thumb of your left hand, take your silk with the right, and twisting it betwixt the finger and thumb of that hand, the dubbing will spin itself about the silk, which when it has done, whip it about the armed hook backward, till you come to the setting on of the wings. And then take the feather for the wings, and divide it equally into two parts, then turn them back towards the bend of the hook, the one on the one side, and the other on the other of the shank; holding them fast in that posture betwixt the fore finger and thumb of your left hand; which done, warp them so down as to stand and slope towards the bend of the hook; and having warped up to the end of the shank, hold the fly fast betwixt the finger and thumb of your left hand, and then take the silk betwixt the finger and thumb of your right hand; and, where the warping ends, pinch or nip it with your thumb nail, against your finger, and strip away the remainder of your dubbing from the silk; and then with the bare silk, whip it once or twice about; make the wings to stand in due order; fasten, and cut it off. After which, with the point of a needle, raise up the dubbing gently from the warp; twitch off the superfluous hairs of your dubbing; leave the wings of an equal length-your fly will never else swim true-and the work is done. And this way of making a fly, which is certainly the best of all other, was taught me by a kinsman of mine, one Captain Henry Jackson, a near neighbour, an admirable flyangler, by many degrees the best fly-maker that ever I yet met with.* And now that I have told you how a fly is to be made, you shall presently see me make one, with which you may peradventure take a Trout this morning, notwithstanding the unlikeliness of the day; for it is now nine of the clock, and fish will begin to rise, if they will rise to-day. I will walk along by you, and look on. And, after dinner, I will proceed in my

lecture of fly-fishing.

Viator. I confess I long to be at the river; and yet I could sit here all day to hear you: but some of the one, and some of the other, will do well; and I have a mighty ambition to take a Trout in your river Dove.

Piscator. I warrant you shall: I would not, for more than I will speak of, but you should, seeing I have so extolled my river to you: nay, I will keep you here a month, but you shall have one day of good sport before you go.

Viator. You will find me, I doubt, too tractable that way; for, in good earnest, if business would give me leave, and that if it were fit, I could find in my heart to stay with you for ever.

There needs nothing more to be said of these directions, than that hundreds have, by means of them alone, become excellent fly makers. For making a palmer, or hackle, see the notes on chap. vii.

Piscator. I thank you, sir, for that kind expression. And, now, let me look out my things to make this fly.

CHAPTER VI.

FISHING AT THE TOP CONTINUED. FARTHER DIRECTIONS FOR TIME WHEN THE GRAYLING IS IN SEASON.

FLY MAKING.

ROCK IN PIKE POOL.

Piscator, junior. Boy! come, give me my dubbing bag here presently; and now, sir, since I find you so honest a man, I will make no scruple to lay open my treasure before you.

Viator. Did ever any one see the like! what a heap of trumpery is here! certainly never an angler in Europe has his shop half so well furnished as you have.

Piscator. You, perhaps, may think now, that I rake together this trumpery, as you call it, for show only, to the end that such as see it (which are not many, I assure you,) may think me a great master in the art of angling: but let me tell you, here are colours, as contemptible as they seem here, that are very hard to be got, and scarce any one of them which, if it should be lost, I should not miss, and be concerned about the loss of it too, once in the year. But, look you, sir, amongst all these I will choose out these two colours only; of which, this is bear's hair; this darker, no great matter what, but I am sure I have killed a great deal of fish with it; and with one or both of these, you shall take Trout or Grayling this very day, notwithstanding all disadvantages, or my art shall fail me.

Viator. You promise comfortably, and I have a great deal of reason to believe every thing you say: but I wish the fly were made, that we were at it.

Piscator. That will not be long in doing: and pray observe then. You see, first, how I hold my hook; and thus I begin. Look you, here are my first two or three whips about the bare hook; thus I join hook and line; thus I put on my wings; thus I twirl and lap on my dubbing; thus I work it up towards the head; thus I part my wings; thus I nip my superfluous dubbing from my silk; thus fasten; thus trim and adjust my fly. And there's a fly made: and now, how do you like it?

Viator. In earnest, admirably well; and it perfectly resembles a fly; but we about London make the bodies of our flies both

If so, it is more than ever I saw any artificial angler's fly do, which, to use Shakespeare's term, imitate Nature abominably; but though noways like natural flies, (and this is not, it would appear, of the slightest importance,) they certainly catch fish as if they were.-J. R.

much bigger and longer, so long as even almost to the very beard of the hook.

66

Piscator. I know it very well, and had one of those flies given me by an honest gentleman, who came with my father Walton to give me a visit; which (to tell you the truth) I hung in my parlour window to laugh at: but, sir, you know the proverb, They who go to Rome must do as they at Rome do;" and, believe me, you must here make your flies after this fashion, or you will take no fish. Come, I will look you out a line, and you shall put it on and try it. There, sir, now I think you are fitted; and now beyond the farther end of the walk you shall begin: I see, at that bend of the water above, the air crisps the water a little knit your line first here, and then go up thither, and see what you can do.

Viator. Did you see that, sir?

Piscator. Yes, I saw the fish: and he saw you too, which made him turn short. You must fish farther off, if you intend to have any sport here; this is no New River, let me tell you. That was a good Trout, believe me: did you touch him?

Viator. No, I would I had, we would not have parted so. Look you, there was another: this is an excellent fly.

Piscator. That fly, I am sure, would kill fish, if the day were right but they only chew at it, I see, and will not take it.* Come, sir, let us return back to the fishing-house: this still water, I see, will not do our business to-day you shall now, if you please, make a fly yourself,† and try what you can do in the streams with that; and I know a Trout taken with a fly of your own making, will please you better than twenty with one of mine. Give me that bag again, sirrah: look you sir, there is a hook, towght, silk, and a feather for the wings: be doing with those, and I will look you out a dubbing that I think will do.

Viator. This is a very little hook.

Piscator. That may serve to inform you, that it is for a very little fly, and you must make your wings accordingly; for as

* When a fish is thus observed to play, as it were, with the fly, I think he is probably doubtful of its smell; and I have often succeeded in making them bite in such cases, by putting a cadis bait or other insect on the fly hook. J. R.

To make a fly is so essential, that he hardly deserves the name of an angler who cannot do it. There are many who will go to a tackle shop, and tell the master of it, as Dapper does Subtle in the Alchymist, that they want a fly; for which they have a thing put into their hands that would pose a naturalist to find resemblance for; though, when particular directions have been given, I have known them excellently made by the persons employed by the fishing-tackle makers in London. But do thou, my honest friend, learn to make thy own flies; and be assured, that in collecting and arranging the materials, and imitating the various shapes and colours of these admirable creatures, there is little less pleasure than even in catching fish.

the case stands, it must be a little fly, and a very little one too, that must do your business. Well said! believe me, you shift your fingers very handsomely. I doubt I have taken upon me to teach my master. So, here's your dubbing now.

Viator. This dubbing is very black.

Piscator. It appears so in hand; but step to the door, and hold it up betwixt your eye and the sun, and it will appear a shining red: let me tell you, never a man in England can discern the true colour of a dubbing any way but that; and, therefore, choose always to make your flies on such a bright sunshine day as this, which also you may the better do, because it is worth nothing to fish in. Here, put it on; and be sure to make the body of your fly as slender as you can. Very good! upon my word, you have made a marvellous handsome fly.

Viator. I am very glad to hear it; 'tis the first that ever I made of this kind in my life.

Piscator. Away, away! You are a doctor at it: but I will not commend you too much, lest I make you proud. Come, put it on; and you shall now go downward to some streams betwixt the rocks, below the little foot bridge you see there, and try your fortune. Take heed of slipping into the water as you follow me under this rock. So, now you are over : and now throw in.

Viator. This is a fine stream indeed. him.

There's one! I have

Piscator. And a precious catch you have of him; pull him out! I see you have a tender hand. This is a diminutive gentleman; e'en throw him in again, and let him grow till he be more worthy your anger.

Viator. Pardon me, sir; all's fish that comes to the hook with me now. Another.

Piscator. And of the same standing.

Viator. I see I shall have good sport now. a Grayling. Why, you have fish here at will.

Another! and

Piscator. Come, come, cross the bridge, and go down the other side, lower, where you will find finer streams and better sport, I hope, than this. Look you, sir, here is a fine stream now. You have length enough; stand a little farther off, let me entreat you; and do but fish this stream like an artist, and peradventure a good fish may fall to your share. How now! what! is all gone?

Viator. No, I but touch'd him; but that was a fish worth taking.

Piscator. Why, now, let me tell you, you lost that fish by your own fault, and through your own eagerness and haste; for you are never to offer to strike a good fish, if he does not strike himself, till first you see him turn his head after he has taken

your fly, and then you can never strain your tackle in the striking, if you strike with any manner of moderation. Come, throw in once again, and fish me this stream by inches; for, I assure you, here are very good fish-both Trout and Grayling lie here; and at that great stone on the other side, 'tis ten to one, a good Trout gives you the meeting.

Viator. I have him now; but he is gone down towards the bottom. I cannot see what he is, yet he should be a good fish by his weight: but he makes no great stir.

Piscator. Why, then, by what you say, I dare venture to assure you 'tis a Grayling, who is one of the deadest-hearted fishes in the world; and the bigger he is, the more easily taken. Look you, now you see him plain; I told you what he was. Bring hither that landing-net, boy. And now, sir, he is your own; and, believe me, a good one- -sixteen inches long I warrant him I have taken none such this year.

Viator. I never saw a Grayling before look so black.

Piscator. Did you not? why, then let me tell you, that you never saw one before in right season: for then a Grayling is very black about his head, gills, and down his back, and has his belly of a dark gray, dappled with black spots, as you see this is; and I am apt to conclude, that from thence he derives his name of Umber.* Though I must tell you, this fish is past his prime, and begins to decline, and was in better season at Christmas than he is now. But move on, for it grows towards dinner time; and there is a very great and fine stream below, under that rock, that fills the deepest pool in all the river, where you are almost sure of a good fish.

Viator. Let him come, I'll try a fall with him. But I had thought that the Grayling had been always in season with the Trout, and had come in and gone out with him.

Piscator. Oh, no! assure yourself a Grayling is a winter fish, but such a one as would deceive any but such as know him very well indeed; for his flesh, even in his worst season, is so firm, and will so easily calver, that, in plain truth, he is very good meat at all times: but in his perfect season, (which, by the way, none but an overgrown Grayling will ever be,) I think him so good a fish, as to be little inferior to the best Trout that ever I tasted in my life.

Viator. Here's another skipjack; and I have raised five or six more at least whilst you were speaking. Well, go thy way, little Dove! thou art the finest river that ever I saw, and the fullest of fish. Indeed, sir, I like it so well, that I am afraid you will be troubled with me once a-year, so long as we two live.

Others say, that the name, Umber, signifying " Shadow," is given, because the fish swims so fast as to pass like a shadow.-J. R.