made of several thicknesses, left longer than necessary, and pared down and picked out after the fly is finished. As it is essential that in making a head, the ridge of the stem of the herl should be above, and as it is often obstinate in its refusal to take that position, it may be wound either way,--that is, from you or towards you.

Care should be taken with simple wings that each is in the same relative position to the body, and that the fibres are not separated; with this object not only must the thread be reversed as above directed, but cohesive feathers should be selected. Some are exceedingly difficult to tie, while others, such as the pheasant and turkey, retain their place readily. They should be selected from feathers taken from the opposite sides of the bird; and if two or more different kinds are to be used, the first wing should be completed before the other is commenced, and before the thread is reversed.

In rolling an ordinary feather in place of a hackle, the same course may be taken as with the latter, but the better way where it is large enough is to strip off the fibres of one side, and then pare away the stem with a sharp knife. This requires care lest the knife slip and cut your hopes in twain. The same may be done with a simple hackle where great neatness is required, except that the stem does not need paring.

The tinsel may be double, tied in on opposite sides of the hook and wound contrary ways, but the effect is hardly better than a simple twist. In the latter avoid too many coils; they should not exceed four on hooks numbered not larger than one and a half.

Two hackles, which, if the colors are well contrasted, produce a fine effect, are usually rolled together, but may be wound one after the other if care is taken to pick out the fibres. They are tied in at one time and handled as though they composed but one.

A trout-fly may be made in the manner heretofore directed for salmon-flies, omitting as much as you please, or the wings may be laid together back to back or face to face, held in that position in the left hand, and applied to the hook after the fibres have been pinched with the nails at the proper place. Being secured in that way they resemble the wings of the _ephemeræ_ closely; whereas to make one of the _phryganidæ_ a few fibres of one side may be stripped off and tied on alone, lying close down upon the hook. Remember the _ephemeridæ_ have whisks, the _phryganidæ_ have none; the wings of the former stand up, of the latter lie down. Coarse fibres of hackle, or golden pheasant breast and back, are usually employed for whisks; and two strands of floss carefully waxed with a small edge of the wax, will make a tying silk as strong and large as should be used for a small fly. If well waxed, the finer the silk the firmer it holds; if not waxed no silk whatever will hold.

Another way of tying a trout-fly, by which more life is supposed to be given to it, is by commencing to fasten the gut at the bend and finishing at the head, holding the hook reversed; then change the hook to its proper position, and reversing the thread, lay on the wings, which are composed of two strips of feather folded, so that they shall point up along the gut; secure them firmly and cut off the butts close, divide them with the point of the picker and pass the thread through the opening each way several times, and if necessary above them both, but not on the root of the wings, till they stand up, then pushing them into their original position tie in below them by the larger end a hackle and a piece of round tinsel, and spinning a little dubbing on the silk, wind it toward the bend; hold the thread with the catch, and with the pliers wind the tinsel and afterwards the hackle, and fasten both at the bend; and finish off with two half-hitches. The silk composing the material in which the round tinsel is wound may be left for a tail, the coating being pulled off; or the tip of the hackle may be so left, or proper whisks may be introduced. The wings being drawn into their appropriate place will remain there, and offering resistance to the water are supposed by some to imitate motion. Those tied in this manner are not handsome, but are great favorites with certain fishermen for their assumed killing qualities, and are considered ruined if the silk covers the roots of the wings, as is done by most Irish flytiers.

Flies may also be finished at the shoulder under the wing; a course that seems to offer no advantages and to combine most disadvantages. Or the body may be tied, beginning at the shoulder and finishing at the bend, as last described, omitting the wings and leaving a place for them till the last; a new piece of thread is then applied, and the wings being tied in their natural position, the second finish is made at the head.

To prepare two single strands of floss as tying silk, hold one end between your teeth, twist the silk and rub it lightly with a small edge of wax. If the weather is cold the wax may require thumbing before it can be used or will stick to the silk. There will be found considerable difference in the strength of strands of floss according to the color, and in very small flies this may be suited to the insect intended to be imitated, and the necessity of any other body avoided.

The word buzz, which is taken from the buzzing motion of an insect’s wings when moved rapidly, is applied to the hackle wound more or less along the body, and supposed thus without wings to represent that motion. The hackle may be carried all the way from the bend or only part of the way, or merely tied very full at the head. In this matter, as well as concerning palmers, writers differ. A palmer is properly a long-bodied fly with two small hooks, and hackles wound the entire length, to represent a caterpillar and its hairy ornaments. The hooks are often made double expressly for this purpose. A hackle has but one hook and a shorter body. The word midge is another word that leads to mistakes; there are only a few proper midge-flies, such as the gnat, ant, etc., but any fly may be dressed on a minute hook and called a midge-fly, although this is not an accurate use of language. Horse-hair is sometimes used as a substitute for gut by old-fashioned anglers, but it is weaker, more apt to slip, and more perceptible to the fish.

An excellent plan for preserving feathers conveniently and safely, is to put them in envelopes suited in size to their length, and to stow them, together with a piece of camphor, in a tin box. If they are looked over, occasionally, and the camphor renewed as it wastes, they will remain untouched by moth; but if they are to be kept for a long time unhandled, they should be deposited in a linen bag. The envelopes should be large, for if the fibres are bent they will not make handsome wings, and the different classes of feathers may be tied in separate bundles.

The following wax is recommended in the Appendix to “Fly-fishing in Salt and Fresh Water:”--Melt some resin in a small vessel over a slow fire, and whilst it is on the fire and after it has become fluid, take a pure white wax candle, light it and let it drop into the melted resin; there is no rule as to the quantity. Pour out upon a board either greased or rubbed with wax from the candle, one fourth of the composition; then drop more wax into the remainder and pour out one fourth more. Proceed in the same manner with the other two fourths, and thus you will have wax of four degrees of hardness; that with the least wax dropped from the candle being for use in hot weather, the others for different degrees of temperature of the seasons. After the composition has become cool on the board, it should be well worked on the board as shoemaker’s wax is.

To make soft wax to use upon very delicate silk, dissolve some common shoemaker’s wax in spirits of wine until it becomes of the consistency of butter, then put a small quantity on the inside of a piece of an old kid glove, and draw the silk gently through it. Or put a piece of shoemaker’s wax the size of a walnut in a small bottle, and pour over it an ounce of eau-de-cologne; shake it occasionally till it dissolves, when it is ready for use; then taking a drop between the finger and thumb, draw the silk through it. It may be carried in a metal bottle with a screw stopper, and if well corked will keep for years.

In Scrope’s Days and Nights of Salmon Fishing, is found the following description of a few favorite salmon flies:--

No. 1. KINMONT WILLIE.

_Wings._--Mottled feather from under the wing of a male teal.

_Head._--Yellow wool.

_Body._--Fur of the hare’s ear.

_End of Body._--Red wool.

_Tail._--Yellow wool.

_Round the body._--Black cock’s hackle.

No. 2. LADY OF MERTOUN.

_Wings._--Mottled feather from under the wing of the male teal.

_Head._--Crimson wool.

_Body._--Water rat’s fur.

_End of body._--Crimson wool.

_Tail._--Yellow wool.

_Round the body._--Black cock’s hackle.

_End of body._--A little red hackle.

No. 3. TOPPY.

_Wings._--Black feather from a turkey’s tail tipped with white.

_Head._--Crimson wool.

_Body._--Black bullock’s hair.

_End of body._--Crimson wool.

_Tail._--Yellow wool.

_Body._--Black cock’s hackle.

_End of body._--Small piece of red cock’s hackle.

No. 4. MICHAEL SCOTT.

_Wings._--Mottled feather from the back of a drake (mallard).

_Head._--Yellow wool with a little hare’s fur next to it.

_Body._--Black wool.

_End of the body._--Fur from the hare’s ear; next to the hare’s ear, crimson wool.

_Tail._--Yellow wool.

_Round the body._--Black cock’s hackle.

_End of the body._--Red cock’s hackle.

_Round the body._--Gold twist spirally.

No. 5. MEG WITH THE MUCKLE MOUTH.

_Wings._--From the tail of a brown turkey.

_Head._--Crimson wool.

_Body._--Yellow silk.

_End of body._--Crimson wool.

_Tail._--Yellow or orange wool.

_Round the body._--Red cock’s hackle.

_Round the body._--Gold twist; over it hackle mixed with color, as above.

No. 6. MEG IN HER BRAWS.

_Wings._--Light brown from the wing of a bittern.

_Head._--Yellow wool.

_Next the head._--Mottled blue feather from a jay’s wing.

_Body._--Brown wool mixed with bullock’s hair.

_Towards the end of body._--Green wool; next to that crimson wool.

_Tail._--Yellow wool.

_Round the body._--Gold twist; over that cock’s hackle, black at the roots and red at the points.

“Concerning these flies, I will note one thing, which is, that if you rise a fish with the Lady of Mertoun, and he does not touch her, give him a rest and come over him with the Toppy, and you have him to a certainty, and _vice-versâ_. This I hold to be an invaluable secret, and is the only change that, during my long practice, I have found eminently successful.

“Another method of dressing No. 3, Toppy; wing feather from rump or tail of turkey, which is black below and strongly marked with a white tip, to be set on Tweed fashion (that is to say, the wings parted and made to lie open like a butterfly’s wings).

“Body black mohair; three turns of broad silver tinsel.

“Blue or black heron’s neck-feather at the shoulder; if heron’s feather cannot be procured, a good-sized black cock’s hackle; orange or yellow wool, for tail.”

The long transparent bodies which are made in imitation of the _ephemeridæ_, and are rather more admired by the fancy angler than by the fish, are composed of small pieces of gut, whalebone, or other similar material, which, after being cut to the proper length, are fastened on at the shoulder, together with a thin flat end of gut, such as comes in the covered part of every hank, and which, after being well soaked in warm water, has been smoothed down with the finger nail. The latter, while still damp and pliable, is wound evenly round the material of the body, including the hook, for several turns, and then round the body alone, and secured at the extremity by passing a couple of turns over the end and drawing it through. As this is transparent, it will show the color of the substance below, and may even be wound over floss-silk bodies which do not project beyond the hook, and while adding brilliancy, will protect them from injury. The whisks may be included with the solid material of the body, and an upper section may be added; the hackles are to be introduced, and the wings secured afterwards; but although a very perfect imitation, it is not generally so killing as the ordinary artificial fly.

In giving the preceding directions, it is by no means intended to advise that the table vice should be discarded; but, on the contrary, a small or handsome fly can be tied much more easily with its assistance. A little practice with the fingers alone will, however, greatly increase one’s expertness, and remove an awkward difficulty in case the vice should by any chance be left behind. The great objection to tying a fly with the fingers is the risk of mussing the feathers, especially in summer, when perspiration prevails.

I am indebted to Mr. J. James Hyde, a gentleman who, although an amateur, is one of the most finished anglers and neatest dressers of a well-imitated trout-fly in the United States, for the following directions for tying all Ronalds’s flies with the feathers of our American birds, so that the angler who may be unacquainted with the English feathers can make an accurate imitation, and not, as is too common in this country, produce some wretched abortion for a well-known fly, and may at the same time avoid the unnecessary outlay of importing expensive foreign materials.

The following list of flies is taken from Alfred Ronalds’s “Fly-Fisher’s Entomology.” This work has been selected because its descriptions are imitations of real flies, and not of traditional or conventional nondescripts, which, although the delight of professional dressers, might be safely worshipped without breaking the commandment, since they are not the “likeness of any thing in the heaven above, nor in the earth beneath, nor in the waters under the earth.”

Some alterations have been made for the purpose of facilitating the reader in his choice of materials, and the feathers indicated are, in most cases, those of our own birds, which may be easily procured, and are quite as suitable as the foreign ones given by Ronalds. Mohair is the best material for the bodies of trout-flies, and though others are sometimes named as being an easier method, the experienced amateur will prefer mohair, with which he will produce the same effect, without any of the objections to which all other materials are liable; and by a judicious mixture, any shade of color may be obtained.

Ronalds’s work being descriptive of English flies only, it has been deemed advisable to substitute their American prototypes in all cases where they are known; and although the trout are not perhaps thorough entomologists, the scientific fisherman will always prefer to use a fly which exists in the waters he frequents, to an English resemblance, restricted perhaps to a confined locality some thousands of miles away. As a general rule, there is no doubt that the best imitations of the fly the fish are taking will be the most successful; yet there are exceptions, of which the ibis fly is a _glaring_ instance. It is also desirable at times to vary the sizes of flies, and to make the imitations larger than the living flies--when, for instance, the water is rough or thick; but these variations are not of absolute importance.

No. 1. THE BLUE DUN.

This fly is the earliest American _ephemera_, and may be found on warm days in February. In March it is abundant. It lives three or four days, and then becomes the red spinner.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Mouse-colored mohair, spun very thinly on yellow silk.

_Tail._--Two fibres of gray mallard.

_Wings._--From a quill-feather of the robin’s wing. The third or fourth feather with a tinge of reddish brown at the extremity of the fibre.

_Legs._--Two or three turns of a blue or ginger dun hackle. One side of the hackle may be stripped off for the _ephemeridæ_.

No. 2. THE RED SPINNER.

This is the blue dun in its perfect or _imago_ state. It is now of a reddish brown, and its wings are nearly transparent. It lives four or five days, but if the weather be hot, will be found more at evening.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Of bright reddish brown mohair, ribbed with silk of same color.

_Tail._--Two whisks of a red cock’s hackle, or of the red body-feather of the golden pheasant.

_Wings._--From a thin, transparent mottled grey feather of the mallard or wood-duck.

_Legs._--Plain red cock’s hackle. The wings of the _ephemeridæ_ stand upright on their backs.

No. 3. THE WATER CRICKET.

This insect lives upon small flies, etc., whose blood it sucks in a manner similar to that of the land spider. It runs upon the water and darts upon its prey while struggling on the surface. In the summer months it is provided with wings.

_Body._--Orange mohair, spun on black silk, and ribbed with black silk.

_Legs and Wings._--A black cock’s hackle. This fly is always made buzz. The wings are very transparent.

No. 4. GREAT DARK DRONE.

This fly is found upon the grass in a torpid state, until the sun warms the air, when it takes wing; and afterwards, if there be a breeze, it is found upon the water. They are of great variety of color, but the black is the most common.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Black mohair spun thickly on black silk.

_Wings._--The dun feather of a mallard wing. The wings lie flat upon its back, and the upper fibres of the hackle should be cut off.

_Legs._--A dark grizzled hackle. This is a late fly.

No. 5. COW-DUNG FLY.

This fly is to be found throughout the year. It is most abundant in March, and during a high wind it is blown upon the water. The color of the male is a tawny yellow; that of the female a greenish brown.

_Male.--Imitation._

_Body._--Yellow and light-brown mohair mixed, spun on light brown silk.

_Wings._--The wing feather of the brown thrush, or of the rail (corncrake).

_Legs._--A ginger-colored hackle.

_Female._--Olive-colored mohair body; wings and legs the same. The wings lie flat, and the upper hackles should be cut off.

No. 6. PEACOCK FLY.

This is a small beetle, very abundant on warm summer days. It often falls upon the water in its flight, or is blown upon it by the wind. It is highly praised by English writers, and is described by _Arundo_, in “Practical Fly-Fishing,” as “the little chap.”

_Imitation._

_Body._--Copper-colored peacock’s herl.

_Wings._--The darkest part of a robin’s wing-feather.

_Legs._--A dark purple-dyed hackle.

No. 7. MARCH BROWN.

This _ephemera_ is the next in season after the blue dun. It is a handsome and attractive fly, and is eagerly devoured by the trout. The male is of a chocolate color, and the female a greenish brown. It lives three or four days, and then changes into the great red spinner.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Sandy-brown mohair, ribbed over with olive silk.

_Tail._--Two fibres of a brown hen’s feather.

_Wings._--From the mottled wing-feather of a brown hen, which may be found of the exact shade.

_Legs._--A brown hen’s hackle, or the small brown body-feather of the widgeon.

No. 8. GREAT RED SPINNER.

This is the _metamorphosis_ of the March brown, and may be used on warm evenings through the season. It is a very excellent fly.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Orange and brown mohair mixed, ribbed with fine gold twist.

_Tail._--Two fibres of a bright amber red hackle, or the body-feather of the golden pheasant, which is a strong, durable feather for this purpose, and may be found from a bright yellow to deep red.

_Wings._--Light-colored feather from the robin’s wing.

_Legs._--A bright amber red hackle.

No. 9. SAND FLY.

This fly comes from a water _larva_, and is one of the best flies which can be used during April and May. Its wings are long and full, and lie flat upon its back.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Sandy-colored mohair, spun on silk of the same color.

_Wings._--From the wing-feather of the brown thrush, or the mottled brown feather of a young hen.

_Legs._--A light ginger hackle. Cut off the upper fibres of the hackle, that the wings may lie flat.

No. 10. THE STONE FLY.

This fly also comes from a water _larva_. It is heavy in its flight, but runs with great rapidity, and is generally found in streams, amongst the stones or close to the sides of the water. Its body is nearly half an inch in length.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Brown and yellow mohair mixed, and ribbed with yellow silk.

_Tail._--Two strands of brown hen’s wing.

_Wings._--From the mottled feather of a brown hen made full, and to lie flat.

_Legs._--A grizzled hackle.

No. 11. THE GRAVEL BED, OR SPIDER FLY.

This fly is found only in running waters, but where it is found it is very numerous. It may be used all day, and is a very delicate fly. It will raise fish in clear water when no other fly will.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Lead-colored silk thread, with which the fly is tied. Fine and thin.

_Wings._--From an under covert feather of the wood-cock’s wing. To lie flat.

_Legs._--Two turns only of a black hackle.

No. 12. THE GRANNOM, OR GREEN TAIL.

This fly comes from a water _larva_, and is found chiefly at morning and at evening. The green tint of its body is derived from the color of the bag of eggs near the tail. There are a number of species in the United States, and in some the bag of eggs is yellow, and in some orange. The green is the most used.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Work in a little tuft of green at the tail, and then finish the body of sandy-colored mohair.

_Wings._--A light brown mottled hen’s feather, to lie flat.

_Legs._--A pale ginger hackle.

The body of the male is yellow, without the green tag.

No. 13. THE YELLOW DUN.

This beautiful _ephemera_ is one of our very best flies. There are several varieties, and some of them are an inch in length. It changes to a spinner, very similar to the metamorphosis of the blue dun (No. 2), only lighter and yellower, and should be so tied.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Yellow mohair spun very thinly on pale blue silk.

_Wings._--From the lightest part of the feather of a robin’s wing.

_Legs._--A pale yellow dun hackle.

This fly must not be finished off at the head with the blue silk, but a yellow must be tied in for the purpose when the body is done.

No. 14. THE IRON BLUE DUN.

This is one of the smallest of the _ephemeridæ_, but not the least useful. It lives only two or three days before changing its coat, when its body becomes almost white, and its wings transparent.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Pale blue mohair, very thinly spun on reddish-brown silk, with which the head must be finished.

_Tail._--Two whisks of the yellow body-feather of the golden pheasant.

_Wings._--From the wing-feather of the blue-bird.

_Legs._--A very small yellow dun hackle.

No. 15. THE JENNY SPINNER.

This is the name of the iron blue dun (No. 14) in his new dress, in which he lives four or five days. It is a killing fly towards evening in clear water in summer. There are in the United States at least some hundred varieties of these small _ephemeridæ_, of every conceivable color, and the skilful dresser will take pleasure in tying them, using the feathers of the small domestic and foreign birds which he can procure. Such are the sky-blue, the orange dun, the pale evening dun, the July dun (blue and yellow), the whirling blue dun, and the little pale dun.

_Imitation._

_Body._--White floss silk, tied at head and tail with brown silk thread.

_Tail._--Two whisks light dun hackle.

_Wings._--From a blue-bird’s wing-feather.

_Legs._--A very small and very light dun hackle, nearly white.

No. 16. THE LITTLE YELLOW MAY DUN.

This is another of the _ephemeridæ_, and a most useful one to the fisherman. It is not so small as the preceding one (No. 14), and changes to a very light red spinner.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Pale ginger-colored mohair, ribbed with yellow silk.

_Tail._--Two whisks of yellow, or ginger hackle.

_Wings._--Mottled feather of the mallard, dyed a greenish yellow.

_Legs._--Light ginger hackle, dyed the same color as the wings.

No. 17. THE BLACK GNAT.

Every fisherman is familiar with this little insect, and has taken trout with their mouths and throats filled with them. It is, however, not properly a gnat, but a midge.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Black ostrich herl.

_Wings._--The darkest feather of a robin’s wing.

_Legs._--A black hackle.

The black midge should be made similarly, but with a _thin_ black silk body.

No. 18. THE OAK FLY, ALSO THE DOWN HEAD FLY, AND DOWN HILL FLY.

This is a land fly, and may be found upon the trunks of trees or on posts near the water. It is carried on the water by the wind, and is consequently used with most success on windy days, like the cow-dung.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Orange floss silk or mohair, ribbed with black silk.

_Wings._--The darkest part of the wing-feather of a curlew.

_Legs._--A furnace, or red and black hackle.

No. 19. THE TURKEY BROWN.

This _ephemera_ is common to most of the waters of New York, and is found on nearly all the Long Island ponds, where it is eagerly taken by the trout. It appears about the middle of April, and changes to a little dark spinner, which is a most killing fly just before dusk.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Brown mohair ribbed with purple silk. The female is of a _greenish_ brown.

_Tail._--Two fibres of the same feather as the wings.

_Wings._--Of the brown mottled feather from the back of a ruffed grouse.

_Legs._--A red-brown hackle.

No. 20. THE LITTLE DARK SPINNER.

This is the perfect, or _Imago_, state of the turkey brown (No. 19) just described. It is as fragile as it is beautiful, and can hardly be touched without maiming or killing it.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Light reddish-brown floss silk, ribbed with purple.

_Tail._--Three whisks of a light dun hackle.

_Wings._--From a feather of the robin’s wing, or the under feather of a young grouse’s wing.

_Legs._--A light dun hackle.

No. 21. THE YELLOW SALLY.

This is a water fly, which continues in season for four or five weeks from the middle of May. Its wings are transparent, and lie close and flat. It is sometimes called “the flat yellow.”

_Imitation._

_Body._--Yellow mohair, ribbed with pale green silk thread.

_Wings._--White pigeon wing, stained a pale greenish yellow.

_Legs._--A white hackle, dyed the same color as the wings.

No. 22. THE FERN FLY.

The two most common varieties of this fly are known as the “Soldier” and the “Sailor.” The wing coverings of one are red, and of the other blue. They are both well taken by the trout until the end of July, on hot days.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Orange floss silk.

_Wings._--The darkest part of a robin’s wing-feather.

_Legs._--A red cock’s hackle.

Two or three fibres of some blue feather may be tied in with each wing, on the outside, or of red, to represent the wing-covers.

No. 23. THE ALDER FLY.

This fly comes from a water _nympha_. It lays its eggs upon the leaves of trees which overhang the water, whence they drop into it. It is in season during May and June.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Peacock’s herl tied with black silk.

_Wings._--From a feather of a brown hen, made large and full.

_Legs._--A black cock’s hackle.

No. 24. THE GREEN DRAKE.

This is the most famous of all the English _ephemeridæ_. It is a large and beautiful fly, but is not found, so far as known, except in running waters. For ordinary streams and ponds here the “little yellow May dun” (No. 16) will be found preferable.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Straw-colored floss silk, ribbed with brown; the head of peacock’s herl.

_Tail._--Three hairs from a fitch’s tail.

_Wings._--From a mottled feather of the mallard, stained a greenish yellow.

The female of this fly changes to the grey drake, and the male to the black drake. They are little used.

No. 25. THE HAZEL FLY.

This is a beetle, the _pupa_ of which inhabits the earth. It is found upon poplar-trees, and a species very similar is found upon fern. It is blown upon the water, and is to be used on windy days.

_Imitation._

_Body._--A black ostrich herl and a peacock’s herl, twisted together on red silk.

_Wings and Legs._--Made buzz with a dark furnace hackle.

As this fly never alights upon the water, it is generally seen struggling with its wings in motion.

No. 26. THE DARK MACKEREL.

This is the _imago_, or perfect state of another kind of green drake, darker than No. 24. It is found in some waters where the true green drake is not, and is used in its stead.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Dark mulberry floss silk, ribbed with fine gold twist.

_Tail._--Three hairs from a fitch’s tail.

_Wings._--From the brown mottled feather of the mallard, which hangs from the back over a part of the wing.

_Legs._--A dark purple hackle.

No. 27. THE GOLD-EYED GAUZE WING.

This beautiful insect is not found upon all waters, but where it is, affords great sport on windy days. It may be used from June till the end of September.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Pale yellowish green floss silk, tied with silk of the same color.

_Legs._--Pale blue dun hackle, with one or two turns _in front of the wings_.

_Wings._--A pale transparent mallard, or wood-duck feather, stained slightly green. Very full, long, and to lie flat.

No. 28. THE WREN TAIL.

This is a species of _hopper_, sometimes called “_ant hoppers_.” They hop and fly for about twenty yards, and sometimes drop short and fall upon the water. The light and dark brown, and the greenish blue, are the most common.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Ginger-colored mohair ribbed with fine gold twist, short.

_Wings and Legs._--Feather from a wren’s tail, wound on hackle-wise.

A brown mottled hackle may be used in place of the wren’s tail feather.

No. 29. THE RED ANT.

There are many species of these winged ants, and they are familiar to every one. The red and black are those generally used.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Copper-colored peacock’s herl, wound thickly, for two or three turns, at the tail to form a tuft; the rest of the body dark red silk.

_Wings._--From the lightest part of a robin’s wing. To lie flat.

_Legs._--A small red hackle.

The black ant is made of black ostrich herl body; wings from the darkest part of a robin’s wing; legs, a small black hackle.

No. 30. THE SILVER HORNS.

This fly is an excellent one until the end of August, principally in showery weather.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Black ostrich herl tied with black silk, and trimmed down.

_Wings._--A wing-feather of the black-bird.

_Legs._--Small black cock’s hackle.

_Horns._--Two strands of the grey feather of the mallard.

The male has black horns. To make it buzz, the body is to be ribbed with silver twist upon the black ostrich herl, and a black hackle wrapped the whole length of the body.

No. 31. THE AUGUST DUN.

This fly comes from a water _nympha_, lives two or three days, and changes to a red spinner. This fly is for August what the March brown is for March.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Brown floss silk, ribbed with yellow silk thread.

_Tail._--Two hairs from a fitch’s tail.

_Wings._--Feather of a brown hen’s wing.

_Legs._--Plain brown hackle.

Made buzz with a grouse feather, in place of wings and legs.

No. 32. THE ORANGE FLY.

This is an Ichneumon Fly. It is furnished with an _ovipositor_, for the purpose of piercing the skins of caterpillars, in which it deposits its eggs, the grub from which grows in, and ultimately kills, the insect in which it was hatched.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Orange floss silk tied on with black. Thick and square at the tail.

_Wings._--Darkest part of a robin’s wing.

_Legs._--A very dark furnace hackle.

No. 33. THE CINNAMON FLY.

This fly comes from a water _pupa_. It should be used after a shower, and on a windy day. It is a very killing fly on some waters, and somewhat resembles the land fly, but does not appear so early.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Fawn-colored mohair, tied on silk of the same color.

_Wings._--Feather of a yellow-brown hen’s wing, rather darker than the thrush feather. To lie flat.

_Legs._--A ginger hackle.

The pinnated grouse’s small wing-feather, dyed a pale cinnamon with madder and copperas, is an excellent feather for the wings of this fly, and of No. 34.

No. 34. THE CINNAMON DUN.

This _ephemera_ is found in abundance on the streams in Pike Co., Pa., and in some other localities. It is similar to the little yellow May dun, but is of a bright cinnamon color, and comes on in July and August. Its _metamorphosis_ is of a light red brown, with wings almost white.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Red and yellow mohair spun on yellow silk, and ribbed with the same.

_Wings._--The light feather of a grouse’s wing, dyed cinnamon with madder, or the feather of a curlew’s wing.

_Tail._--Two fibres of the same feather as the wings.

_Legs._--A ginger hackle.

No. 35. THE BLUE BOTTLE.

This and the house fly become blind and weak in September, are frequently blown upon the water, and afford good sport. They may be used especially after a frosty night, but are not unsuccessful earlier in the season.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Bright blue mohair, tied with light brown silk. The body thick.

_Wings._--The lightest feather of a robin’s wing.

_Legs._--Two turns of a black hackle.

The _House Fly_ may be made thus:

_Body._--Light brown and green mohair mixed.

_Wings._--Light-colored feather from a robin’s wing.

_Legs._--A blue dun hackle.

_Head._--Green peacock’s herl, with two or three turns under the wings.

No. 36. THE RED PALMER.

This is the caterpillar of the garden tiger-moth. This palmer is found early in the spring, and is chiefly recommended for streams where trees overhang the water. Cuvier states that this caterpillar changes its skin ten times during its growth.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Peacock’s herl, with a red cock’s hackle wrapped the whole length, and tied with red silk.

Ronalds’s palmers are made long, and have a second hook tied in about half way up the body. It is a killing fly in streams, and of little use in ponds in the United States.

No. 37. THE BROWN PALMER.

The preceding remarks on the red palmer apply equally to this and the succeeding description. The white and yellow are equally successful on wooded streams, and they all may be used through the season.

_Imitation._

_Body._--Light brown mohair spun on brown silk, and a brown cock’s hackle wrapped all the way up.

No. 38. _The Black and Red Palmer._

_Imitation._

_Body._--Black ostrich herl, ribbed with gold twist, and a red cock’s hackle wrapped over it.

The feather at the shoulder should be a large furnace hackle, and the herl should be thickest there. Show the gold twist clearly at the tail.

THE ART OF DYEING FEATHERS, HACKLES, PIG’S WOOL, AND MOHAIR, SUITABLE COLORS FOR FLIES.

It is a great advantage to the fly-fisherman to possess the knowledge of dyeing his materials, as it is by no means easy to procure them at all times of the desired color. It is, besides, an amusement and an inducement to study the colors, sizes, and habits of the insects which he wishes to imitate. The colors for salmon-flies should be as rich and brilliant as possible; those for trout are of soberer hues. Hackles should be selected with much care, of fine fibre, of even taper. White hackles are requisite for yellow, orange, blue, and green; red hackles for claret, red, brown, and olive. They should be washed in soap and water before dyeing, and tied in small bunches for convenience of handling.

It is important in dyeing all kinds of feathers to dress them thoroughly. They should be rinsed in clean water when taken from the dye, wiped as dry as possible, and dressed with the hand in the direction of the fibres until dry. This gives them a smoothness and gloss which can be given in no other way.

Naturally-colored feathers are perhaps preferable, as a general thing, for trout-flies; but there are some which cannot be had of the proper color, and for salmon-flies the dyer’s art is indispensable.

TO DYE YELLOW.

Put two table-spoonfuls of ground alum, and one tea-spoonful of cream of tartar into a pint of water. When perfectly dissolved and boiling, put in the feathers, hackles, or hair, and simmer for half an hour. Take them from this mordant bath, and put them in the yellow dye, made by infusing a table-spoonful of ground turmeric in a pint of water, and immersed until the color is extracted.

Boil until the color is deep enough, and then wash them in clean water. Dry, and dress them as directed.

There are several materials for yellow dyes, such as fustic, quercitron bark, yellow wood, Persian berries, and weld; but turmeric is the best for the purpose.

TO DYE ORANGE.

To produce orange the feathers or other material should be first dyed yellow, according to the previous recipe. They should then be boiled in a dye made with madder and a small quantity of cochineal, until the requisite shade is obtained.

TO DYE SCARLET.

Make a strong infusion of cochineal, put in a few drops of muriate of tin, which will make a crimson, and then put in a little cream of tartar, which will make a clear scarlet. The proportions in weight are one part of muriate of tin to two parts of cream of tartar. It is best to boil the feathers first in the solution of alum. Simmer them until the color is obtained.

TO DYE CRIMSON.

Boil the materials to be dyed in a solution of alum and cream of tartar, for half an hour; bruise two table-spoonfuls of cochineal, and simmer them in water until the color is extracted.

Take the materials from the alum water, and boil them in the cochineal liquor until you have the color you wish.

Wash them in clean water, and if feathers, dress them until dry.

TO DYE BROWN.

Brown may be procured by boiling walnut shells to a strong solution, and of a more chestnut hue by boiling in a bath composed of a small handful each of sumach and alder bark, boiled in half a pint of water, with half a drachm of copperas.

TO DYE BLUE.

Boil your material in the solution of alum and tartar already described.

Then make a blue dye by dissolving the prepared indigo paste in water, the quantity of which must depend upon the color you wish to produce. Boil until you have the shade you desire.

The prepared indigo paste is made by dissolving indigo in oil of vitriol and water in a well stoppered bottle, but it is some trouble to prepare, and may be had already made at a dyer’s.

It requires a white ground to produce a good blue.

TO DYE PURPLE OR VIOLET.

First dye your materials blue and let them dry, according to the recipe already given. Then bruise a couple of table-spoonfuls of cochineal, which boil until the color is extracted; then put in the blue hackles, or other feathers, and simmer them over the fire until the purple is obtained.

Wash and dress as before directed.

TO DYE CLARET.

Bruise a handful of nutgalls and boil them half an hour, with a table-spoonful of oil of vitriol in half a cup of water. Put in your material and boil for two hours; add a piece of copperas the size of a walnut, and a little pearl ashes. Boil until a fine bright claret is produced.

Wash and dress as before.

TO DYE BLACK.

Boil two handfuls of logwood with a little sumach and elder bark for an hour; put in the hackles or feathers, and boil very gently. Put in a little bruised copperas, a little argil, and some soda; leave the feathers in for some hours with a gentle heat, then wash the dye well out of them, dry and dress them. The argil and soda must be used sparingly.

TO DYE LAVENDER, OR BLUE DUN.

Boil ground logwood with bruised nutgalls and a little copperas. The shade of color may be varied by using more or less of the materials.

You may have grey, and duns of various shades, by boiling with the logwood a little alum and copperas.

TO DYE GREEN.

Dye your material a light shade of blue first, according to the directions for that color; then put them into the yellow dye, and examine them frequently while boiling to see that you get the proper shade. You may get any shade of green by dyeing the blues darker or lighter, and then boiling them a shorter or longer time in the yellow dye.

The blue and yellow dyes may also be mixed to produce any shade of green, but this requires judgment and considerable experience, and the result is not superior. It must be remembered that the blue becomes developed by time, and the color should be at first more yellow than is required.

TO DYE A MALLARD’S FEATHER FOR THE GREEN DRAKE, AND LITTLE YELLOW MAY DUN.

Boil the feathers in the mordant bath of alum already described.

Then boil them in an infusion of fustic to produce a yellow, and subdue the brightness of this yellow by adding copperas to the infusion.

It is better to add a _little_ of the indigo paste to this dye. It gives a brighter, clearer tone of color.

TO DYE GUT.

_An Azure, or Neutral Tint._

1 drachm logwood, 6 grains copperas.

Immerse the gut 2½ to 3 minutes.

_An Azure Tint, more Pink._

1 drachm logwood, 1 scruple alum.

Immerse the gut 3 minutes.

_A dingy Olive._

1 drachm logwood, 1 scruple alum, 3 scruples quercitron bark.

Immerse from 2 to 3 minutes.

_A light Brown._

1 drachm madder, 1 scruple alum.

Immerse from 5 to 6 minutes.

_A light Yellow, or Amber._

1½ scruples quercitron bark, 1 scruple alum, 6 grains madder, 4 drops muriate of tin, 1 scruple cream of tartar.

Immerse 2½ minutes.

_An Olive Dun._

Make a strong infusion of the outside brown leaves or coating of onions, by allowing the ingredients to stand warm by the fire for ten or twelve hours.

When _quite cold_ put the gut into it, and let it remain until the hue becomes as dark as may be required.

All the above dyes for gut are to be used _cold_.

ARTIFICIAL BAIT AND FLY-FISHING.

In fly-fishing, a rod, and a good rod, is one of the prime requisites, upon the excellence of which depends, in a great measure, the successful exercise of the angler’s skill. An excellent rod may be made of different materials and in different manners, a choice among which will depend upon fancied, more than real superiority; but each writer has his favorites, and, if able, is entitled to give the reasons for his preference.

Fly-fishing is mainly confined to salmon and trout-fishing; for these, essentially different implements are required; for the long casts and heavy play of the former, amid the rapids and cascades of the foaming river, a stout, stiff, two-handed rod is requisite; while for the feebler efforts and shorter casts of the latter, amid the ripples of the murmuring brook, or upon the placid surface of the quiet pond, a light, single-handed rod is preferable.

The salmon-rod should be as long and strong as the muscles of the angler will enable him to wield trenchantly all day through, and should have that quick, powerful pliancy that will send the fly with or across the wind a prodigious distance. It is ordinarily made of ash or hickory for the joints, and bamboo, on account of its lightness, for the tip. Greenheart has lately become the favorite wood, being now almost universally employed in England, and offers, certainly, some desirable advantages; but I have not had sufficient experience with it to speak decisively of its merits. A salmon-rod should be twenty feet long; after giving the matter due deliberation, and trying to reduce every ounce of weight, I have resolved that I cannot take off an inch from twenty feet. To meet the objection that a weak, small man must, under these circumstances, either give up the fishing or the rod, I would suggest that he inure himself to the labor by practising, for his first few days upon the river, with a sixteen-foot rod till his muscles are strengthened, and then substituting one of full length and weight.

A sixteen-foot rod may be handled beautifully, will cast the fly lightly, will kill a fish delicately, but it will not enable the possessor to force his line against or across a gust of wind eddying down the bank of the stream, nor to command all the casts of a broad river with facility, neither can he strike with certainty, nor kill his fish with rapidity. Salmon rivers are usually wide, sometimes wild, broken, and impassable even for that wonderful compound of life and lightness, the birch canoe, and cannot be reached in every part except with a long line under perfect control; frequently, the very spot where the fish habit, the swirl of the current or the pitch of the cascade is beyond the limits of him of the fifteen-foot rod; and if by the utmost effort the line is cast far enough, the first eddy will slack it up and deprive the weak, pliant rod of all control over it.

Again, where the favorite pool lies close by the overhanging rock, upon some accommodating ledge of which the angler crawls prone to the earth, hiding from the sharp eye of the watchful fish, he can with a long rod jerk out the line, and twitching it over the surface, beguile the prey; while with a shorter one he might be deprived of concealment, and stand confessed a laughing-stock to the fish, dangling a useless line close to the rocky bank. If the water, the wind, or the fish are strong, the rod should be the same; although advocating gentle treatment, there are times when, I assure the reader, that vigor must be exerted, and then twenty feet are better than fifteen.

No practical working rod can be made by the removal of one or more joints and the substitution of others, to increase or diminish in length. There must be a uniform taper consonant with the length, which, in case of alteration, will be destroyed, and the rod rendered harsh or feeble. The strain will not come equally upon all its parts; it will bend irregularly, and under a sudden strain is almost sure to give way. I had a rod in which a single joint could be substituted for the butt and next joint, which broke on an average of once a day so long as it was used in that way, and until the two joints were restored.

The elasticity of a good salmon-rod is like that of steel, and by the aid of such an implement alone can the fly be propelled to a proper distance. The force must be transmitted to the tip end of the leader, and the angler must feel in casting that his rod is up to its share of the work. It must neither drag, for in that case the line follows the impulse feebly; nor be too stiff, for then no life can be imparted to the line. If the rod is weak, it cannot cast with power; if it is harsh, it cannot cast at all. It must bend, but must leap back to its place, driving the fly far ahead of it by the strong and steady impulse.

A deficiency in vigor is felt at once by the angler, as a want of proper resistance to his exertion, and will be particularly noticeable of a bad day, or in an unfavorable locality, when the rod will seem to double back and fail utterly in a weak disgusting way; while too great stiffness will go to convince the angler that he is using a bean-pole.

The single-handed trout-rod is a very different affair, much more difficult both to make and handle; coarser tools and tackle will answer for the coarser fish, but nothing less than the best material and workmanship will enable the trout-fisher to perform creditably and successfully. It must be light for fine fishing, not over ten ounces in weight; it must be the perfection of elasticity; it must have a certain strength; it must balance perfectly in the hand; in other words, it must be perfection, to attain which, requires the utmost care and the greatest skill. It is a strange fact that decidedly better fly-rods, and perhaps better salmon-rods, can be obtained in America than in England, in spite of the greater foreign experience; a result that is due mainly to our persistent effort after delicacy, and perhaps partly to the habits and size of our fish; but an English fly-rod is now regarded as a clumsy monstrosity.

Trout-rods are usually made of ash with a bamboo or Calcutta cane-tip; the latter is infinitely preferable to lance-wood, on account of its greater strength and lightness. The bamboo is split into narrow pieces the length of one joint of the cane, and being glued together, is trimmed to the proper shape. Three pieces should be used, each planed, by an instrument made for the purpose, into an obtuse angle, and fitting neatly together; if two pieces only are united, the tip will bend to different degrees in different directions.

Bamboo may also be used for the second joint, and makes a light and vigorous rod, with ash for the butt; horn-beam or iron-wood, and greenheart, have also been introduced for trout-rods, but have not come into general acceptance; lance-wood is strong but too heavy, while my decided favorite is red cedar. Rods, after they have been exposed to wet, and have endured the strain of a strong fish, or even the effort of repeated casting, will warp; they will, if they are extremely light, prove deficient in power; they are apt to be either heavy or feeble; they will, when the current or wind is strong, give to it and lose their quickness in striking; in fact, they have many defects common to one or the other of the above woods, unless they are made of cedar; in this case they have but one fault, they are brittle. A cedar rod never warps; it springs to the hand as quick as thought to the brain; it is never slow or heavy; it cannot be kept down by the wind or the current; it is never aught but quick, lively, and vigorous; it will cast three feet farther than any other rod of the same weight, and strike a fish with twice the certainty. The wood is extremely light, but the grain is short; it never loses its life, but will snap under a sudden strain.

I once struck a salmon with an eight-ounce cedar trout-rod; it was at the basin below the Falls of the Nipisiquit, where the current of the river, rushing against the calm water of the deep pool, creates a gentle ripple. The hour was near mid-day, and I was catching sea-trout in that profusion with which they abound in the northern waters, when out of the ripple, a few yards beyond my reach, rose a mighty monarch of the flood, and turning over as he sank, caused a heavy surge in the tide.

My Canadian guide, an enthusiastic Frenchman, was with me, and our nerves tingled and our cheeks flushed at the sight; approaching the canoe, a long cast brought him out again, but only to miss the tiny trout-fly. Convinced that he would rise, I hastily substituted a small salmon-fly for the stretcher, leaving on the leader the two small droppers I had been using, and again carefully cast over him. Out he came, the water breaking round him and rolling away in miniature circling waves, and the foam flying from the powerful blow of his tail as he turned down. I struck, but it was as though I had struck a rock; he darted to the bottom, making the rod fly in splinters; at every surge fresh splinters broke off and fell about in showers; a piece of the lower joint only was left, when feeling for the first time really roused, he made one fierce rush and mad leap, and the line not unreeling fast enough to suit him, he disappeared with three flies, all my leader, and most of my line. I do not advise any one to fish for salmon with an eight-ounce cedar trout-rod.

In ordinary trout-fishing, however, salmon do not abound nor come unceremoniously devouring our baits intended for their smaller brethren; nor are even trout so extremely numerous but that, for a long summer day’s work, a light able rod will be infinitely preferable to a heavy one. A rod that weighs fourteen ounces is heavy, and I have seen persons with their hands or wrists dreadfully swollen after a single day’s fishing, and have had such persons assure me that their rods were as light as they could be possibly made. Delicacy to me is the first essential in trout-fishing, whether delicacy of rod and tackle, or delicacy of handling and casting. Catching a trout with a stick and a string is not half the fun of catching a flounder, the latter being much more difficult to lug out of water; and delicacy in trout-fishing will bring the best reward.

With a cedar rod you need use the wrist alone, and that without much exertion; you can cover great distances and still control the line, and you can switch the fly under bushes and in difficult places, better than with any other rod I ever used. It is quick, reliable, vigorous, and light, the slightest motion gives the tip the requisite spring, and it answers every effort of the hand instantly. It kills a fish powerfully and rapidly, and exposure to wet neither deadens nor weakens it. The ordinary hickory and ash-joint are much stronger, but are logy in their action and far heavier; joints of split cane or malacca are light, beautiful, and expensive, but are almost unattainable, and are, occasionally at least, deficient in power; and whalebone, for any part of the rod, is dull, heavy, inappropriate, and when water-soaked, utterly worthless. For these reasons and many others--these are enough, however--I prefer a cedar rod.

Many persons give the preference to a limber rod, one that bends in the middle, and they can, after infinite practice, cast well with it; in pleasant weather they can throw a light line, but when the storm lowers and the wind blows, or the current rages, or the cast is very long, or the bushes overhang, then good-bye to the gentleman with that most wretched of implements, a weak-backed limber rod. Give me no such inefficient deception to break my wrist, my heart, and my patience; as well tell me that whalebone has the vigor of a steel spring.

The joints of a rod are united in various ways; with the salmon-rod it is almost essential, and with all rods desirable, to use splices, but the custom is to indulge the laziness of ferrules. American ferrules fit accurately, and of course after the wood is swollen by exposure to rain, they will not come apart even if the joint-ends are all brass, a difficulty that can be obviated by rubbing them with mutton tallow, and loosening them every night, and we advise the same precaution in wet weather with the reel bands. In this connection it may be well to tell the reader how he can, with a little trouble, separate the ferrules, no matter how solid they may seem to be; in the first place heat them moderately, and pour a little oil round the joint; then take two stout pieces of string, or better, braid, about a foot long, and tying the ends of each together, wrap one close above and the other below the joint in the contrary directions; then insert a stick in each loop, and turn one one way, and the other the opposite. If the bands slip, rub them with wax.

The English ferrules, not fitting so closely, are not liable to this objection; but, on the other hand, would come apart in use, to the intense disgust of the angler, were they not held together by a piece of silk, that, when they are set up, has to be wound round a loop of brass fastened upon each for the purpose. This silk must be cut every time the rod is taken apart, and occasions much trouble. The Irish use a screw-joint, which is firm and not liable to bind; but it is difficult to fit, easy to break, and, in the woods, impossible to replace. Among these plans the simple socket has obtained the preference, and probably is entitled to the distinction.

It is doubtless useless for me at this day to tell any intelligent sportsman that the butt of a fly-rod must never be hollow; its solidity is necessary to a proper balance; but where the fishing is merely to be done along the streams, a spear-head that can be screwed into the end will add little to the weight, and prove useful driven into the ground to hold the rod, while the fisherman changes his flies or frees them from a weed or bush. On a trout-rod there should be no reel-bands, but a gutta-percha ring, or a leather strap and buckle, will retain the reel firmly, and enable the angler to change its position at his pleasure, and by altering the balance, rest his wrist. These seem trivial matters, but mole-hills are mountains if they rest upon a sore spot. On a salmon-rod the reel-bands should be strong, and about a foot from the end.

There should be rings or guides enough on a fly-rod to bring the strain evenly throughout, and if one is destroyed, it should be replaced at once, or a liability to break will result. If rings are used, they and the brass top should be large and fastened on with a whipping of silk, that adds much strength to the wood. Where a spliced rod is used, it is well to have a small ring of brass, somewhat similar to the reel-band on each joint, under which the end of the splice can be slipped before fastening it.

For salmon and trout-fishing, the reel had better be a simple, large barrelled click-reel, as the music of the line, unwinding to the rush of these splendid fish, while it indicates the rate of its diminution, is to the angler what the clarion is to the warrior, or the hound’s bay to the deer hunter; but a multiplier, made as they are only made in this country, working with the beauty and accuracy of clock-work, is by no means inadmissible. A drag must be used with the multiplier, but a stop never; the latter is utterly useless, and by slipping unexpectedly, may destroy your tackle. The reel must be manufactured with the greatest care and of the best workmanship; no implement is so worthless if poor, and none will better repay the sportsman if perfect. In salmon-fishing, it is only in desperate straits that any effort is made to check the fish; he is ordinarily too violent to submit to such treatment; otherwise, as the single-barrelled reel revolves toward you, it could not be used, as it cannot in bass-fishing.

A multiplier should have steel pins, which require care and frequent oiling; the same reel may be used for bass, and, if armed with a drag as above stated, in case of necessity in salmon-fishing. For both salmon and bass it should be of the largest size, and may be painted black to preserve it from rust, and to avoid alarming the fish. The line will occasionally catch round the handle, to prevent which, the latter is sometimes constructed of a button fitting in a plate.

All reels must be oiled occasionally. On one occasion I proved this to my satisfaction in a very unsatisfactory way.

The weather had been hot and dry; the water had fallen and become transparent as crystal; the fish were shy and cautious. After exhausting my ingenuity in selecting new flies to suit their capricious tastes, I had settled upon one of bright yellow, which, if the gentlemen did not wish to eat, they did seem to enjoy inspecting; they rose to it freely, and after I had tried in vain to strike them, curiosity induced me to keep count of their number.

Fourteen times had they risen and disappeared uninjured; fourteen times had my nerves tingled, and my blood started; fourteen times had sudden hope turned to bitter disappointment, till anticipation settled down into dull despair. Only those who have themselves had such painful experiences can appreciate my feelings; the continual tantalizing approximation to success, to be followed by agonizing failure; the renewed hope that the next rise would result in the capture of a fish ever to remain unfulfilled; the desperate effort to strike quicker or to cast more attractively; all these and many other feelings swarmed through my heart, as fish after fish approached his fate, and invariably escaped.

They seemed to be feeding, as it is called, and when the fly passed they rose, and turning over like a porpoise chasing mossbunkers, seemed to take it in their mouths. They did not spring out of water in the gaiety of reckless play, but acted as they would have done if swallowing the natural insect. Not that it is certain that salmon feed on flies; but while they can rarely be taken while playing, they often can be when acting in a manner resembling feeding.

My patience not exhausted, for it never is while fish will rise, I directed the canoe to be dropped towards the lower end of the fishing-ground, and stepped from it to a rock in the stream, and then casting the farthest and lightest possible, was rewarded. A magnificent fish rose; was secured by a quick turn of the butt, and stung by the unexpected pain, fled down the current. Away he went, on without a pause, the reel hissing, the line unwinding, and darting into the water, till having exhausted seventy-five yards of line, and being partially turned by its weight and the resistance of the click, he stopped with a heavy surge, and heading back, approached as fast as he had fled. Instantly and instinctively my hand fell upon the handle of the reel; it would not turn, no effort could budge it; conceive my feelings now, if mortal man can conceive them. The fish coming towards us, the line lying in a long heavy bag behind him, threatening to sink and catch round some rock, or by its slacking up release the hook; I jerked in the line, thinking a grain of sand might have penetrated between the plates, and tried the handle first one way, then the other, in vain.

This all passed with the speed of thought, but the fish was approaching as quickly; there was nothing left but calling one of my men to tell him to take in the line, hand over hand, and holding it in a loose coil, be prepared to pay it out on the next rush. Then thinking that the plates must be bent, I took from my pocket a screw-driver that I always carried, and unloosened every screw. There I stood, grasping in one hand the rod, while the tip bent to the motions of the fish, with the other working away at the reel; beside me my best man, slowly drawing in or paying out the line as need must; both of us eager, anxious, and startled at this new mode of killing salmon; the fish, vigorous as ever, making continual and sustained rushes, but fortunately none as extended as his first.

I had freed every screw in the reel, but without any result; it was as immovable as ever; there was no resource but to do the best we could, in our original mode of proceeding, under the circumstances. Never before had a fish proved himself stronger or braver; for a good half hour he kept us on the stretch, and then sulked. Stationing himself in the edge of the current, he held his own doggedly; fifteen minutes of such behavior exhausted our patience. If I tried to lead him towards the shore, he took advantage of the eddy to resist; if to turn him the other way, he braced himself against the current; a severe strain, however, brought him to the surface, and revealed the fact that he was not sulking at the bottom, but resolutely swimming, head up stream, in the current.

Not a little surprised, we tossed in a pebble, then a stone, at last a rock, when, indignant, he fled down stream; fifteen minutes more of exciting contest, several rushes when he was on the point of being captured, resulted at last in bringing him flouncing on the gaff out of water. He only weighed fifteen pounds, but had been hooked foul, the point having penetrated at the hard bone near the eye.

I then sat down deliberately to discover what had happened to my reel; it seemed to be in perfect order, but would not move; I tried to drive the shaft out of its bearing with the mallet--a heavy club of wood used to kill the fish after they are gaffed, but only after a good hour’s work did I succeed in separating it, and found that for want of oil the two surfaces had become almost solid. They were as bright as burnished gold, and had evidently been heated by the first desperate rush of the fish; after being touched with a drop of oil and replaced, they worked beautifully.

It is curious to note how, in salmon-fishing, accidents will happen when the fish is on the hook; if the line is weakened, or the leader fretted, or the rod strained, the weight and power of the fish expose the weakness; if anything is aught but perfect, it gives way at that critical moment. In trout-fishing you are apt to discover the defects in time, and in bass-fishing the tackle is coarse and strong; but in salmon-fishing you first learn their presence by their parting. Never use a doubtful strand of gut, or a second-quality hook; never tie a knot without thoroughly testing it, and never use a leader that is in the least worn.

The best line by far, for both salmon and trout-fishing, is the braided silk covered with a water-proof preparation, and tapered to the fineness of the gut-leader. If this can be obtained no other should be thought of, but if it cannot, the others are about on a disgraceful par of mediocrity; the one that is usually praised, that of silk and horse-hair mixed, being, if possible, the worst, for while it has the weakness of the horse-hair, and water-soaking capacity of the silk, it has a difficulty especially its own, arising from the protrusion of short ends of hair that have broken or rotted off, and which are continually catching the rings, or guides. The common silk line may be coated with raw linseed oil by stretching it in a garret or some place shaded from the sun, and rubbing it with a cloth soaked in the oil; several coats must be applied, allowing each to dry before a renewal, and care must be taken to avoid exposure to the sun’s rays, which will rot the line. If thoroughly coated it will answer nearly as well as if prepared in a more scientific manner.

The elegance, ease, and delicacy of casting depend much upon the proportions of the leader or casting-line, its length, taper, and adaptation to the line and rod; if these are not accurately ascertained and complied with--and they can only be determined by actual experience with each rod and line--the execution will be faulty. Consequently no absolute rule can be given, but the length and taper must depend upon circumstances. The strands of gut are selected, the clearest, roundest, and hardest being the best, and having been assorted according to size, are tied together with the double-water knot for salmon-fishing, and with either the same or the single-water knot for trout. If it is desired to fasten the droppers between the knots, the latter must be used, and the gut must be well soaked in warm water before it is tied. Leaders thus prepared and suited accurately to the line and rod, will be found cheaper and more satisfactory than those usually sold in the shops, and may be tapered to any degree of fineness.

The fly-book in which the sportsman collects his treasures--the fairy imitations of the tiny nymphs of the waterside--and which is the source of so much delight in inspecting, replenishing, and arranging during the season that the trout are safe from honorable pursuit, is at present one of the most ungainly and inconvenient things that he uses. It is either of mammoth size and filled with flannel leaves in which the moth revel, but in which the hooks will not stick, or it is so ingeniously arranged that the flies on one page entangle themselves in a remarkably complicated manner with those on the other, and whenever the book is opened do their best to tumble out and carry with them such leaders as may be within reach of their obstinate barbs. It has places for articles that are not wanted, and none for those that are; the disgorger, an instrument about as useful to the angler as a jack-plane, is always present, while a piece of India-rubber to straighten gut, or even silk and wax, is never to be found. The pockets and slips are so arranged that the flies cannot be got at without much difficulty, or else fall out with perfect ease, and are invariably, when released, found with the gut so curled up that it cannot be straightened for some time. In fact, the present style of fly-book is a disgusting monstrosity. The true plan is to so arrange the pockets that those of one page will come opposite the hooks on the other in such manner that there can be no entanglement; of course the snells of the stretchers cannot be kept straightened, but the droppers, having shorter snells, may be secured under strips of paper, and left at full length, the alternate flies being at each extremity of the leaf; and on the adjoining leaf in the pockets may be similar flies dressed for stretchers. Or the droppers, all having the gut tied, of the same length by measurement, over two pins stuck into the table, may be secured on both sides of a separate sheet of pasteboard upon hooks and eyes, the fly-hook being fastened into the eye and the loop upon the hook. The latter is attached to a short piece of elastic, and will hold the gut straight and safe. The boards thus prepared are carried in long pockets between the leaves. The book, when filled and ready for use, should not be too large to be carried in the breast pocket, should be composed of stout parchment or ass skin that will resist the effect of dampness, covered with leather or morocco, and closed with a neat clasp.

The best implements will not make an angler, nor enable him, without skill that can only be obtained by patience and perseverance, to perform his duty creditably at the river-side. Especially must he learn to cast his flies far, lightly, and accurately, for of all the angler’s qualifications this art is the most necessary. To do this every writer on fishing has given particular directions, but in reality no plan or formula can be made that is not subject to great modifications; the following, probably, is as nearly correct as any: After the line is lifted from the water, which is done with a quick upward motion of the wrist, the forearm is slowly and steadily raised until the line has described the necessary curve and is extended almost directly behind the angler, when a fresh impulse from the wrist changes the direction to a forward one, the arm following the motion until the line has nearly reached its limit, when it is checked by an almost imperceptible motion of the wrist, and the flies are made to drop on the water gently and quivering with almost the tremor of life. This is the rule when the cast is down wind and unobstructed, and the breeze light and equable, but in practice each cast must be adjusted to the peculiar circumstances under which it is made; the force that will drive out the line in a heavy breeze will not be vigorous enough if it dies down at the next cast, and the line must be stopped short or it will not extend itself; on the other hand, if the wind suddenly increases to a gusty flaw, the flies will be driven into the water with a splash, unless the arm is extended to exhaust the additional force. If the cast is across a strong wind, the line is lifted against it and makes almost a complete circle, and if well managed can be made to so resist it that, in the roughest weather, it will go out its full length and fall with beautiful delicacy. In a hard blow the difficulty will be in raising the line, and at times it will not be found necessary to lift the flies entirely from the water before casting, as the wind, by its pressure on the bag of the line, will carry them out of itself. In fishing a stream there is much to be learned in the art of jerking the flies under the bushes, and tossing the back line directly upwards to avoid entanglements, instead of behind the angler; proficiency should be obtained with the left hand as well as with the right, and in right and left casts, that is to say, where the line is raised on either side and the flies brought over either shoulder. This last point is essential if two anglers are to fish from the same boat, for each should invariably keep the tip of his rod over the shoulder opposite to his neighbor.

These observations are probably all that can be placed on paper with any advantage, for complete knowledge can only be obtained at the brook or pond under the guidance of those skilful teachers, patience and perseverance; and after the line has been neatly cast and the trout lured from his lair under the bank of the stream, or his mossy bed at the bottom of the pond, the art of striking him, that is, fixing the hook firmly in his mouth when he has grasped it, can only be acquired by actual experience. All written directions on this subject maybe reduced to two--it is done with a motion of the wrist and as quickly as possible; and yet if this art is not mastered, the rest will be in vain.

There are few matters connected with fly-fishing that have been more discussed, and about which there has been more difference of opinion, than the length of line that can be cast with the ordinary trout-rod. Assertions are common, and certificates even have been given at public contests that competitors have cast one hundred feet of line, and many persons, especially those not thoroughly initiated, imagine that they can readily manage seventy, eighty, or ninety. But this matter was brought to a definite issue at the convention of the Sportsmen’s Clubs of the State of New York, held in 1864, at the City of New York, when a handsome prize was offered for excellence in casting the fly, and rules were carefully prepared to govern the trial. These rules are given at length hereafter, and provide an allowance, for length and weight of rod, and prescribe certain distinctions as to whether the contest is only as to distance, or as to delicacy and accuracy in addition. In the instance referred to, it was determined that all these points were to be included. No rod was admitted that weighed over one pound or exceeded twelve feet and six inches in length; a gut-leader of not less than eight feet was required, and to this three flies were to be attached. The tackle and rods used by the competitors were, in every instance, those that they were accustomed to use in actual fishing, the lines being generally of plaited silk, covered with the ordinary water-proof preparation. The water was without a current, but ruffled by the effects of a light breeze that died away entirely ere the contest was over, and the stand was a floating platform, level with the surface, and upon which the waves occasionally washed so as to wet the feet of the contestants. The distance was measured along the water by a rope stretched taut and marked at every foot of its length with buoys; parallel with this, and close to it, a staging was erected, on which the spectators could stand and observe accurately the quality of every cast. The contestants were required to use both hands, and were restricted to five minutes’ time. The judges were three of the most experienced fishermen of the State, one of whom is celebrated for his proficiency in, and devotion to casting the fly.

It will be observed that several customary advantages were lost by this disposition, or brought to an equality; there was no elevation above the water, which is always difficult to measure, and which, of course, adds immensely to the distance that can be covered; there was little or no wind to add to the forward motion of the line, and no current to straighten it out, or assist, by a slight resistance to the rod, in recovering it, which, after all, is the main difficulty, as the line that can be lifted and extended behind the fisherman will readily reach its full length in front of him; and the distance cast was measured, not along the line, which will invariably sag more or less, and may have its length considerably augmented by an irregularity in delivery, but along the water. Moreover, the competitors were required to make a neat as well as long cast, lest they should be ruled out for want of delicacy, and had to prove their thorough proficiency by dexterity with the left hand.

The rods used were respectively of ash, with a split bamboo tip; of cedar, with a lance-wood tip; and of split bamboo throughout; and were all of the best workmanship and perfect representatives of their kinds; the contestants were some of the best anglers of the State, and nothing occurred to mar the pleasure of the contest or to disparage the correctness of the award. The prize was won by the cedar rod, which was twelve feet three and one-half inches long, and weighed, with heavy mountings, fourteen ounces; and the greatest distance cast with the right hand was sixty-three feet, although the allowance carried the official return to sixty-eight feet; and with the left hand the absolute distance was fifty-seven feet. The author cannot help adding that the cedar rod was in his hands, and that the prize is now in his fire-proof safe, as he thinks that success at such a trial and against such competitors is legitimate ground for no little vanity.

It is reported that there was a contest of a similar nature in England; but while the length of rod was restricted to twelve feet, there was no allowance for weight. The contestants stood several feet above the level of the water, and the distance reached was seventy-two feet. This, therefore, scarcely furnishes a ground for comparison, as a rod may be made so heavy at the top and limber in the middle as to cast a prodigious line, but which would be utterly unwieldy at the river side; and for every foot of elevation several feet of additional length are gained. In public trials attention must be paid to these particulars, or they will furnish no satisfactory test.

The writer once cast seventy-two feet with the same cedar rod that won the prize; but this, although without the assistance of any wind, was done from a slight elevation with the aid of a current, and was measured by the length of line. It is undoubted, moreover, that sixty-three feet is not the limit that can be attained where no attention is paid to delicacy in delivering the flies, or where but one fly or none whatever is used. The line can be cast considerably farther without a fly attached than with it, and the length and taper of casting-line should accord exactly with the weight and taper of line. This has to be regulated in a measure by practice, and should be carefully determined before a public trial is undertaken.

The author of the American Angler’s Book recommends that the largest fly should be used as the stretcher. This is all wrong, and no one that does so will ever deliver his flies far and neatly. It is contrary to the principle of tapering the line, and has no advantage whatever to recommend it. The largest fly should be the upper dropper or bob, and the next in size the second dropper, while the stretcher should be the smallest. Then not only will the taper be maintained, but if a trout rises at the droppers there will be more probability of striking him. One of the contestants at the trial above mentioned delivered his line so delicately that the flies often could not be seen to strike the water or make the least disturbance on its surface, although the spectators were close to the spot where they fell. He was on a previous occasion ruled out of a contest because the judges could not see where his flies alighted. He is especially careful to maintain the true taper of line, casting-line, and flies, and would scout the idea of using a cast with its largest fly at the stretcher. This is as gross a heresy as putting a shot in the fly-hook, which, while it may tend to break the rod, instead of increasing will diminish the distance reached.

The author of the work referred to, although doubtless a hearty participant in the angler’s pleasures, and fond of the free life in the wild woods by the side of the secluded stream, shows, by his preference for common flies and coarse tackle, that he does not appreciate the higher development of his art in its purity; content rather to fill his basket with a stout hackle from the well-stocked brook of the rarely visited forest, than to tempt the dainty trout with finer imitations from the well-fished pond of the cultivated country. Not only are large flies, especially at the stretcher, difficult to cast, but the hackles which he especially recommends are, from the resistance to the air offered by their numerous bristles, by far the most difficult. It is almost impossible with a light rod to cast a large hackle delicately to a distance; and when three are used, it is entirely so. In clear pools such an apparition would frighten the trout from their “feed” for a week. But in a boisterous, roaring, foaming mountain cataract, where the fish cannot see the fisherman at all, and find difficulty in seeing their prey, hackles and palmers are perfection.

The foregoing match was governed by the following rules, which have been permanently adopted by the New York Sportsmen’s Club, but the allowance of tune is not sufficient where delicacy and distance both are to be determined; and the better plan would be to allow each contestant first to extend his line as far as he can, and then to restrict him to five minutes as to the other matters at issue.

RULES OF THE NEW YORK SPORTSMEN’S CLUB, FOR CONTESTS IN FLY-CASTING.

No _Rod_ shall be allowed over twelve feet six inches in length, nor more than one pound in weight, and it shall be used with a single hand.

A practicable _Line_ and _Click-Reel_ shall be attached to the rod.

One _Stretcher Fly_ must be used, and a _Casting-Line_ or _Leader_, of single gut, of not less than six feet in length.

Additional _Flies_ may be added in the discretion of the contestants.

No attached _weight_ of any kind on the line or fly shall be permitted.

Allowance of distance shall be made according to the length and weight of each rod of five feet for every foot of _length_ and two feet for every ounce of _weight_, and at that rate for a part of a foot or ounce, deducting for a hollow butt or the omission of the customary mountings.

Each _contestant_ shall be allowed _five minutes_ for casting, and in case of accident, such as the parting of the fly, or entangling of the line, the referee may once allow _additional time_, in his discretion.

No cast shall be valid unless the line be _retrieved_.

The character of the contest, whether as to _distance_, _accuracy_, or _delicacy_, shall be stated at the time of making the terms, and, if not so stated, shall be only as to the distance, which, if practicable, shall be measured along the water.

In case delicacy and accuracy are to be considered, the casting shall be done with each hand, across, against, and with the wind, in over and under casts, and not less than three flies must be used on a leader of at least eight feet in length.

_Salmon Fly-Casting._--The above rules shall govern, unless it shall be distinctly agreed that the contest is to be with double-handed rods, in which case they shall be modified as follows:

The rods shall not be over twenty feet, and the casting-line or leader not less than ten feet in length.

Allowance of distance shall be made for length, but not for weight, and no more than one fly shall be used in any event.

* * * * *

In addition to the imitations of the natural fly, efforts have been continually made to use artificial representations of the other food and baits for fish; exact and beautiful copies of grasshoppers and frogs have been constructed, and painted of the proper color, but either from the nature of the composition or some other cause, entirely in vain. Indeed it is doubtful whether any fish was ever captured with such delusions as grasshoppers, crickets, or frogs, and although they are still retained in the shops, they no longer find a place amid the angler’s paraphernalia. Squid and spoons are usually supposed to imitate minnow, and have always been to a greater or less degree successful, but the imitation fish itself has, until late years, invariably proved a failure. With the discovery of the proper preparation of gutta-percha, and its application to the innumerable purposes for which it is now employed, came the suggestion that it might in various ways serve the angler; as wading-boots and water-proof clothing, of course, but also for bait-boxes, rods, and finally minnows. A little fish made of this material is not only a faultless imitation of the original, and is even curved in a way to produce the most perfect spin, but being soft to the teeth, seems absolutely to convince the trout in spite of their palates that it is wholesome and appropriate food. This imitation is used with satisfactory results, not only for trout to which it is peculiarly adapted, but also for snapping mackerel and lake-trout; it is so admirably prepared that the eye cannot detect the deception, and it has about the same consistency as fish itself. The back is a delicate mottled green, changing to yellow on the sides, where there are a few vermilion spots, while the lower part is brilliant and sparkling with some preparation of quicksilver. There is a gang of three hooks near the head and another at the tail, which is of tin, and the whole is attached to double gut. A modification of the same article is made by fastening two tin flanges at the head of the same minnow and leaving the body straight, but by the change more is added to the weight than to its effectiveness.

This invention is extremely light, being hollow, can be cast even with the fly-rod, and has been known to do great execution. In its present perfected form, it is a foreign production, but the original discovery was American. It is especially successful with lake-trout, even more so than with brook-trout, but is too delicate to trust in the hungry jaws of a savage pickerel. When the snapping mackerel first appear, and before their increasing appetites have made them as ravenous as they subsequently become, and when they will not condescend to the leaden squid, they will readily take this gutta-percha artificial minnow. One of its great recommendations is its lightness; no imitation bait that falls with a loud splash into the water can do other than terrify the timid trout; and to make casting a pleasure, the rod must be delicate, which cannot be if the bait is heavy. The squid is usually supposed to be the original imitation of a minnow, and has held a prominent place among the angler’s delusions for many years; in bass-fishing, in trolling for blue-fish, and even for lake trout, it is worthy of all praise. For bass, it is true, the natural squid is far more tempting, but this queer monstrosity is difficult to obtain, and its substitute has often captured enormous fish; for blue-fish no other bait is ordinarily used, and for lake-trout the ivory squid can hardly be surpassed. The ordinary kinds are of lead, pewter, bone, which are often hollow, and admit the insertion of a large hook; and of pearl, the latter in its most killing shape having flanges and spinning like the minnow. For blue-fish and their young--the snapping mackerel, lead is the favorite, while for lake-trout and pickerel, ivory is preferable, although this rule is not invariable; and on dark days the light-colored material will be occasionally preferred by all these varieties.

As the trolling-spoons resemble no known creature, they also are supposed to be intended and accepted for the minnow, although it is difficult to conceive why fish with their sharp sight, that can distinguish an almost microscopic midge upon the surface of the water twenty feet above their heads, should mistake a piece of revolving tin for a living fish. The first of these contrivances were manufactured and named from the bowl of a pewter spoon, the handle being broken off and holes drilled in each end, so that the line and hooks could be attached; this bait was found to revolve and glitter in the water in an attractive way. It is now almost superseded by other modifications; but still, when made of bright tin and painted of a dark color on the convex side, and rather more elongated than the ordinary pattern, it is successful with lake-trout and Mackinaw salmon. The first alteration in shape was by fitting two flanges or wings on a long, hollow body, upon the principle of a screw, and named after Archimedes, by which a rapid revolution was produced; but although this invention seemed to man nearly perfect, it did not satisfy the fish; for a very small spoon it will answer, but when larger is not so attractive as other kinds. Several alterations and combinations of these two plans were produced from time to time; they proved to be merely changes and not improvements, until an invention was made that is usually called Buel’s Patent Spoon--although it has been said that his patent only covers the application of three hooks instead of two, and that the invention has long been in use among the pickerel fishermen of the St. Lawrence. The blacksmiths on the banks of that river certainly manufacture them unrestrainedly of such material as they prefer, but only use two hooks; and this would not probably be permitted if the patent was broad enough to prevent it.

Be that as it may, however, it is known as Buel’s Spoon; it is made by fastening two or three hooks back to back, and attaching a piece of tin nearly elliptical in shape, so that it can revolve freely round a collar at the shank. This is its simplest form, and the one preferred for mascallonge, for which two strong thick hooks are used, firmly soldered together; and for pickerel, black-bass, and lake-trout, it is safer to have the hooks either soldered into one piece or attached by wire, as the fierce struggles and sharp teeth of these species will soon destroy thread or silk. The tin is painted of various colors, or even replaced with brass, and should be kept well burnished on the bright side. Feathers of gaudy colors, such as ibis, golden pheasant neck, mallard, and wood-duck, interspersed with plain white, are often fastened along the shank; spoons thus prepared are favorites of the black-bass, but have no advantage for mascallonge over the bare hooks; they are also used successfully for trout, especially those captured in salt water, and the feathers as well as the coloring of the tin may be adapted to the state of the weather. On clear, sunshiny days dull colors are preferable, as with artificial flies; and in dark or rainy weather the lightest colors answer best. Three additional hooks are sometimes added, and allowed to dangle loosely below the others; although these occasionally capture a fish that has missed striking the spoon fairly, they are more frequently bitten off; they are really no advantage, and if once imbedded in the bristling jaws of a gasping pickerel, their extraction is both difficult and dangerous.

Of the different varieties of artificial bait, not of course including the artificial fly, the most general and successful is Buel’s Spoon; it is taken by all the pickerel, from the monstrous mascallonge to the tiny native of Long Island; by the trout of lake or brook; by the black-bass of the North and South, and by the young blue-fish of the salt water; it is generally a greater favorite than the artificial, and sometimes even than the natural bait; with black-bass it has no competitor but the fly, and with sea-trout it occasionally surpasses the artificial fly itself. Its irregularity of motion, consequent upon the mode of revolution, seems to be its charm; and although it does not spin as well as the Archimedes, it is infinitely more killing. It has in open water almost supplanted the use of bait for pickerel and mascallonge, and it has been used to a murderous extent by greedy fishermen in trolling the waters of Moosehead Lake for trout.

COOKERY FOR SPORTSMEN.

Among all the arts and sciences that improve, elevate, or embellish society, or that contribute to the pleasure and comfort of mankind, the one that is the most necessary to health and happiness, has produced the fewest great geniuses, and is the least understood, is cookery. Amid the thousands of men and women who pretend to a knowledge of its mysteries, how difficult is it among the former, and how impossible among the latter, to find a good cook--one who is devoted heart and soul to the intricate science, who passes days in pondering and nights in dreaming of these delicate combinations that constitute pure and refined taste!

The world has produced in hundreds painters that delight the eye, composers that enrapture the ear, scholars that convince the intellect, poets that touch the heart; but of culinary artists that enchant the stomach, the truly great may be counted on the fingers. In ancient times more attention was paid to gastrology, but the degraded taste that could employ an emetic to enable the repetition of indulgence, and the limited resources of restricted national intercourse, have left us little of value to be gleaned for the experience of antiquity. The great masters of the kitchen of those times have passed away into oblivion, or have left only a few crude dishes, remarkable more for their extravagance than their excellence. It was a deficiency of knowledge and high art that drove the gourmands of early days to peacocks’ brains, nightingales’ tongues, and dissolved jewels.

The middle ages have left us some right royal dishes; the boar’s head, the roasted ox, the black pudding, mince-pies, the plum-pudding; remarkable, however, more for their substantial character that satisfied a vigorous appetite, than for delicacy that would gratify an educated taste. During this period, however, many drinks attained a perfection that has never been improved on, and those delicious combinations that were called cardinal, bishop, punch, and the hearty sack, are almost as well known and as great favorites now as then. There is nothing to be drawn from the dark ages in the least elevating to the science of gastronomy, and we must look to modern times, and mainly to the French nation, for our highest authorities and truest instruction.

Catherine de Medicis introduced the art of cookery into France, and liqueurs were invented during the reign of Louis XIV., since which time the revered names of Vatel, Soyer, Ude, Kitchiner, Bechamel, and Carmel have become household words throughout Christendom; their skill has shed a benign influence over mankind, has restored invalids to health, and brought peace to families; they are quoted and looked upon with deep respect by all. Coarse minds, to whom the allurements of gastronomy are incomprehensible, consider cooking vulgar; while a few pitiable individuals are created without the sense to distinguish the tasty from the tasteless, as there are persons without an eye for the beauties of nature or an ear for the harmony of sounds. These unfortunates deserve our sympathy; but for the individual who affects to despise the pleasures of the table, as loftily placing himself above what he terms grovelling appetites, nothing is appropriate but contempt. Who would believe or respect the man who claimed that his inability to distinguish green from red was a credit to him? Or could tolerate one who was filled with ostentatious pride because, by a wretched malformation, he could not tell Old Hundred from _Casta Diva_?

The sense of taste is as noble, and as capable of education and improvement, as the art of the painter or the musician. The stomach being the governor, master, and director of the body, when it is pleased the intellect works with force, the eye and ear are in full play, and the nerves and muscles tingle with animation; when it is sick or exhausted the eye grows dull, the intellect feeble, the ear inaccurate, and the whole body drooping and spiritless. It has its ramifications in every part of the system, and controls as inferiors the other organs. An ill-cooked dinner has lost many a battle, ruined many an individual, and disgraced many a genius; it is said that an indigestible _ragout_ cost Napoleon his crown.

Life is dear to all, and yet persons are continually committing a disagreeable and prolonged suicide, accompanied with painful indigestions and untold sufferings, by attempting to despise the rules that the imperative stomach has laid down. Under certain well-known chemical laws, food is rendered both digestible and palatable by special modes of preparation, and indigestible and unpalatable by other modes. The same piece of meat that, fried, will resemble shoe-leather, and afford neither pleasure nor sustenance, if nicely broiled would prove agreeable to the palate and wholesome to the body.

Our country is overflowing with abundance of the raw material from which good dinners are made; but we are absolutely without cooks, and the average American life is shortened one-tenth by the miserable ignorance of the rules of cookery that pervades all classes. The farmer bolts his heavy griddle cakes and tasteless fried meats; while the wealthy citizen devours rich gravies and ill-prepared compounds. The former loses his teeth, the latter incurs the thousand horrors of dyspepsia, and both shorten their lives.

But to rise above the unimportant consideration of mere life, which is held in our land at its true value, and regarding cookery from a loftier point of view, is there not something noble in the art that moulds together the various subjects of taste, and builds up an exquisite, soul-thrilling composition? Is not that man worthy of our deepest admiration, who, not only from the wealth of materials prepares the perfection of luxury, but when reduced to the simplest articles, still manages to gratify the most delicate and exacting of our organs? Who has not felt his heart expand as he surveyed a royal feast; his affections become purified, his feelings elevated, as dish followed dish, and each proved itself worthy of the other; and at last has not taken a gentler view of human kind when contentment filled his soul? A good dinner encourages generosity, begets sympathy, increases geniality, while it strengthens the intellect and the nerves; a bad dinner produces ill-nature, leads to discontent and quarrelling, dulls the mind, and injures the body. The former aids Christianity and promotes virtue; the latter is the bold accomplice of vice and crime; evil humors cannot exist in the body without spreading to the mind, and vices in the former create vices in the latter. Controlled by that complacency which is the stomach’s return for kind treatment, the evil passions sleep, and fading gradually, lose half their strength; whereas, if aggravated by perpetual dissatisfaction and uneasiness, they become daily more violent, till they disdain command and burst forth in unrestrained fury. So that the soul, even, may be endangered by bad cookery. The civilization and power of nations advance in proportion to their improvement in their cuisine, and the reformation is said to be due to the strong Teutonic impatience of fast days. A coarse taste in eating is as sure an indication of coarseness in mind and habits, as delicacy of taste is of delicacy and refinement in other particulars. As the more vulgar desires are controlled by the higher impulses of the mind, and clean hands are often the index of a clean heart, so purity of appetite usually accompanies purity of soul. Nothing condemns the vulgar man more quickly than the nature of his appetite, and his mode of gratifying it; driven on like the beasts by hunger, he thinks only of the readiest and quickest mode of satisfying the unpleasant craving, and never dreams there can be anything intellectual in a dinner. The Americans, as a nation, are ignorant of the first principles of dining; in private, they ruin their digestions; in public, they disgust their fellows. With that practical turn for which they are famous as a body, they devote themselves to what is profitable; and the arts of sculpture, painting, and gastronomy are just beginning to be appreciated.

Those huge dishes that delight hungry, vulgar John Bull, such as roast beef, boiled mutton, and the like, still meet with the approbation of the active American; and while our women, with their natural elegance, draw their fashions from France, our matter-of-fact men imitate the rude cookery of England. It is a melancholy truth that there is no place in America where a dinner can be obtained; feeding-places, miscalled restaurants after those priceless legacies of the French revolution, are innumerable; but even the famous Delmonico fails to appreciate that wonderful production, the pride of our land--none of the miserable little coppery European abominations, but the great American oyster--does not understand it, and never rises to a proper comprehension of its capabilities, and consequently never serves a perfect dinner.

So must it be while ignorant Irish cooks--whose only claim to the title consists in having spoiled thousands of potatoes, in having rarely seen, and never cooked, a piece of meat, and only dreamed of coffee--possess our kitchens and rule the roast; and as it is impossible for the master of the house, and would be unladylike in the mistress, to superintend the dinner, the only spot for truly scientific cookery is in the woods. There, under the blue vault of heaven, where the shade of some friendly tree tempers the combined heat of sun and fire, accompanied only by the interested and appreciative guides, with the hot wood fire rapidly forming its pile of glowing coals, can the contemplative man, tempted by appetite and opportunity, devote himself to the higher branches of epicurism. Not that the materials are plentiful, rich, or costly, but working up from the very plainness of his fare a more gratifying compound. With that bed of coals suggesting broiling, and that dancing, smokeless blaze inviting roasting, no intelligent being would think of frying meat.

Under such circumstances, the larder being necessarily limited, and repetition threatening to breed disgust, ingenuity is sharpened and exercised to produce variety; an accurate knowledge of the power of different sauces is obtained, and new modes of dressing simple articles invented. It is to lead the mind of the reader in this direction, and not with the hope of instructing Irish cooks, or educating American taste, that this short article on cookery is written; and if the life in the woods, or on the water, of our sportsmen shall be in a degree improved by the effort, the main object will be attained.

The materials generally at the disposal of the hunter or fisherman on the coast and in the woods consist of fish, oysters, clams, ducks, game birds, and venison; while he will carry of necessity pork, ship-biscuit, salt, and pepper, and, if possible, eggs, flour, sauces, Indian-meal, and as many of the minor aids of a good _cuisine_ as his means of transportation will admit.

No attempt will be made to confuse the reader with complicated directions for the construction of highly seasoned and strangely named French dishes, but the simplest and readiest mode of cooking each article will be given, with instructions in varying the effect. If the enthusiasm inherent in the subject shall occasionally carry the writer away and lead him to indulge in what the reader--living on hard tack and salt pork--may regard as vain imaginings, the weakness of man in the contemplation of so vast a subject must be the excuse; and the disciple need undertake nothing for which he has not the materials.

One of the great deficiencies, although partially supplied by the solidified article, is milk, which cannot be kept in its natural state, and is badly represented by its substitute. Generally, however, water will answer in its stead, and for gravies or thickening for stews, a little flour mixed with a lump of butter, and dissolved in a cupful of tepid water, is an excellent equivalent.

OYSTER STEW.

The American oyster, to the thoughtful mind, presents itself almost as an object of veneration, and would among barbarous nations have altars raised to its honor; to the practical mind it is a mine of luxury, a very Golconda of epicurean wealth; raw broiled, baked, roasted, fried, stewed, or scolloped, it is the tit-bit of perfection, and in every mode may be varied extensively; it takes all flavors, and is delicious without any; it is improved by all sauces, and needs none. It accords with every other dish, or makes a dinner alone. The subject has never been half explored, much less exhausted.

A stew may be made with crackers or flour, with celery, cheese, or milk, and with or without sauces; but in every instance the juice must be separated from the oysters and well cooked before the latter are added, or they will be over-done, shrivelled, and ruined. The simplest mode is to put some pepper, salt, and butter in the juice, boil it five minutes, add the oysters, and cook for one minute longer.

Or you may add to the juice crackers pounded fine and rolled in butter, and some celery chopped fine, or a little cheese and Worcestershire or Harvey sauce; or you may put a table-spoonful of flour and as much butter in a cup, and having rubbed them together and added a little of the warm juice, may mix this slowly with the rest. This must all be done before the oysters are added; and where flour is used, care must be taken to mix it first with a small quantity of fluid, or it will lump. A dry stew, which is preferred by many, is made by cooking the oysters, from which the liquor has been carefully strained, in butter, salt, pepper, and sauce.

FRIED OYSTERS.

Dry each oyster separately on a towel; dip them in the yolk of eggs beaten up, and then in pounded crackers that have been seasoned with salt and pepper; heat butter or pork drippings in the frying-pan, and cook the oysters over a slow fire, turning them frequently. Do not use too much butter or drippings, but add fresh as required, so as to leave the oysters dry when done. A clean tin pan is the best, and red pepper preferable to black. Lard is detestable for frying anything, and salad oil is perfection. If black pepper is ever used, it should be purchased whole and ground by hand, as the fine pepper is generally adulterated and flavorless.

ROASTED OYSTERS.

To roast an oyster, it is simply put on the fire till it opens, when the shell is forced off, and it is eaten from a hot, concave shell, in which butter has been melted with vinegar, salt, and pepper; or it may be taken out when half done, and cooked in a pan with its own liquor, salt, pepper, and a little butter.

BROILED OYSTERS.

Are prepared as for frying, then dipped in melted butter, placed in a double gridiron, and cooked over live coals.

SCOLLOPED OYSTERS.

Are placed in a deep dish with butter and bread-crumbs, or pounded crackers well seasoned and baked.

CLAM-BAKE.

The only proper mode of baking clams was discovered by the aborigines, and was invariably practised by them on their yearly visitations to the sea; the clams are placed on a flat rock side by side, with their sharp edges down and the valves up, and when so arranged in sufficient numbers, are kept in their places by a surrounding circle of stones. A large fire is built over them and allowed to burn for about twenty minutes, when it is cleared away and the clams are extracted from the ashes, overflowing with juiciness and steaming with aroma. Burnt fingers and lips add to the pleasures of an Indian clam-bake. The best sauce is pepper-vinegar.

CLAM OR FISH-CHOWDER.

Pork, potatoes, butter, crackers, sauce, salt, pepper, vegetables, and meat, if any can be had, clams or fish, or both, are covered with water, placed in a close vessel, and stewed slowly till patience is exhausted, appetite insists upon indulgence, or the mess threatens to burn. The large articles are cut in pieces of an inch square or thereabouts, and may be highly seasoned.

STEWED CLAMS, OR CLAM SOUP.

Hard clams are not fit to eat, stew them as you will. Soft clams, after the tough parts are removed, are excellent stewed with a little butter, or butter rolled in flour, as directed for oysters; but being richer than oysters, they do not need so many additions. The soup is made by thinning the juice before it boils with milk, which will curdle if thrown into the boiling liquid. Hard clams make a good soup if they are cut fine and not eaten.

FRIED OR BROILED CLAMS.

Soft clams may be prepared as directed for oysters, the tough parts being first removed.

SCRAMBLED EGGS.

Eggs are broken one by one in a cup to make sure they are fresh, and then thrown into a pan with a lump of butter, some salt and pepper, and stirred carefully, so as not to break the yolks immediately, over a slow fire till the whole is almost hard. They had better be too soft than too firm.

POACHED EGGS.

Are broken into a cup and poured one by one carefully into hot water, and when done are ladled out on a flat, broad stick or spoon, so as to let the water drain off.

FRIED EGGS.

Fried eggs are broken one at a time into a cup, and poured into hot grease.

OMELETTE.

Eggs are broken into milk, thickened with a moderate quantity of flour, salt, and pepper, which is beaten up and fried with butter; parsley, ham, or bacon may be added, cut fine.

SMOKED BEEF.

May be fried in grease with a little pepper, or may be stewed in milk. A little flour rubbed with butter in a cup, and mixed with some of the warm gravy, may be added.

BOILED FISH.

There are two modes of boiling fish; one recommended by Sir Humphrey Davy, and the other by the great Soyer. By the former, the fish cut into pieces is thrown into boiling salt and water, one piece at a time, and the largest first; by the latter it is placed in cold water, heated slowly, and allowed to simmer by the fire. The former, in his _Salmonia_, page 120, quotes chemistry to show that by the excessive heat the curd is coagulated at once and preserved; the latter refers to his unequalled reputation. I have generally pursued the former course as the more rapid; the water must be allowed to recover its heat after each piece is thrown in, so that it may be always intensely hot; about fifteen minutes of hard boiling will be required, but the only reliable plan is to examine and try the fish with a fork from time to time, as it is ruined if cooked too long, and uneatable if not cooked enough.

In Soyer’s receipt the fish is placed in cold water that contains a pound of salt to every six quarts, which is then heated to the boiling point and allowed to simmer for half an hour if the fish weighs four pounds, for three-quarters if it weighs eight pounds, and so on.

Of course, a fish must be scaled ere it is cooked, and should be cleaned, although if it is cooked whole and the party is hurried, the latter process may be omitted without injury; the entrails, however, are not to be eaten.

A little of the liquor in which the fish has been boiled, with Harvey or Anchovy sauce, or Chili vinegar, makes an excellent dressing; but the best sauce is obtained by dissolving a spoonful of flour, that has been thoroughly mixed with a lump of butter, in a little warm water, and boiling the whole for a few minutes. This may be prepared in any tin pot, and, cooked with chopped parsley, is the making of boiled fish.

FRIED FISH.

The fish, which should be small, after being cleaned and scaled, are dipped in water and then in Indian-meal, and fried, well seasoned with pepper, in the pan with pork drippings or butter. If the latter is used, salt must be added. Trout are excellent prepared in this manner.

BROILED FISH.

Fish for broiling may be larger than for frying; they are scaled, split open down the back, and well seasoned. They are placed on the gridiron and approached for a few moments close to the fire, so as to sear the pores. They are then cooked more slowly and well basted with butter, unless a piece of thin pork is laid across them, the grease from which will answer the place of basting. A favorite way to cook a shad or blue-fish alongshore is to split him entirely in two, and tacking the halves, seasoned and buttered, to shingles, to roast them rapidly; each man eats from his own hot shingle.

BAKED FISH.

Small fish or pieces of fish, cleaned, scaled, and seasoned, may be rolled in oiled paper and baked in the ashes; or a whole fish unsealed, but cleaned and wiped dry, may be rolled in damp leaves and buried deep in hot ashes. When it is done, the skin and scales will come off together.

STEWED FISH.

Cold fish may be cut up into small pieces, seasoned and stewed in water, with a little salt pork. If milk is substituted for water, the dish will be more palatable.

LOBSTERS.

Must be boiled when alive till they turn red. For a dressing the yolk of a raw egg is beaten up, with a tea-cupful of salad oil poured in very slowly till it is firm; a tea-spoonful of mustard, a little salt, pepper, and vinegar are added and beaten together, after which more oil may be added, if necessary. The meat is picked from the shell, cut up fine, and mixed with a few spoonfuls of vinegar; the dressing is then poured over it.

Or the dressing may be omitted, and the meat cut into pieces may be warmed up in milk and butter, with pepper and salt, and served hot.

POTATOES.

Are usually boiled by being thrown, after they have been washed, into an iron pot filled with cold water and a little salt, placed on the fire till the water boils, and allowed to cook till they are done, which is ascertained by puncturing them with a fork. The water is then poured off, and they are allowed to steam near the fire for a few minutes.

When cold they may be cut up and fried in grease, or mashed and stewed in milk, or mixed with small pieces of salt pork or meat, and made into a species of hash; in either case they must be well seasoned, and are improved by the addition of onions.

The best way to fry them is to slit thin pieces from the raw potatoes, and letting them drop into cold water, leave them for a few minutes. When taken out and fried in butter, they will be crisp and fresh.

Potatoes are tender and mealy if simply baked in hot ashes, which can be done by burying them under the fire until they become soft.

BOILED MEATS.

Meats are placed in cold water with a little salt, and boiled slowly, the scum that rises being removed from time to time.

FRIED PORK OR BACON.

Pork is cut into thin slices and freshened by being heated in the frying-pan with a little water. It is fried without any addition whatever, and the grease fried out of it is saved for cooking other articles. It can be breaded by being dipped first in cold water, and then in crumbs or Indian-meal, and fried crisp.

The same directions apply to bacon, and both should be cut exceedingly thin.

STEWED, BAKED, AND BROILED MEATS.

Meat may be stewed, baked, and broiled, much as has been heretofore directed for fish. In stewing, the great point is to proceed slowly, and in broiling to close the pores by burning the outside slightly on the start; and the next point is to season sufficiently, as both pepper and salt lose their strength in the presence of heat.

SOUPS.

Are made by boiling a fish or a piece of meat very slowly; if salt meat is used, it must have been boiled previously in a different water; remove the scum till no more rises, add any vegetables, and boil till done. Use a quart of water to every pound of meat, and keep the pot well covered. Rapid boiling throws off the volatile portions of the meat in steam.

ROAST DUCK.

Dip a duck or other large bird, neither cleaned nor picked, in water so as to wet the feathers, and throw him on the fire or into the hot coals. When the feathers are pretty well singed, he is done, and the skin, feathers, and dirt may be peeled off together. A duck needs little more than a thorough heating. Small birds may be rolled in oiled paper and roasted in the ashes, or a bird picked and cleaned may be suspended by a string near the fire, and made to revolve by twisting it up occasionally.

BEANS.

Should be soaked over night, and then well boiled.

RICE.

A cupful of rice is thrown with a pinch of salt into enough boiling water to cover it well, and boiled for fifteen minutes. It must be soft, but the grains should be separate. The water is poured off, and it is dished up hot.

GRAVY.

White gravy is made as already directed for fish. For brown gravy, a little flour is heated in a frying-pan, and stirred till it is brown. It can be kept in a bottle, and is added in small quantities to thicken the juice of meat or soups.

TOUGH MEAT.

Scalding vinegar may be poured over tough meat, which is left to stand over night; next day the meat is to be cut into small pieces and stewed with seasoning, and a few slices of potatoe and carrot.

VEGETABLES.

Must be placed in boiling water with a pinch of salt, and are done when they sink; they must be taken up immediately.

WATER SOUCHY.

Is made by stewing fish cut into small pieces with chopped parsley and onions, and some pepper and salt. It may be poured over toast and thickened with flour and butter.

POTTED FISH.

Small fish, cleaned and seasoned, and placed with a little mace in a pot lined with paper, are covered with melted butter, pressed down, and baked four hours with a weight on them.

BOILED SALMON.

Bleed the fish the moment it is taken by cutting its gills, and across its sides, in a slanting direction at every two inches. Hold it by the tail for a few minutes in the stream, moving it so as to encourage the flow of blood. Put the pot, filled with cold spring water, on a brave fire, so that it may heat while you are cleaning and scaling the fish. Divide into slices through the backbone, where the slashes have already been made. When the water boils, add a large bowlful of salt, and when it has recovered its heat and is screeching hot, throw in the pieces of salmon, the largest first, allowing the water to recover its temperature after each. For fish under nine pounds, allow ten minutes, and one minute more for every additional pound. Serve with a little of the brine strengthened with anchovy sauce, or make a white gravy of flour and butter, as heretofore directed. Save the brine for future use.

TROUT ON FIRST PRINCIPLES.

Catch your trout, put a pinch of salt in his mouth, roll him up in a few folds of newspaper, dip the swaddled darling in the water, light a fire, and place him in the embers. When the paper chars, take him out and eat him at once, rejecting the entrails.

KIPPERED SALMON.

Divide the fish down the back and remove the bone; rub him with equal quantities of sugar and salt, and a little pepper; dry him in the sun or smoke. Cut into thin streaks, and broiled, he will be found good and appetizing.

DANIEL WEBSTER’S CHOWDER.

Four table-spoonfuls of onions fried with pork.

One quart of boiled potatoes well mashed.

One and one-half pounds of ship-biscuit broken.

One tea-spoonful of thyme.

One tea-spoonful of summer savory.

One half bottle of mushroom catsup.

One bottle of port or claret.

One-half nutmeg grated.

A few cloves, mace, allspice, and slices of lemon, and some black pepper.

Six pounds of sea-bass or cod, cut in slices.

Twenty-five oysters.

The whole to be put in a pot, covered with an inch of water, cooked slowly and stirred gently.

LIVER.

Pieces of deer-liver may be impaled on a red cedar skewer, with a slice of pork on top, and set up round a fire, near enough to cook slowly; the pork will melt and baste the rest.

GRIDDLE CAKES.

Are made by thickening flour with milk or water, and adding an egg or two, together with a pinch of salt. They are poured in ladlefuls on a hot griddle or frying-pan that has been well greased. Rice that has been boiled and left over, or corn-meal that has been scalded, may be mixed with the other articles, and makes rice or Indian cakes.

CORN BREAD.

Two cups of Indian meal and one cup of wheat flour are mixed with two tea-spoonfuls of cream of tartar, to which is added one pint of sour milk or of sweet milk in which one tea-spoonful of soda has been dissolved, beaten up with two eggs. The whole is to be baked one hour. Cream of tartar is always to be mixed with the flour, and soda with the milk, so that when these are subsequently brought in contact, gas is evolved and the bread is rendered light.

SCOTT’S CHOWDER.

The following recipe was furnished by Mr. Genio C. Scott to the New York _Spirit of the Times_, and is doubtless equal to the reputation of the author:--

“The old-fashioned iron pot is the best to make it in, but in lieu of it a copper-bottomed saucepan, as deep as it is wide, will answer. First take your fish--almost any kind will answer--but cod and sea-bass are the best; clean and scale your fish, and cut them into pieces two inches square; parboil a few onions; peel a few potatoes and quarter them; cut up some salt pork into the thinnest possible slices, and cover the bottom and sides of your pot with it to prevent your chowder from burning; place upon the pork a layer of fish, and season it with salt and a little black pepper. (Since I read ‘My Peninsular Medal,’ I have been very chary of black pepper, for that authority states that it inflames the stomach without stimulating it, while the cayenne pepper stimulates without inflaming; but a dash of black pepper is useful for its fragrance.) Next, a layer of the parboiled onions quartered; next, a layer of potatoes, and season the layers; next, a layer of ripe tomatoes sliced and seasoned (tomato requires more salt than other vegetables); next, a layer of cracked sea-biscuit; next, a layer of fish; then sprinkle this layer with infinitesimal pieces of salt pork, but sparingly; then your layers of onions, potatoes, tomatoes, and sea-biscuit, with proper seasonings of each layer; pour water enough to cover the contents of the pot, but no more; cover the pot and place it on a slow fire where it will simmer or boil slowly for an hour and a half; a half hour before dishing the chowder, pour upon it a bottle of Burgundy or claret.

“In seasoning the different layers of the chowder, tomato catsup will answer where ripe tomatoes cannot be had. Sauces are also introduced sometimes, and in case the party has been used to highly-seasoned food, either Soyer, Harvey, or Worcestershire sauces may be used sparingly. Many prefer to season with a greater variety of spices and condiments. I often season with allspice; but camp chowder should be simple, and composed of edibles easily obtainable. Clam chowder is made in the same manner.”

FISH-HOUSE PUNCH.

One-quarter of a pint of lemon juice, one-quarter of a pound of white sugar, and two pints and a half of water. One-quarter of a pint of peach brandy; the same of Jamaica rum, and a half pint of cognac; the three latter ingredients mixed separately.

PINEAPPLE PUNCH.

One slice of pineapple which has stood a day covered with sugar, two bottles of port, one bottle of champagne, and plenty of ice.

PORTO RICO PUNCH.

Black tea and Porto Rico rum, mixed half and half, and sufficient sugar, lemon-peel, and ice.

NONDESCRIPT PUNCH.

One bottle of claret, three-fourths of a tumbler of brandy, a claret glass of Jamaica rum, one bottle of champagne, ice and sugar.

ARRACK PUNCH.

Eight tumblers of Jamaica rum, one and a half of arrack, and one of lemon juice, which together with the rind of three lemons, is to be allowed to stand for ten minutes, when sugar is to be added, and water to twice the amount of the liquor.

CHAMPAGNE PUNCH.

One bottle of brandy, one of Jamaica rum, and one of arrack; three and a half pounds of sugar, but no water, four lemons and twelve oranges cut in slices, a large lump of ice. Add champagne to suit the taste immediately before drinking.

REGAL PUNCH.

Peel twenty-four lemons; steep the rinds for twelve hours in two quarts of Jamaica rum. Squeeze the lemons on three and a half pounds of loaf sugar; add two quarts of dark brandy and six quarts of water. Mix all together; add two quarts of boiled milk, stir until the mixture curdles, strain it through a jelly-bag until clear; bottle and cork.

This I have not tried, but give it on good authority.

FRANK FORESTER’S PUNCH.

The rind of a dozen lemons, two tumblerfuls of finely powdered sugar, three pints of pale cognac, two quarts of cold, strong, green tea, strained clear, two flasks of Curaçao, abundance of ice, and a half dozen of champagne. This is an admirable liquor, even without the champagne.

VENISON STEW.

Make a sauce by melting a lump of butter with two mustard-spoonfuls of mustard, two table-spoonfuls of mushroom catsup, and one of sauce, mango sauce being the best; add the juice of half a lemon, one wine glass of sherry, and one of claret. Heat the mixture as hot as possible, and rub in two table-spoonfuls of currant jelly till the whole is perfectly smooth; then take the venison cut in steaks, and previously either roasted or broiled, and warm it thoroughly in the sauce to which the juice of the meat, if any, has been added. Cold meat is redeemed by this process.

* * * * *

And now my friends, if you are ever fortunate enough to have the Superior Fishing I have described, or if the author’s good-will may avail even better, and, after the delight and triumph of success, the well-earned prize is brought up properly upon the table, either in the rough woods or the elegant dining-room, and is flanked by such appropriate dishes as circumstances permit, and laid to rest in the best liquor that can be obtained; then your mind, filled with present complacency, must travel back over these pages, and forgetting the faults and pardoning the errors, acknowledge that if in them you have not found an instructor, you have found a brother sportsman; and, for the sake of the bond that binds all members of the gentle craft together, if you cannot conscientiously praise the manner or the matter of these pages, you will utter no word to discourage an effort that, while pointing out and dwelling upon the beauties of nature in our wonderful country, and the pure attractions it offers to the lovers of our art, has principally been to maintain the healthy and ennobling nature of field-sports; to urge the protection, at proper seasons, of the game that still lingers in our woods and waters; and to elevate to a proud standard of honorable, generous, and merciful rivalry the sportsmanship of America.

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Miscellaneous Works.

JOHN GUILDERSTRING’S SIN.--A novel. 12mo. cloth, $1.50 CENTEOLA.--By author “Green Mountain Boys.” do. $1.50 RED TAPE AND PIGEON-HOLE GENERALS.-- do. $1.50 THE PARTISAN LEADER.--By Beverly Tucker. do. $1.50 ADAM GUROWSKI.--Washington diary for 1863. do. $1.50 TREATISE ON DEAFNESS.--By Dr. E. B. Lighthill. do. $1.50 THE PRISONER OF STATE.--By D. A. Mahoney. do. $1.50 AROUND THE PYRAMIDS.--By Gen. Aaron Ward. do. $1.50 CHINA AND THE CHINESE.--By W. L. G. Smith. do. $1.50 THE WINTHROPS.--A novel by J. R. Beckwith. do. $1.75 SPREES AND SPLASHES.--By Henry Morford. do. $1.50 GARRET VAN HORN.--A novel by J. S. Sauzade. do. $1.50 SCHOOL FOR THE SOLDIER.--By Capt. Van Ness. do. 50 cts. THE YACHTMAN’S PRIMER.--By T. R. Warren. do. 50 cts. EDGAR POE AND HIS CRITICS.--By Mrs. Whitman. do. $1.00 ERIC; OR, LITTLE BY LITTLE.--By F. W. Farrar. do. $1.50 SAINT WINIFRED’S.--By the author of “Eric.” do. $1.50 A WOMAN’S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN.-- do. $1.50 THE SEA.--By Michelet, author of “Love.” do. $1.50 MARRIED OFF.--Illustrated satirical poem. do. 50 cts. SCHOOL-DAYS OF EMINENT MEN.--By Timbs. do. $1.50 ROMANCE OF A POOR YOUNG MAN.-- do. $1.50 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.--J. G. Saxe, illustrated. do. 75 cts. ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT.--Life and travels. do. $1.50 LIFE OF HUGH MILLER.--The celebrated geologist. do. $1.50 LYRICS OF A DAY.--or, newspaper poetry. do. $1.00 THE U.S. TAX LAW.--“Government Edition.” do. $1.00 TACTICS; or, Cupid in Shoulder-Straps. do. $1.50 DEBT AND GRACE.--By Rev. C. F. Hudson. do. $1.75 THE RUSSIAN BALL.--Illustrated satirical poem. do. 50 cts. THE SNOBLACE BALL.-- do. do. do. do. 50 cts. THE CHURCH IN THE ARMY.--By Dr. Scott. do. $1.75 TEACH US TO PRAY.--By Dr. Cumming. do. $1.50 AN ANSWER TO HUGH MILLER.--By T. A. Davies. do. $1.50 COSMOGONY.--By Thomas A. Davies. 8vo. cloth, $2.00 TWENTY YEARS around the World. J. Guy Vassar. do. $3.75 THE SLAVE POWER.--By J. E. Cairnes. do. $2.00 RURAL ARCHITECTURE.--By M. Field, illustrated. do. $2.00

End of Project Gutenberg's Superior Fishing, by Robert Barnwell Roosevelt