THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 HOT POT; 
 
 OR, 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS. 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCIS FBANCIS, 
 
 Author of " Sporting Sketches with Pen and Pencil," " A Book 
 on Angling," "By Lake and River," Sfc. 
 
 LONDON : 
 "THE FIELD" OFFICE, 346, STRAND, W.C. 
 
 1880.
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY HORACE COX, 346, STRAND, W.C.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 HOT POT. 
 
 MR. CODLIN drew his sleeve across his lips, and said in 
 a murmuring voice, " What is it ? " 
 
 " It's a stew of tripe," said the landlord, smacking 
 his lips, " and cowheel," smacking them again, " and 
 bacon," smacking them once more, "and steak," 
 smacking them for the fourth time, ' ' and peas, cauli- 
 flowers, new potatoes, and sparrow grass all a- working 
 up together in one delicious gravy." Old Curiosity 
 Shop. 
 
 That is pretty much what " Hot Pot " is, only there 
 is a little more of the solids and less of the gravy. It 
 is a combination of various meats and vegetables of 
 various viands in fact, and this book is a literary hot 
 pot. 
 
 The reader will notice, perhaps, one or two allusions 
 to matters which have possibly gone by. Several of the 
 papers were written years ago, and in preparing them 
 for this book it was not found that these passages 
 
 could be excised profitably. 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
 9087-11
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 A CHRISTMAS REVERIE 1 
 
 THE FIRST DAY OP THE SEASON 11 
 
 A STRANGE FISHING MATCH 21 
 
 THE POACHER 36 
 
 THE BANKER 54 
 
 REMINISCENCES OP AN ANGLER, OR JUSTICES' JUSTICE 63 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN THE FISHERMAN'S SNUGGERY 73 
 
 ST. MAYFLY 84 
 
 CATCHING TARTARS 93 
 
 UNDER THE BOUGHS, " Now AND THEN " 101 
 
 REMINISCENCES OP AN ANGLER: FARMER GUMSHUM 119 
 
 BANKERS AND TINKERS 129 
 
 THE PLEASURES OP GRAYLING FISHING 151 
 
 WILL WHISTLE 172 
 
 AN ANGLER'S CHRISTMAS YARN 186 
 
 REMINISCENCES OP AN ANGLER, " SQUARING THE 
 KEEPER".. . 204
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 Pagl 
 
 A WEEK ON THE BRATTLE 214 
 
 A STORM ON THE BRA WLE 236 
 
 WHITE TROUT AND SALMON FISHING IN GALWAY . 246 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF AN ANGLER : ANGLER'S MISERIES 257 
 
 SAM COVENTRY 269 
 
 PISCATORY PROSING, "DE OMNIBUS REBUS/' &c.... 285 
 
 CHEWTON PIKE . 301
 
 HOT POT; 
 
 OB, 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS REVEEIE. 
 
 Eheu fugaces, Posthume, Posthume, 
 Labuntur anni. HORACE. 
 
 CHRISTMAS once more ! How the years pass by, 
 dropping one by one into the unchangeable past ! 
 How the illusions of youth are one by one dispelled ! 
 How what we then thought easy and practicable 
 to realise becomes, as years roll onward, more and 
 more difficult and delusive ! Time was when I should 
 have thought that a Christmas- day was all too short 
 to become sated in upon turkey and sausage, mince pie 
 and dessert. But now well well the turkey has 
 been eaten, the plum pudding reduced to a shapeless 
 fragment, the nuts have been cracked, the oranges 
 peeled, the Christmas games played, and stories told ; 
 and in the distance I can hear the sound of music, 
 and of children laughing and dancing. The study 
 fire gleams brightly ; a special log has been saved for 
 me; the kettle sings on the hob. My easy chair 
 stands invitingly, and as I sink into it my favourite 
 
 B
 
 2 Hot Pot. 
 
 pipe is at my elbow. Glancing round my study, my 
 eye takes in all the familiar objects the big Thames 
 trout in his glass case, and who, thirty years ago, re- 
 warded heaven knows how much patience by swallow- 
 ing down a deftly spinning dace at Molesey Weir ; 
 the pike's head giving forth a portentous " do," 
 caught by my poor old friend Frank Matthews, the 
 actor. I had seven cases of fish around my room, all 
 set up by Cooper. Their mouths were opened at 
 various widths, and, as dear old Frank used to say, 
 they reminded him of a singing class going through 
 the scale do, re, mi, fa, &c. ; the pike being do, and 
 the trout fa, &c. There are my favourite old books, 
 my invaluable friends ; there are rods, baskets, boots, 
 nets, &c. My eye dwells kindly on them all as I fill 
 my pipe and mix my punch, and then, satisfied that 
 both are prepared to my taste, I fall back and calmly 
 meditate. 
 
 Christmas again, eh ! What a many years of fishing 
 I have done, and what a lot of waters I have fished ! 
 Let me look back on them. North, south, east, and 
 west, my first thought always is, wherever I go, " What 
 is the fishing like about here ? " For it must indeed 
 be a desert if I cannot find something to wave a rod 
 
 over. 
 
 I care not a jot, 
 I envy no lot, 
 So I have a rod and can fish ; 
 
 and I am not very particular either I can enjoy any 
 kind of fishing, from the gudgeon to the salmon; 
 nothing is barren. Indeed, from the minnow to the 
 whale, I might almost say, so that it is fishing, I can
 
 A Christmas Reverie. 3 
 
 manage to get along somehow. Of course there are 
 those who favour all sorts of sports, and I have a 
 fellow-feeling with them ; but after all there is nothing 
 like fishing. I remember once being very hard set 
 for it. I went to a place where there was said to be 
 none, but after I had been there a week or so I found 
 out a small pond, a very " wee" one indeed it was 
 not twenty yards across, and there was nothing in it 
 but a few very small eels, and some very small Prus- 
 sian carp. Never mind, they were fish, and I fished 
 for them. I expect there might have been some three 
 or four dozen in the pond, and I caught them all the 
 first day, and turned them back into the water again, 
 as they were of no use. The next day I caught only 
 about four or five, for they had become very shy ; and 
 after that not a nibble could I get, fish I never so 
 featly. 
 
 Piscator nascitur, non fit. I was born one, I be- 
 lieve ; one thing is certain, that, so far as I was con- 
 cerned, my pastors and masters didn't ispare the rod 
 and perhaps that may have made me familiar at least 
 with one sort. I always had a desperate love for 
 fishing, even before I had the opportunity of using a 
 rod in any fashion myself. My first edition of Izaak 
 Walton, how well do I remember it ! It was Moses 
 Browne's. How I recall to this hour that contempla- 
 tive gentleman, in a three-cornered cocked hat and 
 silk stockings, sitting in front of a cave with a ten foot 
 mountain at his back, on the top of which goats are 
 depicted, also contemplating. His rod which ac- 
 cording to the exigencies of perspective must needs 
 be about forty or fifty yards long at the very least 
 
 B 2
 
 4 Hot Pot. 
 
 lies at his feet, fishing, or rather contemplating the- 
 act, on its own account ; for a curious beast with a 
 club tail like a beaver, but supposed, I imagine, to be 
 an otter, is making off through the flags on the other 
 side of the river, which is not favourable to sport. 
 Truly a wonderful picture ! And how I devoured the 
 history of the catching of the big chub with the white 
 spot on his tail, and the conversation of Piscator and 
 Yenator. How I revelled in it ! It was what Bulwer 
 would term the threshold of the ' c unknown " to me 
 mysterious, dim, entrancing ! Ay, ay, that was many 
 a long year since, before my hand had learnt its 
 cunning, and when the fishes bewore not of me, or, as 
 Ovid used to say, 
 
 Nee sua credulitas piscem 
 Suspenderat bamo. 
 
 My first rod ah ! That was an event ! It was a 
 three-joint bamboo thing, without a reel, and my first 
 essay at fishing with it was off a place we used to call 
 " Crab Quay," just under Pendennis Castle, in Fal- 
 mouth harbour. Here, with a cork float ancl a rag 
 worm on the hook, I caught a noble wrasse (raft we 
 called them there) 'of nigh Gin. long. That was my 
 first fish, and was very nearly being my last, for I was 
 so proud of it that I insisted on having it cooked, and 
 in trying to eat it one of the bones stuck in my throat 
 and defied all sorts of efforts to dislodge it; I was 
 rapidly growing purple in the violent coughing it 
 caused, when my mother put her finger down my 
 throat as a desperate remedy, and either pushed it 
 down or pulled it up, I forget which.
 
 A Christmas Reverie. 5 
 
 After catching all sorts of sea fish, chiefly pollack, 
 wrasse, father lashers, blennies, smelts and congers, I 
 took to trout fishing in the little becks that run about 
 in all directions out on the moors north and westward 
 of Penrhyn. I soon learnt how to toss the little 
 speckled beauties out on the banks, and how to guide 
 my worm between the stones and under roots, and 
 how to tell a bite from a mere hitch up. And famous 
 bags we often made, too from four or five to seven or 
 eight dozen ; and I have taken over ten dozen in a 
 day. To be sure they were small ; it was a whopper 
 that ran four to the pound ; and I never did see but 
 one half pounder. But it was very pleasant wandering 
 away out on the moors, amidst huge eternal granite 
 rocks and boulders, with fringing heather and yellow 
 gorse, and no sound but nature, save perhaps the 
 faint and far-off chink of some stone dresser's pick as 
 he trimmed the wide blocks of stone to be shipped 
 at Penrhyn, and sent to all parts of the kingdom. 
 The College brook, which runs into the Penrhyn creek 
 .at Penrhyn, was a great favourite of mine. I wonder 
 how many hundreds, or I might almost say thousands, 
 of times, I have dreamt of that brook since. It is 
 nearly forty years since I fished it, and yet only last 
 week I fished it over again in my dreams, and every 
 stone and hole and favourite bend was as patent and 
 clear before me as it was the first day I wandered on 
 its banks. 
 
 It was at Truro I got my first fly rod. I had learnt 
 to use one from a friend, and I first exercised it out 
 on Daubuz's moors, where sundry rather more pre- 
 tentious brooks meandered, and on which one could
 
 6 Hot Pol. 
 
 just get a fly and no more; but even then the red 
 hackle and black gnat were the Alpha and Omega of 
 my repertoire. Soon, however, I got back to Hamp- 
 shire, and the Titchfield river opened on me this 
 stream was once favoured by dear old Izaak Walton. 
 I can see his lofty steeple-crowned hat bedecked with 
 collars and flies, wandering along under the shades of 
 grey old Place House then a mansion of pretension, 
 but now, alas ! a mere jackdawery, with huge walnut 
 trees growing in its chief apartments. I can see him 
 peering at that pound trout one never could catch 
 under Stoney Bridge; it always was there, for certain. 
 I can hear him thus discourse Venator : " Mark you 
 now, yonder lieth a lusty trout ; I will essay my skill 
 on him ; see how the greedy glutton seizeth on the 
 weak and unresisting, and feedeth fat his ravenous, 
 maw, while I, dropping my worm into the stream, do 
 execute upon him justice for all his crimes. Have at 
 you, sir trout ! So now the landing net, scholar," 
 &c. I will say that for Izaak he always does put 
 himself and all of us in the right. Even when you 
 are sticking a live frog you are " treating him as if you 
 loved him ;" there is, of course, " much virtue in an 
 if." Thence all the loving and lovable mysteries of 
 Hampshire water meadows, crystal streams, glorious 
 ripples, unparalleled shallows, golden gravel, swaying 
 weeds, soft green rushes, grey pollards, innumerable 
 picturesque old sluices, and noble trout and grayling, 
 became unfolded to me, and I fished some of the finest 
 streams in England with more or less success ; many a 
 time from three or four to eight or nine brace of very 
 fine trout filled my creel, while I picked up fresh
 
 A Christmas Reverie. 7 
 
 angling lore and fresh skill. But yet I panted for 
 pastures new, and fresh fields, for my ambition was to 
 master every style of fishing and catch every kind 
 of fish the kingdom boasted of. 
 
 In time I came to London, for the first time on the 
 coach, with my old friend Faulkner driving, and well 
 do I remember my first glimpse of the Thames at 
 Kingston, and the punts thereon (for there were many 
 fishing then), and one old gentleman I can see him 
 now as we passed, suddenly caught up a ledger rod, 
 lying at his side, and, with a desperate whang, hit, I 
 suppose, a barbel, and as we turned the corner out of 
 sight his rod was bent double on a good fish. I 
 resolved ere very long to taste that pleasure myself ; 
 and well do I remember my first day on the Thames. 
 It was at Richmond, in very hot and bright August 
 weather, but the fish bit well, and I remember that 
 the boatman did not seem to think our take anything 
 very out-of-the-way, though we caught thirty dozen 
 of roach and dace and sixteen barbel, up to three or 
 four pounds each, and filled a good-sized hamper with 
 something like lOOlb. of fish. From that time I fished 
 the Thames from end to end ; and how I loved it, and 
 do still, though with a chastened affection. Many a 
 time would I start off at twelve o'clock at night from 
 Chelsea, where I abode, and, lighting my pipe, walk 
 off all alone, with only the nightingale, the night 
 wind, and the stars for company, across Wimbledon 
 Common, through Kingston, and away to Molesey, 
 to knock up old Bill Wisdom, boil a cup of coffee, 
 and then up to the roaring, flashing weir in the 
 grey of the morning for a long day's fishing.
 
 8 Hot Pot. 
 
 Those were the days; ay, those were the happy days, 
 my masters ! 
 
 " Laudator temporis acti," says the youthful cynic 
 of the present date. Devoutly do I hope that you 
 may have as good cause hereafter, my young friend. 
 
 Thank God for making me a fisherman ; for, in the 
 fast life we young men led in my young days, it was 
 the only thing that tore me away from the reek and 
 filth of town, and put new life and vigour in me ; and 
 much indeed do I owe to it. Cultivate it, cultivate it, 
 my young friend ; there is much health and purity in 
 it, both for mind and body. And what delicious repose 
 there used to be when we could get into some warm 
 sunny swim under the willows, where few or none 
 came to interrupt or chaff us, and one got just sport 
 enough to keep interest aroused, but not enough to 
 destroy one's enjoyment in the contemplation of the 
 river and its glorious setting a jewel set in banks of 
 natural enamel, more varied, cunning, and beauteous 
 than skill of any mortal goldsmith could reproduce. 
 Now, alas ! the river is so thronged with boats that 
 much of this delight is gone, perished sunk into a 
 mare memory in fact; and if one would not desire to 
 be sat upon, one has to cultivate assiduously the humour 
 of a Hansom cabby to rebut the jibes and jeers flung 
 at the patient angler a- watching of his quill. 
 
 That pragmatical old pagan, Dr. Johnson, has much 
 to answer for in that epigram of his in this respect. 
 Indeed he has provoked fully as much invective on the 
 river as ever the citation of the " puppy pie " did. By 
 the way what a capital idea that was of the Frenchmen 
 showing off their English slang at the regatta on the
 
 A Christmas Reverie. 9 
 
 Seine. Imagine with what delight Jones of Trinity, 
 the most fluent chaffer of the bargees on the river, 
 heard Jules address his friend, Ha, lia ! quia mange le 
 pate de poupee ce matin, m'n enfant ? Ha, ha ! utterly 
 oblivious of the fact that there was no peg to hang the 
 joke upon. Though our friend, the bargee, is not 
 always tobe chaffed with impunity. Witness that capital 
 tale of the bargee who came dripping wet and cold as 
 charity into a lock house to warm himself, while his 
 boat was locked, and there found five or six Eton 
 lads surrounding the cheerful blaze, and made some 
 remark in which, as it commonly does, Hades by its 
 popular name figured conspicuously. " And how is 
 it down there, bargee ? " asked a cheeky young aristo- 
 crat. "Why, pretty much as it is here," said the 
 bargee; "all the swells next the fire." They made 
 way for him after that. But in spite of all that has 
 been said, I do not think sport on the Thames is any- 
 thing now like what it used to be. The river is too 
 much canalised, and I would almost as soon as not 
 have all the old netting back again,*if we had the same 
 holes and banks, and the same water and stocks of 
 fish. When shall I ever catch twenty -two pike in two 
 days out of one weir, as I did the first time I ever 
 caught a pike at Molesey ? or when shall I take above 
 .a hundred in one season out of one hole, as I did out 
 of the tumbling bay hard by ? Never ! As for barbel, 
 bream, chub, and roach, I have seen and taken ahundred- 
 weight of them in a day over and over again ; and as 
 for trout, I once knew old Bill Wisdom to catch thirty- 
 five in one season at and about Hampton Court alone. 
 There are not as many caught in the whole river now.
 
 10 Hot Pot. 
 
 Ay, times are changed, and the river is changed. No 
 doubt of it. 
 
 And so my mind travels on to the first salmon, when 
 I voyaged away to the far, far north, full thirty years 
 ago, to effect his capture ; and what a gorgeous, what 
 a super-splendacious creation he was when I did catch 
 him ! He was but a middling fish of lOlb. or so, but 
 he was a salmon, the king of fish ; he had made the reel 
 sing, and for the time he was a sort of Dagon a fish 
 deity and I worshipped him accordingly. Since that 
 hour what tons of his tribe I have slaughtered; what 
 rocky, rushing torrents I have waded ; what stormy 
 lakes have I not tossed upon the bosom of happy if 
 only one run rewarded all my patience, skill, and 
 labour ; and with what gorgeous scenery around what 
 mountains, forests, rocks, and waterfalls ! One may 
 think what one likes, but there is nothing like salmon 
 fishing after all nothing. Featly as one has to deal 
 with a wary trout, and carefully as one has to watch 
 the grayling rise, there is nought in nature like the 
 glorious upward surge of the silver monarch of the 
 river. 'With what energy, what resistless force, deep 
 struck,' he rushes 
 
 " Please, sir, missus says, shall she send you in a cup 
 of tea, or will you come into the drawing room and tak& 
 it?"
 
 The First Day of the Season. 11 
 
 THE FIRST DAY OF THE SEASON. 
 
 Solvitur acris hyems grata vice veris et Favoni. HORACE. 
 
 THE above quotation has been made before, I am 
 aware, but never was it so particularly apt as at pre- 
 sent. By the way, a very witty friend of mine, when 
 Favonius, who was the property of Baron Rothschild, 
 won the Derby, made a remarkably clever translation 
 of that line. Had it been made by Canning or Mr. 
 Lowe, or any other great man known to fame as a 
 Horatian critic or a Latin punster, it would have 
 been preserved like " Ex luce lucellum," or " The 
 Needy Knife-grinder/' or any other clever hit. He 
 said that Horace had foretold the victory of Favonius, 
 and that the line I have quoted was his Derby Tip > 
 and thus he rendered it 
 
 all the sharp Hyams are made very solvent 
 By the grateful spring of Favonius. 
 
 That strikes me as not bad for these degenerate days, 
 when Horace is out of favour, and seldom finds place 
 in the competition-wallah. 
 
 What a winter has been here ! Anglers who have 
 disbursed many of those magic leaves issued by the 
 Bank of England, and which constitute so large a
 
 12 Hot Pot. 
 
 portion of the current literature of the day, in the 
 hire of expensive spring salmon fisheries, have indeed 
 had an awful time of it. Day after day, and week 
 after week, have they seen the river a turbid torrent, 
 rushing by many feet above fishing level, while storm, 
 hail, sleet, rain, and heavy falls of snow have followed 
 each other for months, almost without intermission; 
 and in hundreds of instances has the salmon rod stood 
 idle, while Donald or Mick have stood idle too at the 
 lodge door, wondering what day next week or the 
 week after, if there was no more rain or snow, tf she " 
 would be fit to put a fly on, while " the masther " sat 
 within over the dubbing table, tying huge gaudy 
 , spring flies, twice the usual size (and which were never 
 fated to be used), so as to be in a condition to take 
 advantage of the first day or two's lull which fate and 
 elements might see proper to send them. Alack ! but 
 a " beggarly array of empty boxes " is likely to pre- 
 vail, awaiting those salmon promised to Tom, Dick 
 and Harry down south, and for which the direction 
 cards need never be written. Heigh-ho ! the patient 
 angler needs all his patience this season. A hundred 
 pounds, perhaps two or more, pitched into that turbid 
 flood, and a month wearily, woefully wasted in a dull 
 moorland or mountain country, where the mist is 
 always three-parts down the mountain, and where 
 ' ' the rain it raineth every day ! " Here I mind me of 
 another apt quotation, this time not from Horace, but 
 from a more modern and less classical source, since it 
 comes from the columns of Bell's Life. In the far-off 
 days of my youth and I am sorry to say they are farther 
 off than I like to contemplate when we had no Field
 
 The First Day of the Season. 13 
 
 no to-porting Lives, no Land and Waters, no Pink 'un, 
 no nothing but Bell's Life and "Boxiana," there 
 existed a curious thing called " Bell's Gallery of Comi- 
 calities" no one of less age than a good solid half- 
 century knows anything of it nowadays. This con- 
 sisted of a series of humorous cuts of a sporting or 
 popular nature, with explanatory verses attached, and 
 which were inserted in the top right-hand corner of 
 the paper. They were not brilliant specimens of high 
 art, I admit ; yet, strange as it may sound, here my 
 poor old acquaintance (for I am proud of the acquaint- 
 ance) John Leech first " fleshed his maiden sword," or 
 rather pencil. One of these cuts appeared every week, 
 and once a year they were collected into a broad sheet 
 and became the " Gallery " aforesaid. Several of 
 these still dwell in my memory ; among them was one 
 of a cockney sportsman (the cockney sportsman was 
 a great institution in those days thanks be, he is 
 dead and buried and out of print this long while; 
 though, in some exceedingly Boeotian parts of the 
 country they believe in him still, like witchcraft and 
 fortune -telling) . This particular one, however, was 
 walking over the moors in a pitiless rain with his dogs, 
 drenched to the bone almost. He meets a native, and 
 inquires where he can get shelter and " mountain dew," 
 and the applicable verse runs thus : 
 
 Say, laddie, does it always rain 
 In this here dismal spot ? 
 My question I repeat again. 
 Why does the blockhead pause ? 
 " Naw, sir, it dinna always rain, 
 It very often snaws."
 
 14 Hot Pot. 
 
 And such, truly, has been the state of things, and this 
 pleasing alternation has the unfortunate piscator 
 undergone for the said month, with little prospect of 
 amendment, and not a fin to show for all his outlay. 
 Such is the luck of fishing many a time and oft ; and 
 who will be disposed to grudge the patient being 
 those few glimpses of sunshine and sport which are 
 such angels' visits to the angler ? But if the salmon 
 angler has had a hard time of it, the trout fisher has 
 been even in worse case. You can, if the water be 
 not many shades too thick or high, contrive to hurl 
 half an ounce of iron, tinsel, and feathers to its desti- 
 nation even in a pretty tidy hurricane, and chance to 
 get "an offer." But an olive dun or a small March 
 brown at the end of a 12ft. rod and a gossamer line is 
 the most hopeless thing I know of, and the unhappy 
 trout fisher has wandered on the banks of his river 
 day after day, like Orpheus on the banks of Styx, 
 despairing. 
 
 But, come ! at length brighter suns are around us ; 
 and, so that it only sleets or snows one -half the day, if 
 the sun glints out now and then, and the wind is 
 moderate for the other half, there is no need to 
 despair ; no, not a bit it. 
 
 Why, anglers, why, should we be melancholy, boys ? 
 
 On with the boots, and up with the olive ! 'tis a colour 
 of good omen, and was grateful even to Father Noah, 
 when the water was getting in order there too. So 
 let's away down to the river. " Spring, spring, bee- 
 youtiful spring ! " lambkins ski-ip, and birds do 
 si-ing ; trout are leaping too, odd rat 'em ! just let
 
 The First Day of the Season. 15 
 
 J em leap when I get at 'em. Why, what is this ? I 
 am, in sheer exuberance of spirits at the first day's 
 fishing, like Miss Monflathers in " The Old Curiosity 
 Shop," " improvising in the most brilliant manner " 
 and verse, too, as I live ! and not even blank verse. 
 What's come to me ? I'd nothing but tea for break- 
 fast ; no qualifier for, as Mrs. Brown says at the 
 play (though she would'nt have said it of that), " I 
 don't 'old with it ; " not even a glass of ale before I 
 ^came out. It is the mere sight of the water, I suppose, 
 that kindles this glow this flow of spirits. There's a 
 sentiment, and an instance too, for Sir Wijfred. He 
 too, has, I observe, a great flow of spirits; but they 
 are natural, I believe, and not ardent nothing contra- 
 band about them ; and, in my delight at being once 
 more by the river side, I burst out a-singing Men- 
 delssohn's beautiful " Spring cometh hither." I don't 
 do it very well, I admit, because it is written for a 
 high soprano, and I am a low baritone, and the runs 
 are, not to put too fine a point upon it, rusty. For- 
 tunately, there are no critics handy but the thrushes, 
 and they seem rather incited to rivalry, and sing 
 louder than ever. How I wish I could sing like a 
 thrush, or had the art of poor old dead-and-gone Von 
 Joel ! wouldn't I out-trill you and double-double 
 you, my pretty little chirruper, as you sit in the old 
 pollard there, whistling lays to your lady love or jigs 
 to a milestone. Hallo ! what was that ? " Plop." 
 " Hurrah ! there's a trout rising somewhere." For- 
 tunately, the rod is up by this time, and it is only a 
 question of what fly to put up, an olive or a March 
 brown. There he is again " Ha, ah ! I see the
 
 16 Hot Pot. 
 
 spotted quarry, and cunningly placed too under 
 the bank yonder, where the dock leaf hangs over. 
 That'll do. Olive duns, plenty of 'em too, are coming- 
 down now sailing proudly on, now blown flat on the 
 water. " Plop/' " What, you will have it ; you 
 can't be quiet?" "Plop." "Ah, I'll plop you in 
 about the twinkling of a bed post ! " (By the way, 
 why should a bed post twinkle, and how does it con- 
 trive to do it ? Either the post must be loose, or the 
 observer what is called tight.) And now we're ready, 
 for the first cast of the season. Ah ! that was short, 
 but the fish keeps rising still ; evidently the long fast 
 of winter has sharpened his appetite, and he is making 
 up for lost time. " So ! that is better ! " as the fly falls, 
 not exactly like thistledown, because it is not like thistle- 
 down in any way, but lightly enough for all purposes. 
 It floats past the leaf neatly ; there is a pretty little curl 
 in the water ; and ' ' chuck ! " my pretty chuck, my 
 dove, my duck I have him. Hallo ! What gone ? 
 Never ! But he is, and the fly with him. In my 
 haste I had picked one out of an old, old batch, which 
 has for my sins been in my book far, far too long. 
 The gut is as dry as a chip and as brittle as straw, and 
 my first fish has made his bow, and learnt that some 
 olives are pickled or particularly piquant. But there 
 is better luck in store, and, fortunately, better flies 
 too. On with another ; we haven't to go far to find 
 another rising fish ; and he, with that confidingness 
 which is so delightful in the early spring, comes at 
 at once without any hesitation, and dies the death 
 like a decent, well-conducted Salmo fario, and will add 
 a pound weight to my basket ; so cover him up with
 
 The First Day of the Season. 17 
 
 rushes, and scatter daisies and buttercups on his coffin, 
 and sing his requiem. 
 
 When daisies pied and violets blue, 
 And lady smocks all silver white, 
 And cuckoo buds of yellow hue 
 Do paint the meadows with delight 
 
 though it is hardly the time for cuckoo buds as yet. 
 But haply in a few short weeks, on some peaceful noon- 
 tide when the sun is warm and the river eddies along, 
 cool and pleasant to look at, at our feet, and the smoke 
 from our old and constant friend eddies up among the 
 overhanging foliage with scarce a break, the faint, far- 
 off, musical notes will come to us for the first time 
 over the woodlands " Cuckoo, cuckoo, summer's 
 coming, summer's coming ! " and once more, too, we 
 shall hear the nightingale, with heavenly note, in 
 every shaw and thicket, as we plod home with a heavy 
 creel in the dusk. What a lovely world it is ! and 
 who enjoys it like the fisherman ? But this is musing, 
 not fishing. I wonder whether that old three-pounder 
 still lies under the pollard stump in Bates's Corner; and, 
 in the pursuit of knowledge, we walk up the bank 
 some sixty yards or so, to where the grey riven old 
 stump overhangs the water. There is a well-known 
 shallow just above that stump, in which my old friend 
 used to be cock of the walk, and bullied every other 
 fish within sixty yards. It was a sight to see the big- 
 fish sail up, like a full-blown colonel, to some pet 
 eddy where flies perpetually plied for hire, and to see 
 with what an air he took possession ; while the major, 
 a two-pounder, who had just before chased the senior 
 captain (a pound- and-a-halfer), in like manner made 
 
 c
 
 18 Hot Pot. 
 
 a dash into the nearest weed with most amusing 
 alacrity. And then how he would feed ! as if it was 
 rather a favour to the flies than otherwise. Ay, ay ; 
 but is he there now? that is the question. Yes. 
 There, sure enough, is a fish feeding, and a good one. 
 If it should be my old friend, I hope at this early 
 season to avenge me of many a slight and many a cut 
 direct inflicted on me in the summer past by yonder 
 spotted caitiff. So, sir, come on. Let us essay the 
 
 task: 
 
 Give us to know if thou be living yet 
 If all thy panoply of gold and ruby drops 
 Gleams but to mock the angler's skilful toil. 
 
 Twice the fly falls unnoticed, but the third time it is 
 taken, and the foe is fast. He makes but a middling 
 fight, however, and, big as he is, I can see ere the net 
 holds him that he is black and lanky, and a very diffe- 
 rent fish from what he was when I first tempted him. 
 Starved as he is, he yet dislikes his doom, and seems 
 to beg another term of life. 
 
 Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, 
 And fearest to die ? Famine is in thy cheeks. 
 
 Yet why should I be pitiless, when fate 
 
 May some day chance to hold me in like strait ? 
 
 It were foul scorn to bag so poor a fish ; another 
 month or so, and you may catch him if you can the 
 match was not a fair one. So, carefully disengaging 
 the hook, I slide him gently once more into the stream, 
 and I hope he may give me another chance when 
 he is better worth. Ha ! Three times has that fish
 
 The First Day of the Season. 19 
 
 risen near the mouth of yon carrier, and three times 
 have I put the fly neatly and workmanlike over him in 
 vain. Something is amiss here. What has destroyed 
 his confidence ? Ho, ho ! of course I see, and I should 
 have seen before. The March brown is on. There 
 goes a fine fat fellow, and there another, and my 
 friend on the other side has taken him just after my 
 olive dun had passed over him unnoticed. So, so ! out 
 with the book, and lo now, there is a bunch of beauties ! 
 That is about the colour ! Straighten the gut and loop 
 him on ; and off he goes, resting on the surface of the 
 water, and looking as like the others as feathers can 
 look. Now comes the crucial test, and there, obedient 
 to the invitation, is the magic ring ; and it is 
 
 " A knell 
 That summons us to Heaven or to Hell " 
 
 A ring that shall bind us together for better or worse, 
 -and death won't part us. So, so ! a lusty chap for the 
 season, but neither running nor leaping will avail him 
 more. Par id, monsieur ! Hierher, mein Freund ! 
 and there he is, the best trout yet quite a good colour, 
 and well made up, and an honest pound and a half. 
 Evoe Bacche ! we will wet that fellow. Lay him on 
 the grass though little time can be given to contem- 
 plation, for the glimpse of sun has brought out the 
 March browns in hundreds, and they fairly speckle 
 the stream, and how the trout are rising, to be sure ! 
 As I stand here I can count twenty fish in little more 
 than as many yards, and some of them must surely pay 
 " the lawing." A busy twenty minutes follows, and 
 then the rise is over, but not for long. I shall just 
 
 c2
 
 20 Sot Pot. 
 
 have time to eat that cold mutton chop I confiscated at 
 breakfast, to wash it down with the "modicis Sabinum." 
 For a mea nee Falernse neque Formianum pocula colles." 
 The Sabine who made this was known as Johannes 
 Longum. Here's success to his manes ! Ha ! there they 
 are again ; the fish will keep on persisting in trying, like 
 Caggs in the song, to " astonish the Browns " (March 
 browns), but always end by astonishing themselves. 
 Thus the day wears on, with varying success, till the 
 afternoon gives out, and by five o'clock you would not 
 think there was a trout in the stream ; so I turn me 
 homewards, with a six and a half brace of good ones 
 in my creel, tired and happy, and wondering what 
 mine host will have provided me for dinner, at which 
 not many things will come amiss whereas in town, 
 now, I should scan the bill of fare curiously and 
 critically, and Frank, of Simpson's, would have 
 none such a time of it to get me comfortably and 
 satisfactorily fed. Then a pipe and a chat with my 
 excellent landlord, a glass of the Sabine aforesaid, 
 and early to roost, and so ends the first day of the 
 season.
 
 A Strange Fishing Match. 21 
 
 A STRANGE FISHING MATCH. 
 
 No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. Richard III. 
 
 CHRISTMAS is a very jolly time for folks who have their 
 families and friends about them, provided they are 
 pretty well to do, and the Christmas bills don't weigh 
 too heavily on their minds. But there are a good 
 many in this big Babylon of a metropolis who have 
 neither families nor friends to ask them to lively 
 Christmas dinners, with dances and forfeits and romps 
 under the mistletoe afterwards ; and to them the 
 choice between a dreary lodging and a public-house 
 parlour is the only choice left. Christmas, as a rule, 
 is not much of a time for fishing, or one could easily 
 make a pleasant day out of it ; still I have known a 
 Christmas or two when we have spent a happy, thank- 
 ful day on some river bank too. 
 
 Twenty-five years ago I was not the man I am now ; 
 I am now a master in a good way of business, but in 
 those days I was only a poor apprentice. My friends 
 lived 200 miles from London, down in the north, and 
 I knew hardly anyone in town, so my Christmases 
 were sad and solitary enough as a rule. One comfort 
 to me was that I was fond of fishing, and in my fishing 
 rambles I had picked up an acquaintance with an odd
 
 22 Hot Pot. 
 
 old fellow by the name of Harris Ben Harris Uncle 
 Ben we used to call him. I never could make out 
 what he was, or quite where he lived. He used the 
 same parlour that I did of an evening, and, from 
 seeing him smoking his pipe nightly at the Don 
 Saltero's the old Don's, the coffee-house at Cheyne- 
 walk, Chelsea I got to know him, though we seldom 
 spoke much. But we happened once or twice to meet 
 out fishing on the Lea, and then we struck up an 
 acquaintance which became closer and closer, so that 
 we used to fish in all the waters round London in 
 company, spending many a happy day together. 
 Uncle Ben had no more ties than I had, and his out- 
 goings and in- comings were a perfect matter of in- 
 difference to anyone but himself. We spent one or 
 two Christmas-days on the banks of our favourite 
 stream, with little to mark them out from any other 
 day, and no great sport; but I remember one that 
 made an impression on me at the time, and it may 
 please you if I relate what occurred then. 
 
 I forgot to say that my name is Woffles ; and if you 
 should pass along the King's-road, just beyond Smith- 
 street, on the right-hand side, you'll see the name of 
 Woffles ; and, if you or your good lady like to step in, 
 why, our TVo-and-three for families is greatly 
 admired; and if you'll take home a pound of it, 
 Woffles that's me will be pretty sure to have your 
 custom again. But this is in the present I am going 
 to speak of the past, perhaps twenty years past. 
 
 Well, Uncle Ben and I were going up the Lea to 
 spend our Christmas-day in a quiet bit of fishing, at 
 a favourite hole we knew of, and where we expected
 
 A Strange Fishing Match. 23 
 
 a good take of fish ; and we weren't mistaken. Christ- 
 mas-eve had been foggy, and Christmas-day opened 
 with rather a grey uud lowering sky ominous of snow ; 
 but, as long as the fish bit pretty well, that we did 
 not care much about. Our station was pitched under 
 an old alder tree that spread over and overhung the 
 bank, some fifty yards above the junction of the old 
 river with a cut used by the barges. Just below this 
 junction there was a sort of side pound, in which the 
 barges rested at times ; there was one in it while we 
 fished. Under our alder there was a long deep hole, 
 the deepest in the river for a mile or two, and here 
 certainly the big roach had congregated, and, as we 
 kept well out of sight, our long rods had pretty con- 
 stant application. A handful of pollard and coarse 
 rice was our only groundbait, and that we used 
 sparingly ; but from about ten in the morning to one 
 o'clock the fish came up uncommonly well I never 
 knew them come to hook better and hardly one of 
 them was under half a pound, and many were over a 
 pound. 
 
 " WTiat a day this is ! " said Uncle Ben j " Ain't it 
 'eavenly ! I never remember such a day's sport as this 
 since the big floods in 18 , when the roach all came 
 up out of that old hunks Squire Toggle's water on the 
 Colne into the deep ditch on Farmer Toogood's 
 meadow. Toogood's a sort of connection o' mine, and 
 I got leave off him to try the ditch ; for, happenin' to 
 be passing by, I see a good fish or two on the move 
 in the ditch over the hedge, and thought something 
 was to be done. And, mind you, I did just about 
 make 'em stand and pay that day ; four stone and a
 
 24 Sot Pot. 
 
 half, 631b., of regular thumpers (just like these) did I 
 walk off with how my back ached before I got 'em 
 home. There's another ; there he is agen ; Ha ! 
 would you? I've got him. Hullo! What's this? 
 The stock-dolager ! Hooray ! a pound and a halfer ! 
 no, a two pounder, and no mistake ! Take care. 
 That's it ! now the net ge-e-ently does it ah, and 
 a two-pounder he is, and will gain the prize at the 
 club for all the year, and the great 21 b. roach prize 
 too. He's a real stuffer I tell you oh, isn't he a 
 beauty ? " And so he was so he was just half an 
 ounce short of two pound, if it came to a very close 
 thing; but then " he wasted that between the river and 
 Don Saltvro's" It was the last we caught, for the 
 sky clouded over suddenly, the sun went in, and the 
 snow carne down heavily. 
 
 "Well, it's about dinner time," said Uncle Ben; 
 " we'll light our fire and cook up, and by the time 
 we've done that and smoked a pipe the snow '11 pr'aps 
 be over again. There's a likely place in the bank of 
 the hedge, down about opposite the pound, which is 
 out of the wind, I observed coming along ; so collar a 
 armful or two of this dead wood out o' the alder, and 
 some of these dry branches, and come along." 
 
 And loading ourselves with the requisite fuel, we 
 went down to the spot indicated, and Uncle Ben began 
 to make the fire, while I cleaned a few of the fish and 
 made ready the little portable frying-pan, which was 
 always the inseparable companion of our rambles. 
 The fish were cleaned and ready ; the bacon, with 
 which they were to be supplemented, was laid out in 
 beautiful streaky rashers ; but the fire was not ready.
 
 A Strange Fishing Match. 25 
 
 The big umbrella was set up, like a tent, but the snow 
 by this time eddied down so furiously and thickly that 
 lighting a fire was no easy work; once or twice it 
 began to burn, but a gust of wind and a sheet of snow 
 nded its frail life in smoke and blackness. 
 
 " Bless my heart ! " said uncle Ben, as this hap- 
 pened for the third time, " what's to be done now ? " 
 
 " Hy ! " We looked round, and a pair of eyes, with 
 a red nightcap above them, peered at us above the 
 cuddy of the before-mentioned barge, which lay by 
 the bank of the river not fifty yards from us. " Hy ! 
 wot, wunt un kindle ? " said the voice gruffly. 
 
 " Not a blarmed bit," answered Uncle Ben. 
 
 " Well, see here," and a big, red shining nose rose 
 into view; "here's a fire 'ere, and I 'spect its more 
 warmer and more comfable too for a Crismus harter- 
 noon nor that ere haggard side." 
 
 " Well, mate, if you mean that," said Uncle Ben, 
 " why we'll come aboard an' cook our vittles, and 
 pr'aps you'd jine us, and thank ye kindly." 
 
 " Come aboord bo, ye're 'eartily welcome. It's 
 nobbut a scant place, but's sheltersome, and a snaw 
 storm es a snaw storm ; " and a pleasant-looking 
 mouth and chin made its appearance to second the 
 invite. The man was a bargee, but a decent one, much 
 less brutal and coarse-tongued than the generality of 
 his class. No second invite was needed ; we carried 
 our impedimenta with us, stepped up the plank which 
 our new friend shoved out to the bank for us, and 
 entered the cuddy of the barge. It was the snuggest 
 and warmest little crib possible. In one corner a 
 .small open stove burnt brightly, and a comfortable
 
 26 Hot Pot. 
 
 bench on either side, with small fixed table in the 
 middle, proved a capital exchange for the cold incon- 
 venience of the hedge side. 
 
 " My mates is away, to spend the day at the Jolly 
 Bargeman, and left me in charge. They won't be- 
 back this side o' midnit I expect, and tight enuf 
 they'll be by that time I reckon. It's lonesome by 
 oneself on a Crismus day, and I takes it werry friendly 
 o' you two to come and keep me company, d'ye see." 
 And thus our host, with the truest politeness in his 
 rough way, set us at our ease, and made his kindness 
 rather as a favour coming from us. 
 
 " Give us the frypan, I'm usen to the critter," and 
 he fixed it deftly on the stove, and soon the fish and 
 bacon frizzed and sputtered cheerily. Our host then 
 produced three tin plates with knives and forks, three 
 tin pannikins to drink from, a mighty jar of sound 
 ale and a bottle of gin, some cheese, a fragment of 
 steak, which he deposited in the pan with the fish and 
 bacon ; lastly, a good-sized chunk of cold plum 
 pudding, with plenty of raisins and suet in it. Soon 
 the viands were cooked to admiration, and then whafc 
 knives and forks we played ! As soon as the frying- 
 pan was vacant, the pudding, cut into thick slices, was 
 plumped into the hissing fat, and took its turn on the 
 fire. No sooner was this removed from the pan 
 blazing hot on to our plates, with an agreeable variety 
 in flavour owing to the fish and bacon, than sundry 
 slices of cheese occupied the vacated pan, and a 
 delicious odour of stewed cheese permeated the small 
 apartment. All our appetites were of the first quality, 
 but there is a pitch beyond which the keenest appetite
 
 A Strange Fishing Match. 27 
 
 cannot go, and then the pan was laid aside and we 
 rested in a comfortable state of repletion from our 
 labour. And next our host produced a big jug and a 
 beer- warmer; nearly filling it with beer, he dug the 
 sharp point down into the bright embers, popped in a 
 spoonful or two of brown sugar and two or three 
 small glasses of gin, grated some ginger on the top, 
 and then frothed it out foaming into the jug, and 
 filled each of our pannikins with the fragrant liquor. 
 
 " Here's Crismas, thank the Lord ! and bless us all ! 
 and may we never be wuss off than we be at this 
 moment," and he took a deep draught. 
 
 " The aforesaid," said Uncle Ben, following his 
 example, which I duly repeated ; and then we loaded 
 our pipes and set in for a comfortable chat. 
 
 The wind roared without, and the snow eddied and 
 drifted, but what did we care ? We smoked, and we 
 joked, and we drank ; we sang strange songs with 
 amazing energy and rousing choruses ; we chatted and 
 told odd anecdotes ; our rough host was a very intel- 
 ligent and amusing fellow, and had seen a great deal 
 in his trips up and down rivers. " I an't spent such 
 a Crismas as this for many a long year," said he, 
 " and it's all along of you two. It warn't lively afore 
 you come, not noways ; and I looks at you a-lightin' 
 that 'ere fire, and I says to myself, Now Joe, 'ere's 
 just half a chance for you ; it's a toss-up between a 
 pleasant arternoon and a real melancholly one if it's 
 'eads it's jolly, if it's tails it aint. Lord, I knowed 
 it 'd be 'eads. Them as has to do with the order-in' 
 o' Crismas warn't agoing to disserpint a poor feller as 
 aint inclined to do notliin' wrong, and on such a day.
 
 28 Hot Pot. 
 
 No, no, not a bit on it ; and 'eads it were and is, and 
 no mistake. I don't care nowt o'er-much for publics, 
 I've a-seed a mort o' misery come o' drinking I 'ave, 
 and never could abide em sin poor Bill Belcher's job." 
 
 " And what was Bill Belcher's job, if I may make 
 so bold ?" I asked, ready to pick up any stray story or 
 experience. 
 
 " Well, ye see, Crismas arternoon's a kinder sorter 
 time for stories, and, though I never tould of this 'un 
 since, yet I don't mind now tellin' it to you ; but it's a 
 dolesomish one, so first let's fill the jug again, and 
 take another heart- warmer." We did so, and then 
 settled ourselves for a comfortable yarn. The jug was 
 replenished, pipes recharged, and thus our host : 
 
 "As I said, I have seen a deal o' misery come out 
 o' drinkin', aye, and out of poachin' too. We bargees 
 mostly carries a net with us to do a bit o' poachin' 
 when convenient, but I never liked it over much. I 
 am fond of anglers, and don't like to spile their sport 
 for the sake o' a pint o' beer, and many a time have I 
 saved some favourite hole and pitch o' the poor folk 
 from bein' scraped out and their hard-earned pleasure 
 destroyed." Uncle Ben here solemnly shook hands 
 with the speaker, who really seemed quite grateful for 
 the compliment, and continued : " But of all the 
 drinkers and poachers ever I see, Bill Belcher was the 
 most desprit. He'd be up to his neck in water a- 
 poachin' some pond or preserve arf the night, and 
 then go 'n' drink hisself mad drunk in t'other arf. I 
 always thought he was three parts out o' his mind 
 when he got one o' these fits on. But Bill somehows 
 at last fell in love, d'ye see, with the lock-keeper's
 
 A Strange Fishing Match. 29 
 
 da' tor up above, and then he pulled up and was quite 
 a reformed karacter wos Bill, and for a long time, a 
 year or more, his wife and he was quite a pattern 
 o' conical (query, conjugal) bliss. He got on at that 
 time to be cap'n o' a barge, which was named after 
 'em. This is the werry 'dentical the William an* 
 Mary, Potts o' Stortford owner and Bill, really a 
 clever civil chap when the drink warn't about him, 
 stood in 'igh favour. Well, in course, arter they 
 married she came aboard the barge not as a barge, 
 mind you, is a good school for women, it aint. No, 
 took away from other fimmles, they somehow gets 'ard 
 and brute-like, and offen wus nor the men, and some- 
 times takes to drink quite terrible. And, mind you, 
 wen a woman once does take to drink there's an end of 
 her, and so it was in the end with she ; for arter 
 a time Bill he got tired o' steadiness and took to 
 the old work agin, and arter another turn, and a good 
 long turn too, a-tryin' all she could to change him 
 back agen, she gradiwally bit by bit took to 'is 
 example, d'ye see. Well things went on wuss and 
 wuss, and Bill got notice that if he didn't mend for 
 he offen neglected bizziness when in his cups, and 
 that won't do neither in boats nor barges that he'd 
 be reedooced from bein' cap'n; and stead of this 
 mendin him, it made him more worser, and they two 
 took to quarrellin' shockin' over their liquor, and more 
 nor one black eye I've seen her 'ave to her share. 
 Howsomever, they got on from bad to wuss, and their 
 quarrels was quite dreadful. I often thought they'd 
 'a done one another a mischief, for when she was rael 
 roused she was for all the world like a mad cat. One
 
 30 Hot Pot. 
 
 night we was a layin' in this 'ere werry pound, and me 
 and my mate was away to the Bargeman to spend the 
 evenin' . Bill and his wife was ( well on ' when we 
 left, and was a quarrellin' like bricks, so that we 
 was glad to be out on it, mind you. Well we spent 
 our evenin' and come 'ome to the barge about mid- 
 nit, 'avin' to start at day-break. There wornt no 
 one wissible. They was asleep in the fore cuddy, 
 we s'posed, so we didn't waken 'em, but made us 
 snug aft. The next mornin' we turned out earlyish, 
 and there sat Bill at the bows a-starin' dull into the 
 water. He didn't speak at first, but looked round 
 dazed-like, till we begun a-askin' 'bout breakfust ; 
 for we see as there warn't no smoke from the cuddy 
 funnel that the fire warn't lighted yet. So, says 
 we, ' where's Mary, Bill ? and why aint the fire 
 alight ?' So then he turns round and looks at us, and 
 we noticed that his face was werry pale and scratched, 
 and he looks all abroad-like; but then that warn't 
 much of a novelty, ye see, for she was werry 'andy 
 with her ten commandments, and he seemed 'ardly 
 sober now. ' Oh,' says he, sullen-like, ' she took the 
 huff last night arter you went, and wouldn't stop 
 along o' me no longer, so she's gone 'ome to her 
 friends for a spell.' She'd a-threatened to do this 
 often, so we warn't none surprised, and made shift to 
 get our breakfast as best we mought. Well, we 
 finished our trip, but Bill he was a altered man some- 
 how werry altered. Not but what he drinked wusser 
 than ever; indeed, he was seldom off o' the liquor 
 now. In course o' time we come back, and laid up at 
 the pound again. Bill he worn't for lay in' up at
 
 A Strange Fishing Match. 31 
 
 the pound ; he was in a great 'urry ; he wanted to get 
 on, and seemed desprit fixed on it ; but the water 
 above had been shut off to repair the lock, and we 
 couldn't go on till midday next day, so there was 
 nothin' for it but to stay where we was. Then Bill 
 shuts hisself up in the cuddy, and takes to drinkin' 
 agin. 
 
 "There was a great fishin' match next day full 
 fifty jolly anglers all of a row. They stretched from 
 the alder, where you was a-fishin', down to the deep 
 hole, near the stank half a mile below. They was 
 ranged out in stations, and two or three coves walked 
 up and down while they was a-fishin' to see fair play ; 
 and me and my mate, 'avin' nothin' to do, walked up 
 and down too, a-watchin' the sport. At last we come 
 to the end o' the line, where there was a oldish cove a 
 fishin' in the stank hole. As we come up with one 
 o' the secketarys, the old 'un says, says he, 'Mr. 
 Secketary, this 'ere ain't a fair match.' 'Wot's 
 wrong ? ' says the secketary. ' Wot's wrong ! Why 
 it's all wrong. Some one's been a'-puttin' ahobstruc- 
 tion in my swim in order to beat me, and I've lost 
 three good 'ooks in it and never caught a fish,' says 
 he. 'I've fished the stank hole for years,' says he, 
 'and never knowed it so afore there was always 
 plenty of fish in it, and no hobstructions,' says he. 
 'It's a put-up thing, and a regler swindle. I knows 
 who done it,' says he, ' it's Billy Parker, for he's 
 always jealous o' me. There ! damme, if I ain't fast 
 in it again ! ' And so he was, fast as fast. 
 
 " ' Werry odd,' says the secketary ; ' it can't be wot 
 you s'poses, because, as the swims was chose by lot, and
 
 32 Hot Pot. 
 
 Billy Parker couldn't 'a know'd who'd have the swim, it 
 irvight 'a bin Billy hisself. Let's see/ and he took 
 hold of the line and gave it a pull, and then a 'arder 
 one. 'It's loose now/ says he, as the line come 
 away. 'It's only a weed, arter all, old 'un. See, 
 there's some on it on the hook now.' 
 
 " The old 'un gives a grunt and goes to clear his 
 hook, when ' Hullo/ says he, ' this aint weed, it's too 
 tough. Why ! it's 'air ! ' 
 
 " ' Air ! ' says Mr. Secketary ; 'air, wot 'air ? ' 
 
 " ' Blow'd if I know oss's or cow's, mayhaps but 
 it's 'air. Werry likely it's a drownded oss or a pig or 
 summut in my swim, and that's it.' 
 
 " So the secketary he looks and I see him turn 
 suddently pale. 'This aint neither oss's, nor cow's, 
 nor pig's hair/ says he, quite solemn-like. 'If it's 
 'air at all and it is 'air it's 'air of a 'uman bein/ and 
 from- its length I judges as it's the 'air o' a woman/ 
 Then me and my mate looks at it careful, and 
 we both turns gashly pale, ' A woman's ! wot 
 woman's ? ' 
 
 " ' Hullo there ! ' sings out the secketary, ' bring 
 me them two grapples with the strong cords.' So 
 they brings him two little triangular hooks with 
 strongish lines wot they has for clearin' the swims. 
 Then he uncoils 'em, and pitches first one out into the 
 stream, and draws it slowly in till it takes hold o' suthin' 
 "at the bottom ; then he does the same with the t'other, 
 and that takes hold too. Then he pulls 'em steady 
 and strong, and the thing at the bottom gives way a 
 little; so then he leads them down stream to where 
 the hole shallered off to the bank, and he pulls steady
 
 A Strange Fishing Match. 33 
 
 and strong agen, and the thing gives way still more, 
 and comes along and along, and further and further 
 into the shaller water, when all of a sudden it gives a 
 heave, and a lot o' nasty gassy-like bubbles comes 
 breakin' and bustin* up to the surface ; and up rolls, 
 close in to the bank, a great bundle o' summut like 
 clothes, and it rolls over and over. It was the corpse 
 o' a woman, mates ; and such a cry of 'orror went up 
 as it rolled over and the face was seen, with its long 
 wivering, wavy 'air a-streaming down the water I can 
 hear it now. And there, though it was all a- bloated 
 and discoloured like, we saw at once poor Mary, Bill's 
 wife. We got her out ; but long afore we got her out 
 all the anglers 'cept one as said he warn't curous, 
 and as stuck to the alder up yonder and won his 
 match, as I heard was round us a'-elpin' and lookin' 
 on. Then we looked at her, and see a great smash 
 right across the top of her skull, and the bone all 
 broken and dented in like, and tight in her hand she 
 clasped a button just sich as Bill wore, and a strip o' 
 red plush same as his weskit was made on. We'd 
 noticed the tear in his weskit at the time, but he 
 warn't pleasant over it, so we never said no more 
 about it. Me and my mate looked at one another, 
 and he says, ( Bill done it for sure.' 
 
 " ' Who says I done it ? ' says a 'oarse cracked voice; 
 ' who's a-lyin' like thunder that ways ? ' and Bill 
 busts through into the crowd, 'alf drunk and 'alt 
 mad, and then he casts his eye on the corpse. He 
 stood staring stock silent like a dumb statty, and 
 there was a dead silence for nigh a minute, and then 
 all of a sudden he throws himself right down on the 
 
 D
 
 34 Hot Pot. 
 
 corpse, a-sobbin' and cryin' in the horfullest way 
 like a steam biler a-guggling and bustin' it was 
 and clutches 'old of her, all draggled, wet, and slimy, 
 with a great cry that went though us all. ' Oh ! Mary, 
 Mary, I didn't go to do it, I didn't mean it. Oh, my 
 dear, my heart ! my love ! it's all along o' me and the 
 'orrid drink as you come by this dreadful end ; ' and 
 he kisses her face, all wet and blue, convulsive agin 
 and agin. Then he rises up and says, quite calm but 
 'oarse, in a sort of loud whisper, ' Mates, I done it ; 
 take me away to the pollis, for I've bin in hell ever 
 since, and I can't bear my life no longer. We 
 quarrelled and fit arter you went, and I up with the 
 tiller in a suddent fury and hit 'er over the 'ead with 
 it. She fell overboard without a word, and I sat and 
 watched the water, lookin' for her to come up agin, 
 for I never thought I'd k k killed her; oh, no, never ! 
 But she didn't and that's all. Take me away.' He 
 confessed it all at the trial, and was 'anged for it, and 
 that's enuff to warn any man off liquor, you'll allow ; 
 but it's a dolesome story, so let's fill the jug again. 
 Poor Bill ! " 
 
 Soon after the story ended the snow ceased, and, as 
 the afternoon was now far advanced, we bade our kind 
 entertainer adieu. 
 
 " Well, if ye must, mates, why, here's good-bye and 
 God bless ye both, and thank ye heartily for me. May 
 ye never spend a wuss Crismas, nor do nout wuss on 
 the day ! As for me, I loves all anglers ; and wen 
 I'm cap'n of a barge, as I expects to be 'fore long, no 
 net shall never travel up and down in she on the 
 Lea."
 
 A Strange Fishing Match. 35 
 
 " Stick to that, old friend, stick to that," said Undo 
 Ben, " all your life long ; and Heaven bless and pros- 
 per you, and may we drink a many more pints o' purl 
 aboard the William and Mary when you're cap'n, as 
 you will be." And we often did so, too, for not long 
 after he was made a cap'n Potts of Stortford owner. 
 But Lord bless you ! by this time he's got on so that, 
 if he isn't Potts of Stortford himself, he's his partner, 
 as all such good fellows as he, as avoids publics and 
 poachin', ought to L be, as Uncle Ben says ; and Uncle 
 Ben's always right at least so my young 'uns and my 
 missus says, and consequently " so says all of us."
 
 36 Hot Pot. 
 
 THE POACHER. 
 
 When I was bound apprentice 
 
 In vamous Zummersetshire, 
 
 I zarved my measter truly for nearly seven long year, 
 
 Till I took up wi' poarchin', which quickly shall appear, 
 
 For it's my delight of a shiny night 
 
 In the season of the year. 
 
 THAT is how I used to sing it, and how I always heard 
 it sung forty years ago ; but now someone tells me 
 that Zummerset has no claim to it, but that some Great 
 Tom of Lincoln first trolled out these strains, and that 
 it ought to be " famous Lincolnshire," and that there 
 is an earlier edition in Lincoln than that of Zummerset 
 of the fine old poacher's song. If that is so, all I can 
 say is, then, that it is a pity it was not discovered and 
 popularised forty years ago ; for, Lincoln or no Lin- 
 coln, " I sticks by old Zummerset." No doubt one 
 has heard of Lincoln green; it might have been a 
 popular colour formerly, with poachers such as Robin 
 Hood, Scarlet, Mutch, and Little John, and all 
 the tribe of broken gentlemen and gentle outlaws; 
 but there is not much green in the eye of a Zummerset 
 swain, and whenever I sing the song I intend my 
 apprenticeship to have been gone through in Zum- 
 merset and never Lincoln. I don't believe they know
 
 The Poacher. 37 
 
 how to poach in that county of feus, bogs, and drains 
 a great flat pancake of a place that gives one the ague 
 to think of, and where a fellow could be seen setting a 
 snare a mile off, and identified with a Dollond at two. 
 'Tis the country, without a doubt, where Don Quixote 
 rode a tilt at the windmills and he needn't ride far 
 there, either, to do it ; but not the sort of place for 
 poaching to thrive much in not like Zummerset, 
 where they suck it in with their mother's milk, and 
 make snares with their tiny fingers and mammy's hair 
 before they know the use of them. 
 
 Poaching, no doubt, sprang up from the peculiar 
 state of the country, under the tremendously severe 
 repressive laws enacted at the feudal period. Men, 
 who had otherwise offended against the law, took 
 refuge from hanging or mutilation amongst the 
 numerous tribes of outlaws which infested more or 
 less the great impenetrable woodlands that every- 
 where existed then. Here they "took up wi' 
 poarchin'," and the abbots, the earls, or even the 
 King's bonny dun deer, furnished a good part of their 
 livelihood. These men were popular among the inhabi- 
 tants, although often great scamps according to modern 
 morals, because they confined their depredations chiefly 
 to the well-to-do classes, and rarely troubled te the 
 people," more often finding their account in doing a 
 good turn here or there. As time flew on, the feudal 
 system and laws died away ; the dun deer disappeared 
 within walled or paled inclosures ; outlaws no longer 
 existed, save as a species of legal fiction ; the poacher 
 became a different sort of creature altogether, though 
 still a sort of popular sympathy hung to him for
 
 38 Hot Pot. 
 
 You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, 
 But the scent of the poacher will cling round him still. 
 
 And so it comes to pass that the veriest ruffian who is 
 a simple stealer of home-bred birds finds defence and 
 sympathy where he certainly ought not. 
 
 Now there are all sorts of poachers. There is the 
 regular country poacher, who picks up his crumbs 
 occasionally, who works intermittently and by himself ; 
 there is the poacher who makes more of a business of 
 it, who has a mate and a little boy to spy for him ; 
 there is that precious rogue the town poacher, who 
 does the thing wholesale and works in gangs, to whom 
 violence is familiar as household words, and a deal 
 more so ; there is the respectable poacher who shoots 
 anywhere and everywhere, aud trusts to cheek or his 
 respectability to get him out of any fix he may get 
 into. There are, in fact, as many kinds of poachers as 
 there are of poaching, or as there are of thieves in a 
 town. The fact is that game is the most easily con- 
 vertible property in the country, and the most difficult 
 to identify of all property. If you steal sheep, or fowls, 
 or horses, they are much less easy to dispose of, and 
 are much more easy to detect. Added to this, there 
 are foolish people who, not possessing any game them- 
 selves to steal, don't mind encouraging the mauvais 
 sujets either of town or country to steal it for them, 
 because they hope to get it a little cheaper, quite for- 
 getting that, if you encourage a man to break the law 
 on one point, you may rest assured that he will, sooner 
 or later, break it in another. There is quite as much 
 tendency to dishonesty in the country as the town, aud 
 game is the handiest thing to steal, and thus the young-
 
 The Poacher. 39 
 
 criminal usually commences on it ; but, given the ten- 
 dency referred to, and if the game were not there, he 
 would lay hands on something else. Then the stupid 
 sympathy which country papers too often bestow 
 upon poachers assists in doing an immense amount of 
 mischief. But all this has been very much threshed 
 over before, so I will not dwell on it. 
 
 The youthful poacher nearly always begins on a 
 rabbit ; either his dog, or somebody else's dog which 
 he has charge of for a space, pounces on a rabbit 
 suddenly, and young Joskin first handles stolen game. 
 Sheep dogs are often a terrible nuisance in this way, 
 and a clever one at the game will keep his master's 
 larder going for months with rabbits, leverets, and 
 what not. There was one that I had on my place 
 when I lived in Buckinghamshire, which I was told 
 killed some sixty rabbits in one season. I never 
 could catch him, worse luck. Then among poaching 
 dogs there are self-hunting dogs of all sorts, which go 
 out on their own account, and worry your hedgerows 
 into fits for their amusement or their appetite. I saw 
 a colley only lately in Hampshire hunt a turnip field 
 all over while his master was pitching hurdles, and he 
 hunted it in a way that made me long to borrow him 
 either for my own sport or for a halter. He was a 
 workman, and never left a yard of a very large field 
 unbeaten. I remember a little dog that belonged to my 
 landlord down in Bucks, who used to hunt my best 
 hedges almost daily remorselessly. You could at 
 times hear his infernal ' c yap, yap, yap " all over the 
 place. He was a blackish-blue Scotch terrier, with a 
 broken aud twisted fore leg, and rejoiced in the sobri-
 
 40 Sot Pot. 
 
 quet of Punch. Punch was very good friends with 
 me, and when any of the family came to call, he con- 
 descended to be familiar; but Punch and I fell out. 
 He would come and beat my shrubberies, and I didn't 
 like it. I had hunted and shouted and pelted him off 
 once or twice, but he didn' take the hint ; so I loaded 
 a barrel lightly with dust shot, and waited the event. 
 The next afternoon happened to be Sunday; but it 
 wasn't a day of rest for Punch. At about three in 
 the afternoon I heard the accustomed "yap, yap" in 
 the shrubbery, and the next moment a rabbit bolted 
 full split across the lawn. I took hold of the gun 
 and went to the front door, which was open, and the 
 next moment out bounced Punch on to the lawn, in 
 full chase. When he saw me he pulled up and re- 
 connoitred. He was about forty-five yards off ; and 
 as he turned end-on I let him have it, and he went 
 back through the shrubbery singing " Pen and ink " 
 very much out of tune. I saw nothing of Punch for 
 several days ; he was clearly full against shrubberies. 
 His master brought him down one day when he came 
 to see me ; but Punch seemed rather inclined to be 
 unobtrusive, and skulked somewhat. " Punchey, 
 Punchey ! " I said, in the sweetest and most persua- 
 sive accents. " Gurr-r-r," answered Punch. "Why, 
 Punch/' said his master, " what ever is the meaning 
 of that, sir? You know Mr. F., Punchey. Now, 
 come here and behave." " Gurr-r-r," went Punch 
 again. His master's back being towards me, I 
 stretched out my hand and took hold of the gun 
 which was standing in the corner ; and when .Punch 
 saw that, he meandered about as quickly as any dog
 
 The Poacher. 41 
 
 I ever saw, and the louder we called him the quicker 
 he put. " Dear me, what an extraordinary thing ! " 
 said his owner. 
 
 " Most extraordinary," I replied. " Dog must be 
 mad, or going mad. Seen anything queer about him 
 lately?" 
 
 " Well, now you mention it, he was very uneasy 
 for two or three days." 
 
 " Ah, I should not wonder," I said, with what Mrs. 
 Brown at the play described as a " canister " expres- 
 sion of countenance. 
 
 " And, besides being restless, he didn't feed well, 
 and seemed quite melancholy." 
 
 " Jn-deed ! Ah, that sounds all wrong incipient 
 hydrophobia, eh ? That's just how it commences. I 
 once had a terrier that &c., &c., &c. If I were you, 
 I'd tie him up for a few weeks, so as to be on the safe 
 side." 
 
 " I will, most certainly." And dear Punchey was 
 tied up, and, as he didn't like it, he gnawed or slipped 
 his cord, and bolted, and was never seen after. Punch 
 was much lamented, and I was ' ' very sorry, awfully 
 sorry, don't you know quite too much so, really." 
 
 Then, there are cats : but there's no need to say 
 much about them. The worst poacher and vermin 
 going is the domestic cat when he forsakes the fire- 
 side and takes to the hedges, and many an one have I 
 categorically extinguished. " Cruelty to animals ! " 
 Rubbish ! How do you think the rabbits and par- 
 tridges like being chevied to death or clawed to 
 ribbons ? Cats won't pay in a game preserve, no how, 
 no, sir. But to get back to boys. The next move
 
 42 Hot Pot. 
 
 usually is to beg, borrow, buy, or steal a ferret ; then 
 they are entered to the profession, and, if they don't 
 get a sharp check, there they are on the high road to 
 Portland, or the gallows even. I caught some young 
 scamps once ferreting on a Sunday afternoon. One of 
 the lads, a boy of thirteen or fourteen, was the son of 
 a very decent old creature, who came to me in tears 
 and begged hard to have him let off ; the other was a 
 rank reprobate of fifteen or sixteen. I was half in- 
 clined to let them off, but resolved at least to hear the 
 case first ; so on the day I went. They were fined a 
 pound, or a fortnight. My feelings had previously 
 been duly worked on, and I had made up my mind to let 
 them off, and was on the point of saying so, when I 
 saw the elder wink at the younger, as much as to say, 
 " Done him." Then I hardened my heart, and said 
 " No ; away with him to the deepest dungeon beneath 
 the castle moat ;" and they had a fortnight at Ailes- 
 bury. Four or five years after, when I had left the 
 neighbourhood some time, I went down to see a friend. 
 While at his house, a decentish old housekeeping sort 
 of body came smiling and curtseying up to me. 
 "You don't remember me, sir?" "No, I don't/' 
 "Please, I'm Martha Brooks." "Indeed! well, I 
 am not much wiser." " Please, sir, don't you re- 
 member my son, sir ? Him as you ketched a-rab- 
 bitin', sir, as I come to beg 'im off of you, sir." 
 ' ' Oh, yes ; now I remember ; and I wouldn't let 'em 
 off because I saw 'em winking at one another. 
 Wants a good deal of impudence to wink in the dock." 
 " Ah, sir, I thought you was tumble 'ard, sir, then 
 tumble ; but, sir, I've never done nothink but thank
 
 The Poacher. 43 
 
 you ever since. He were a-gettin* into bad company 
 and bad ways, sir, he were ; an' that there fortnight 
 at Ailesbury just stopped him in time. He've bin a 
 good boy, sir, ever since, and have stopped at 'ome, 
 and is gettin' on so well, sir ! and Mr. Taylor, sir, he's 
 a-employin' of him as 'orse keeper, and he's a gettin' 
 on well and quite steady, and I've always 'ad it on my 
 mind, sir, to thank you, sir. Ah, we don't allays 
 know what's good for us ! " and the old Biddy curt- 
 seyed away like a China mandarin. " Queer thing ! " 
 thought I ; " but 'tisn't many mothers would thank 
 you for sending their sons to jail ;" and, as this is 
 a simple fact and true to the letter, it seems to me 
 apropos to the subject. I suppose the system at 
 Ailesbury at that time was a good one, and effected 
 what it meant to. What it does now I can't say. If 
 the boy poacher is not checked, of course he becomes 
 a man poacher in time, and supplies his larder from 
 time to time as he may fancy ; and probably he 
 labours regularly in the fields and never gets caught, 
 and so keeps a fair face to the world. Haply, how- 
 ever, he goes into it holus bolus as a profession, joins 
 with others, and sells his game ; then he becomes a 
 nuisance to society. But there is a neutral zone 
 between these, made up of part work, part poaching 
 made up, in fact of graduators ; for, as nemo repente 
 fuit turpissimus, so no one, as a rule, becomes an ac- 
 complished and reckless poacher all at once. 
 
 Some poachers have a sort of a spice of honour 
 about them, too. I remember a case told me by my 
 friend Hengler. Hengler had some shooting Marlow 
 way. There was a noted fellow there and to be
 
 44 Hot Pot. 
 
 noted in the Marlow district, where poaching was as 
 hot as a forcing pit, was something tallish. Jack 
 Baggs, as we'll call him, lived by poaching and nothing 
 else. He was a topper at it, and was rarely caught. 
 One day, however, Hengler caught him, summoned him, 
 and had him fined 5L, with 21. for ex's, &c. " Muster 
 Hengler," said Jack, as he shelled out the coin, 
 " that 'ere '11 be a werry expensive seven pound for 
 you, you mark my words ; " and it was. Jack Baggs 
 stuck to him never left him. He made his life a 
 burthen to him, and for four years he worked my 
 friend Hengler unmercifully. As to catching him, 
 catch a weasel asleep, catch a flea in a haystack, catch 
 anything you can't catch. At last, after having 
 endured it for four years, when Jack had had fifty or 
 a hundred times the tally out of him, he met him one 
 day in the high road. His dog was standing some 
 birds in the next field, and Jack, with that rollicking 
 cheek which so endeared him to his friends, went up 
 to Hengler and said to him, as he was getting over 
 the gate, " Beg pard'n, Muster Hengler, but could I 
 have a shot at 'em if they cooms this way ? " " If 
 you like, Jack ; but where' s your gun ? " said Heugler, 
 greatly tickled. " Oh, here's the gun," said Jack, 
 producing the stock from one under- side-pocket, and 
 the barrel from the other. The birds did go Jack's 
 way, and Jack got a brace and brought them to 
 Hengler. " Oh, no, Jack, you shot 'em, and you keep 
 'em I shan't take 'em ; you're welcome to the shot. 
 And now, Jack," said Hengler, " don't you think, 
 honestly, that you've pretty well worked that seven 
 pound out ? Couldn't you give someone else a turn
 
 The Poacher. 45 
 
 now ? We don't bear malice, you kuow ; but, dash it, 
 enough's as good as a feast, surely." 
 
 " W-a-a-1, Muster Hengler," said Jack, in his draw- 
 ling way, " I dessay I has. Y-a-a-s, I dessay I has 
 about worked that siven pun out. Yaas, yaas well, 
 there, y-a-a-s, I think I has, and we'll shake hands 
 over it and say naw moor about it." 
 
 And Jack Baggs never came on my friend's ground 
 after ; and that's another true story, word for word. 
 
 These, however, nuisances as they are, are all what 
 I call legitimate poachers ; but the gang of scoundrels 
 who come out of big towns, and who are the scum of 
 the population ruffians who, if interfered with by 
 some unfortunate keeper, anxious to protect the 
 pheasants he has reared and the property committed 
 to his care, make no more of setting on him and 
 smashing him with bludgeons, or sending a charge of 
 shot into him, then they would of knocking a hare on 
 the poll blackguards and villians whose sole object 
 is plunder and violence these are human vermin. On 
 them I would have no sort of mercy ; and when one 
 of these savages does get knocked on the head in his 
 attempt to murder a keeper, I feel inclined to deliver 
 the verdict of justifiable homicide very justifiable too 
 indeed, rather praiseworthy homicide than other- 
 wise. They generally start out eight or ten strong 
 in a couple of go-carts, with hundreds of yards of nets, 
 dogs, guns, skull- crackers, and all complete ; and the 
 havoc they will work is something dreadful for the 
 game preserver to contemplate. Yet even such out- 
 laws as these not unfrequently find advocates in the 
 miserable attenuated local journalism of the Tweedle-
 
 46 Hot Pot. 
 
 shire Teapot, which delights to print rubbish about the 
 feudal system, which they haven't the remotest con- 
 ception of, and the oppressed down-trodden peasant, 
 whom in reality they despise beyond measure as if 
 the men they are defending were one whit better than 
 the garotter who choked the worthy editor himself 
 perhaps last week, and may choke some other old 
 woman next week if he is not caught. 
 
 Then there is that very troublesome party, the re- 
 spectable poacher. He may take out a game licence, 
 or, if a shade less respectable, only a gun licence. His 
 manor, his great stock-in-trade, is cheek; and he 
 knows no more "what the pig died of" than grand- 
 father Smallweed did. Parsons sometimes are atro- 
 cious poachers when they shoot and fish much upon 
 small resources ; they have the notion that the cloth 
 protects them, no doubt. I knew of one once, whom 
 a friend caught a good quarter of a mile or more 
 beyond his bounds in fishing some three or four times ; 
 and the excuse always was, that " he did not know 
 wasn't aware begged pardon would retire,'' and so 
 on. Of course a man who did not mind poaching re- 
 peatedly did not mind telling a lie. My friend re- 
 minded him that he had been set right on this head 
 three times already, and if it happened again he would 
 write to his bishop, and the threat was effectual. 
 
 There was one skunk in my neighbourhood who 
 positively advertised for persons to join him in shooting 
 " comfortable home," " use of dogs," &c. but who 
 hadn't an acre of shooting. He got a day here and 
 a day there, when and how he could. He didn't mind 
 worrying his parishioners for a day now and then, and
 
 The Poacher. 47 
 
 they couldn't always refuse him; and when he couldn't 
 get on otherwise he boldly poached and chanced it. 
 I went to shoot with a friend one day, who told me 
 that he had been bothering him for a day, but that he 
 had flatly refused, saying I was expected to come, and 
 there was no room for him. " And if he knows you're 
 here/' said my friend, " he's very likely to look over 
 and see if you've got any birds." As I was shooting 
 my way home along my own hedges, I was talking to 
 f< Garge " about the parson, and saying what I would 
 do if ever I caught him on my land, when Garge 
 turned round and said suddenly : 
 
 ' ' Happen you won't be long o' meetin' of him then, 
 sir, for here he be." 
 
 I had been shooting along a hedgerow, into which 
 I had driven some birds, and which was right in the 
 middle of my shooting ; and there was this incarnation 
 of coolness entering the same field on the other side 
 with his dog and gun, as if all the place belonged to 
 him. I walked up to him, told him he was trespassing, 
 and he really looked quite surprised. " Whose land 
 is this ? " he asked. 
 
 ' ( Why, it isn't yours, and that you know well 
 enough j and as for the shooting, it is mine, both 
 ways as far as you can see." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; but the land, my dear sir the land 
 who is the landlord ? " 
 
 " Lord Barrington." 
 
 "Ah! just so" (with a persuasive smile). "I 
 have leave over Lord Barrington's land." 
 
 " Ah ! " I said, considerably riled, as I knew it was 
 a lie ; " I don't care whose leave you have. If you
 
 48 Hot Pot. 
 
 set foot on my shooting again, I'll summon you, my 
 friend; and as for Lord Barrington, he lets the shooting 
 to his tenants with all his farms, and never gives leave 
 to anyone ; and I rent it. And that's your shortest 
 way out ; and I am not at all sure I sha'n't summon you 
 as it is ; and," I said significantly, for a parting shot, 
 " I don't remember seeing your name in the licence 
 list." This double barrel told, and he tried to bow 
 himself out cheekily, but it was rather as if he had a 
 blister in an inconvenient place ; and he wrote me an 
 awfully civil apologetic note the next morning con- 
 taining several more lies, and, what's more, never 
 came on my land again. 
 
 Then there is the poacher who drives round the 
 lanes promiscuously, with a fast trotting mare and a 
 light cart with a friend, dog and gun well out of 
 sight, but handy too. He sees a covey within distance 
 of the hedge no one looking, not a soul in sight. 
 Out comes the gun. The horse is used to it, and 
 stands like the White Horse at Ailesbury. Bang ! 
 bang ! and a brace of birds are done for squatting. 
 If he can get two or three in a line, the more the 
 merrier, of course, for this kind of loafer rejoices in a 
 pot. Out jumps the clever dog and fetches them, and 
 up and off they go. He shoots and he rides away, it's 
 all over in two or three minutes ; and, keeper or no 
 keeper, he is quite safe and snug in his cart behind 
 his fast-trotting mare. This kind of poacher often 
 makes a decent bag in a fifteen-mile round. He 
 knows all the quiet unfrequented roads, and pretty 
 well all the crops and fields, and where to prospect 
 with a decent chance of nailing something. We had
 
 The Poacher. 49 
 
 a queer fish down Portsmouth way when I was a 
 young fellow Myrtle his name : he was a rank 
 poacher; the sort of man who never came home 
 with empty pockets. If he couldn't shoot game, he 
 would have something. He shot a whole flock of 
 gallinas once, two and two, and was only nailed as he 
 slaughtered the last brace ; and he once saw some 
 little pigs running away, and one stuck in the rail- 
 ings, and squeaked horribly. " Poor little piggy," 
 said Harry, looking all round carefully to see that no 
 one was handy ; " what ! not got no one to take care 
 of you ? I'll take care of you " and he did. One 
 Sunday a friend saw him stalking off in a great hurry 
 with a long cloak on. " What's Harry got a cloak on 
 for, on a warm day like this ? " he asked himself. 
 " I'll lay a fiver he's got a gun under it." And so he 
 had. " Harry," said my friend next day, " where 
 were you going yesterday ? Now, no gammon ; you 
 had a gun under that military cloak." " All right, 
 my boy," with a violent wink. " Tom Toe (a sport- 
 ing bricklayer of those parts) told me where he saw a 
 'are in her form, and I just went to fetch her." " But 
 you never shot her in her form ? dash it ! " " Well, ye 
 see, I couldn't take it upon me to make a hare work 
 on a Sunday. 
 
 I remember a very neat nail of one of these driving 
 worthies once. His name was Willmerry, and he 
 used to work round a neighbourhood where the hold- 
 ings were not large, and the properties a good deal 
 mixed. He had cleared off one or two coveys, to the 
 intense disgust of one keeper, who thereupon schemed 
 friend Wilmerry's discomfiture. One day he was
 
 50 Hot Pot. 
 
 driving round the usual beat, when, peeping over a 
 hedge into a rough grass field, there he saw no yes 
 was it ? no by Jingo it was though ! a hare 
 in her form, within twenty-five yards of the hedge, in 
 some rough weed. It was just what he wanted. 
 " Woa, old lass !" in a whisper. Out came the gun 
 click, click, bang and over rolled poor pussy. 
 " Here, Dinah ! hi, fetch her, good bitch \" aud over 
 went Dinah like a bird. But as to fetching her, that 
 was another matter ; she got hold of the hare certainly, 
 but the hare somehow wouldn't come. " What the 
 deuce is the matter ? Dang it all ! the keeper '11 be 
 out at the shot in a moment, if the dawg don't make 
 haste, and that Tompkins is a sharp chap. Hi 'long, 
 good bitch ! fetch him then \" But the good bitch 
 couldn't. " Dang it all, I must go and see what's the 
 matter, though it's quite agin my principles to leave 
 the cart ; but I can't leave the 'are behind, that's agin 
 principle too " and down he stepped. " Steady, old 
 mare !" and he hitched the bridle over a thorn bush, 
 stepped over the hedge, and ran up towards the bitch, 
 who seemed struggling with the hare. He hadn't 
 gone half-way when he saw it all. The hare was 
 a dummy, artistically prepared and pegged down. 
 He looked back, and there was Tompkins standing at 
 the mare's head, patting her; for she was a good, 
 quiet old creature. 
 
 "Well, Muster Willmerry." "Well, Tompkins; 
 take a crown and square it ?" " Not this time, Muster 
 Willmerry." " Well, say half a sov. then, dash it !" 
 " No, no, Master Willmerry, nor half a sov. neither ; 
 you've had fifteen brace o' birds off this very ground,
 
 The Poacher. 51 
 
 as I know. Well, now, 'spose you lay down fifteen 
 'alf-crowns, or say two pound, and we're quits." 
 Willmerry demurred, but it was no use ; and, on con- 
 dition that the whole thing was to be kept strictly 
 dark, at length he parted. He didn't care so much 
 ^bout the money as the scandal and loss of business it 
 might cause if he were prosecuted ; though he had 
 a notion that, clever as the stratagem was, the prose- 
 cution would fail. Still, that was not the point ; but 
 somehow the story leaked out, and he got awfully 
 roasted by his own particular cronies. 
 
 The cheekiest thing I ever knew done was done by 
 a notorious ear-doctor, who was no end of a poacher. 
 He went coolly into General Good's coverts at Pottle- 
 ton, and began to shoot openly right away. His 
 meeting with a keeper was a certainty; and, after 
 a time, when he had just shot a hare, he realised it, 
 and up turned the head boss. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " I've aw been looking for you 
 aw everywhere. Where have you been, my man ? 
 I promised the general I'd send in a hare for dinner, 
 .as he wanted one fresh killed, aw ; so take that on to 
 the cook at once, and make haste. And, by the way, 
 I forget whether he said dinner aw was at half- past 
 six or seven. Oh, seven ! very good aw. Then run 
 in with this hare quick, and meet me round at the 
 other side at Chipping Gate." 
 
 The keeper, of course, took the hare, and hurried 
 off to the house with it ; the aurist went the other way, 
 and had several shots, and bagged two or three brace 
 of pheasants and a hare or two ; but never turned up 
 .at Chipping Gate. And, what's more, the keeper 
 
 E2
 
 52 Sot Pot. 
 
 didn't expect him, for when he got in to the general 
 he found that the aurist had contrived to insert a very 
 large flea in his ear, which told him all about it. 
 And, what's more, that's another true story, and the 
 man's alive now, only he is not an aurist that's not 
 his cue any longer. That game busted years ago. 
 
 Some keepers are blessed with a remarkably dry 
 humour. There was one, I remember, who never could 
 catch a certain Bill Boker ; but one day he happened 
 to be up in a thick tree, under which were sundry 
 rabbit holes, and Bill, who was doing a quiet bit of 
 ferreting, came with a mate to the very spot. In the 
 course of the operations they got a rabbit in a short 
 hole that wouldn't bolt, and Bill lay down and thrust 
 his arm into the hole. 
 
 " A can't reach 'im," soliloquised Bill. " Yes a can. 
 I've got 'im. Coom out thear, wull 'ee," and out he 
 lugged a kicking rabbit, and knocked it on the head 
 with a pleasant grin, when the keeper just put his head 
 out of the foliage above, and said, " Is 't a nice un, 
 Bill ? " not a word more or less. It was enough for 
 Billy, who knew he was greatly wanted by the 
 shire bench. 
 
 I remember another poacher who was hard to catch 
 a dab at night-lining, snaring, &c. Jim Bankes. 
 The keeper, who was out with his master one day, saw 
 a cat, and shot it, when he went to pick it up. 
 
 "Blessed if I haven't shot Jim Bankes' cat, the 
 werry wussest poacher in the parish; aint't I glad," 
 said the keeper. ' ' I knows her by her one ear. Now 
 we'll have some fun, and ketch Jim Bankes, too." 
 
 So he went and poked about the lake in the even-
 
 The Poacher. 53 
 
 ing, and pulled up one of Master Jim's night-lines. 
 He then hooked the cat firmly on to one of the hooks 
 and pitched it in, and went and hid himself. About 
 four in the morning Jim came along, and took hold of 
 the line. 
 
 Got summat this time," said Jim, and he hauled and 
 hauled. " Summat heavy, too, it be; and I 'ope as 
 it's a pike or a big eel. At length it came to land, and, 
 stooping down, he handled it. " Why, beggared if it 
 baint a cat," cried Jim, in intense disgust ; and, after 
 a moment, " Beggared if it aint my cat," as he felt the 
 ear. 
 
 " Yes, Jim, and beggared if I ain't caught both you 
 and your cat at last," said a voice, which Jim knew 
 well, behind him.
 
 64 Hot Pot. 
 
 THE BANKER. 
 
 " I thank my God for my humility." Richard II. 
 
 OF all the varieties of the genus angler, there is none 
 which has my sympathy so much as the genuine old- 
 fashioned " banker," or bank fisher. There are many 
 bankers nowadays who are a disgrace to the name 
 foul-mouthed, beer-swilling ruflians, whose language 
 and demeanour when at the river side render their 
 neighbourhood a thing to be carefully avoided. 
 Angling is essentially a quiet and contemplative 
 recreation, and indiscriminate oaths mingled with 
 semi- drunken revelry or wrangling, hard by one's 
 stand or swim, by no means add to the enjoyment 
 of one's fishing. But I speak not of such fellows as 
 bring the pot-house to the river side with them 
 would that we could always avoid them ! but the 
 humble, quiet bank fisher who gets away for one day 
 in the week out of the smoke, dust, and toil of Lon- 
 don, away from the soul-crushing city labour, to 
 refresh his senses by peaceful, simple amusement by 
 some river or brook in the country who bathes him- 
 self in nature, as it were, weekly, to wash off some of 
 the grime of art and labour him I look upon with a 
 pleasant paternal feeling ; for he is a true angler like
 
 The Banker. 55 
 
 myself, and an ardent disciple of our dear old father 
 Izaak. How often have I seen him 
 
 With his knacks 
 At his back, 
 
 wending his way 
 
 To sweet streams, 
 Lea or Thames, 
 To enjoy his leisure. 
 
 Haply some unusual circumstance has given him a 
 holiday, and midnight sees him plodding steadily 
 along past Hyde Park- corner and by Knightsbridge, 
 on his way to some loved but far-off spot, miles away 
 up the river. He will walk all night, and towards 
 morning he will reach his destination. 
 
 Weary, toilsome, needless work, you think, when 
 there are early third-class trains, which for a mere 
 trifle would put him down within a mile or so of his 
 fishing place ? Then you know nothing, good critic, 
 of the delight of a moonlight walk, with the great 
 city far in the rear, and no sounds but those of nature 
 around you, to the dweller in smoky London who, 
 loving the country, has but few opportunities of visit- 
 ing it. When I was a young man living in London, 
 and having my daily occupation in the heart of it, 
 many and many a time have I done the same thing ; 
 not from any necessity, but from a pure love of the 
 walk, from a craving for air and exercise; and, as I have 
 said before, often have I tramped away, sometimes 
 alone, sometimes with a friend, over Wimbledon Com- 
 mon, under the broad moonlight at two o'clock in the 
 morning, to reach Hampton Court, or rather Moleseye, 
 aud knock up old Wisdom at daybreak, for a long
 
 66 Hot Pot. 
 
 day amongst the roach, dace, bream, and barbel ; and 
 I can look back to none of all my many fishing expe- 
 ditions with half the fondness or delight which I do 
 to those. How I revelled in that night walk, how it 
 comes back to me in memory ! How I enjoyed the 
 cup of hot coffee ; the yarn with old Bill ; the very 
 smell of the rushes- and the river ; the sight of the 
 green hedges and the sparkling water; the rustling 
 of the splendid trees close at hand ; with the sense of 
 being afloat again for a day on the river (not a com- 
 mon or every-day occurrence then by any means) ! 
 And what sport we used to have, too, in those good 
 old days five-and-twenty years ago ! Yet my home 
 of residence was not a very dull or dreary one, for I 
 lived upon dear old Cheyne Walk, hard by the Don 
 Saltero, and the river was not strange to me, though 
 it was not the same altogether that it was at Hampton 
 Court. And if I enjoyed the change so much, and still 
 more the method of arriving at it, how much more must 
 the poor man, who lives in some close pestiferous court, 
 and sees nothing but chimney pots, close workshops, 
 and dirty streets, filth, beggary, and crime all around, 
 and who becomes fossilised into a sort of secondary 
 strata, with smoke above him, and gutters by way of 
 a primary formation below. 
 
 For days and days previously with what ardour has 
 he looked forward to this day's enjoyment. How he 
 has watched and noted the signs of the weather and 
 the portents as to the state of the water. How he 
 has raked over his scanty collection of hooks and lines 
 and floats, all home-made as far as possible ; with 
 what fondness he gazes on that small lock of sorrel
 
 The Banker. 57 
 
 hair plucked from the tail of one of Snarkly and 
 Workus's horses by a friendly drayman not easy to 
 obtain anywhere now, trust me. How carefully, too, 
 that bank runner which is to fetch him an eel or two, 
 haply, as a great treat, is looked over, and every splice 
 in that wonderfully contrived rod is anxiously scanned 
 and varnished. And then the ground bait, what an 
 anxious task that is to prepare, and the paste to be 
 made, and the penn'orth of well-scoured liver gentles, 
 and the penn'orth of red worms to be got where the 
 best penn'orths can be had and who knows that better 
 than he does ? What a job it is to get all this in 
 proper order and properly packed, too ; and when the 
 happy night arrives, with his bundle of sticks and his 
 basket on his back, he kisses " the old woman and 
 the kids," and, whistling a tune of gladness, he is out 
 and away on the great western road, throwing the 
 miles behind him, and a-whistling of a tune louder than 
 ever. The last public on the road has long been closed, 
 night rules supreme ; the stars shine in a galaxy 
 o'erhead. Now and then the sweet full notes of a 
 nightingale may be heard far away, or even the less 
 tuneful and nearer hoot of an owl, or flocks of wild 
 fowl may be making mournful notes high up o'er head, 
 as they journey tireless through the realms of air 
 whither ? How lovely the world seems to him at this 
 moment ! and what a contrast to that stifling court 
 behind ! His mind flies back to the happiest times of 
 his life, and memory is busy within him " inditing of 
 a good matter." But the nights are full short now, 
 and so towards daybreak, haply, he comes upon some 
 well-known old-fashioned wayside public, where the
 
 58 Hot Pot. 
 
 market carts and night waggons call for their early 
 purl, and, having perhaps walked a good round dozen 
 of miles, a shining pewter vase of early purl does not 
 come amiss to him; and, mark me, that same early 
 purl, when deftly mixed and fairly drunk, is a whole- 
 some, toothsome, and comforting thing. Think not, 
 poor reveller, that your morning " doctor " of eggs 
 and eau de vie, or hock and soda, after a night's dissi- 
 pation, refreshing for the moment though it may be, 
 can equal the draught of early purl honestly gained 
 by a twelve-mile stretch through the night. Only try 
 it, if you have the stuff left in you for it, and I warrant 
 me that you will not look down upon that cratur and 
 say, like Sir Charles Coldstream, that " there's nothing 
 in it." Perhaps, too, a snack of cold bacon and a 
 hunch of bread, just to keep out the chilliness of the 
 morning air, is handed down into the provision ware- 
 house to keep it company, and then a meditative shaugh 
 of the pipe follows to make everything all right ; and 
 this perhaps leads to half an hour's forty winks in the 
 neighbouring stable on half a dozen trusses of delicious 
 hay, by favour of his old acquaintance and gossip 
 Will'm ostler, as it is over early to seek the river-side 
 yet. 
 
 But the sun rises, and the banker, like a giant re- 
 freshed, rises with it and betakes him, all glowing with 
 hope and eagerness, the culmination of long and deli- 
 cious anticipation, down the road, over the hedge, 
 across the meadow, " brushing with hasty steps the 
 dew away;" through the gap, and so down to the 
 favourite old willow stump where he lost the big chub 
 last year. Is that big chub there yet ? is a question
 
 The Banker. 59 
 
 of no little moment with him ; and will he bite again 
 to-day ? and, if he should, will he have the luck to 
 
 land him ? If so ; but no, the hope seems too 
 
 presumptuous. And now he stands on the river bank, 
 and scans with curious and inquiring eye the scene of 
 many a pleasant hour ; for this is, of all his favourite 
 haunts, the most favourite fishing stand of our banker. 
 Carefully he treads the bank, that he may not disturb 
 the wary fish. The mist is just lifting from the water, 
 which is tolerabiy high, as bankers like it to be, for it 
 drives the fish in to the sides. There has been rain of * 
 late, and the river is of a nice grey colour too, and is 
 evidently clearing from the flood. All is as it should 
 be when at the best, and promises well for sport. His 
 heart beats high with confidence, and he mutters to 
 himself, " Some on 'em '11 nick it afore this day's out, 
 or I ain't no prophet. Never see the water in finer % 
 order, nor the swim in better twig, in my life; and 
 better nor all, there's no bran nor no muck about 
 neither, so no one ain't fished it this flood yet, and 
 I've the first on it. I wun't take ten pound o' fish for 
 this day's work don't know as I'd take twelve. By 
 Jeerusalem ! shouldn't wonder if I got as 'igh as fif- 
 teen and I never did that here but once, and then 
 why, then it was jest sich a day as this ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, he has mixed his bran, bread, and boiled 
 rice, wetted, and kneaded it up in a large cotton pocket- 
 handkerchief a goodly lump of it. The bank runner, 
 with its four hooks, is suitably baited, and pitched out 
 into the stream, and, we are glad to say, does during 
 the day yield two or three nice eels, which will form a 
 sumptuous repast on the morrow. His baits are
 
 60 Hot Pot. 
 
 arranged to hand ; his home-made landing net, a hazel 
 stick and a wire ring, sticks in the turf hard by ; his 
 old rod a miracle of splinters and wax-ends, a com- 
 pound of bamboo, lancewood, and umbrella sticks, and 
 tied in a dozen places is carefully put together; a 
 little reel, so small that it is a wonder what such things 
 are made for, holds his running line some ten yards 
 or so of fine water cord, at twopence a hank. His 
 tackle is of the roughest; his float a swan's quill, rude 
 but serviceable; his line "a thing of shreds and 
 patches ; " all bespeak the humbleness of his means, 
 save his hook and the link of hair it is tied on these 
 are as choice as any angler need desire. All is ready; 
 he has plumbed his depth ; tested the bottom to see 
 that all is clear, and that the flood has deposited no 
 bushes or dangerous obstructions in the swim. 
 " Plump, plump, plump/' in go three balls of ground 
 bait ; the little three-joint fold-up stool is fixed and 
 planted under the old pollard stump ; the morning is 
 fairly awake, and so is the banker. Now for it ! 
 
 We need not follow his sport. We rejoice to say 
 that it is a very big red-letter day with our banker. 
 He has topped even the distantly hoped for 151b. by 
 more than half a pound. He has hooked the big chub 
 ay, and he has basketed him too ; and there he lies, 
 a majestic 2-pounder, and the biggest fish he ever 
 caught. No king so great as he, no conqueror more 
 glorious; he has fulfilled his ambition. Is he happy, 
 think you ? Happy, why he is absolutely radiant ! He 
 is not only at peace with himself, but with all the 
 world, and gladness hums within him as though he 
 were a hive flowing with milk and honey. He'd go
 
 The Banker. 61 
 
 out of his way, a mile or two, I know now, to do anyone 
 a kind turn ; as for his catch, that of a certainty will 
 pleasure several poor bodies when he gets home. His 
 face is a perfect Christmas face, and a great medicine 
 for low spirits. What if he only earns eighteen bob 
 a week ! why, he couldn't have enjoyed himself more 
 if he earned eighty. So " there's no place in the 
 world like old Hengland, no place in old Hengland to 
 go a-fishin' from like London (chimneys and gutters 
 notwithstanding), and no river to go fishin' to, when 
 you knows where to go, and can drop on 'em/ like the 
 Thames. Don't tell me ! " This is the sweet content- 
 ment that Walton talks, sings of, and worships ; and 
 it is all true too, true to the very spirit and letter. 
 "And then, dear me, here's the Jolly Waggoners 
 again, as I live; and we must be drinking again, 
 Master Critic we really must. It is unfortunate, 
 perhaps, that men of all classes like to drink when 
 thirsty, and enjoy fermented liquors as a medium 
 pleasant to the palate. It may be very wrong and 
 very low to mention it, but I can't, for the life of me, 
 see why. It is the custom, you see, with high and 
 low, and a custom, may be, honoured more in the breach 
 than the observance. But even that, save to a "total 
 abstainer," does not consign it to the unmentionable ; 
 and four penn'orth o' gin and water 'ot, and a pipe, 
 after such a glorious day, before walkin' 'ome again, 
 won't hurt nobody, for " it's a poor 'art as never rejoices 
 when it have enjoyed itself." And to this also we 
 say "Amen." It is the only fourpenn'orth he has 
 had, or will have, this day. How many haply have 
 had his mates in London, now qualifying for a night
 
 62 Hot Pot. 
 
 in the station-house, a fine of five shillings, with severe 
 indisposition to do any work harder than skittles the 
 next day ? Poor fellows ! but they don't know any 
 better, bless you ; they're not anglers, worse luck for 
 them ! And, to crown the glory of the day, while he 
 is smoking his pipe who should come in, just for half a 
 pint, but his old chum, Bill Waggles, the Chertsey 
 carrier, who is going " up " on an unusual errand with 
 an assortment of dry goods, which, happily, have pro- 
 duced their obvious effect and particular attribute in 
 Waggles himself. To him our banker, " Why, Will \" 
 Answers Will, " Wot, mate ! why, who'd a thought o' 
 seein' you ? " " And who'd a thought o' seeing you, 
 old boy ? " " Lor, I be so glad to see 'ee ; why, we 
 aint had a jaw together this year an' more. Goin' up ? 
 But in course you be. Bin a fishin', too, as ushual ; 
 always a-fishin', ses you. Well, it's a hearty sport for 
 them's likes it. Rayther prefers rattin' myself more 
 livelier like. But there, stop a bit while I makes a 
 snug corner for ye under the tilt." And so, lolling 
 amongst sacks of oats, barrels of beer, cheeses, and 
 other soft and convenient settees, superior for comfort 
 to any of Gillow's, the banker jingles steadily home in 
 excess of luxurious ease, talking over the reminiscences 
 of their mutual youth with his old friend in low drowsy 
 tones, now and then broken by a quiet but glad laugh ; 
 and the stars, who are clearly of the party, twinkle 
 down upon them as brightly as they do upon kings 
 and kaisers, and tell, perhaps, to their simple souls 
 stories of things above them, which they do not tell to 
 everybody. Happy banker !
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 63 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF AN ANGLER; 
 OR, JUSTICES' JUSTICE. 
 
 "Thus hath the court of justice wheeled about." Richard HI. 
 
 IN looking for angling reminiscences through my old 
 tackle box, I came upon some that befel me during 
 the great railway mania. What a time that was ! 
 How outrageously mad the whole population were, and 
 what a heap of money was fooled away by the great 
 British public ! As for the engineers and surveyors 
 it seemed as if the country was delivered over to their 
 tender mercies to do as they liked with it, and the 
 way we levelled through gentlemen's grounds, and 
 carved ways through their plantations, regardless of 
 expense, and quite without consideration as to what 
 the feelings of the owners might be, was something to 
 see, and gave one very free notions of the rights of 
 property. Had it lasted much longer, I fear that I 
 for one should have been quite demoralised, and 
 should have received the ineradicable impression that 
 " engineer " and " buccaneer " were convertible 
 terms. On some lines we were opposed ; but, bless 
 you? if a proprietor hired twenty keepers and 
 watchers to oppose us, we hired fifty roughs and rips 
 from the nearest town to oppose them, and the British
 
 64 Sot Pot. 
 
 public paid for them. What did we care ? Any 
 noodle who had ever handled a level or chain could 
 get his five guineas a day and expenses, and as much 
 champagne as he cared for. Ah ! as the song says, 
 
 Will those days, will those days, 
 
 Will those days come not again ? 
 
 While on one line, fate brought us to the primitive 
 little village of Downton, situated on the Avon, some 
 miles south of Salisbury. It has a wide, clean street, 
 and a very comfortable public, with a tap of old 
 home-brewed that you must not play tricks with a 
 peaceful village in truth, where it would be hard to 
 get into mischief, one would think. Still I did very 
 innocently contrive to get into mischief there, and in the 
 course of my first visit to Downton I had the supreme 
 felicity of being walked up the middle of that unin- 
 teresting " High-street " in durance vile of a pair of 
 rural policemen it is needless to say stupid rural 
 policemen, for whoever saw one that wasn't ? Yes, 
 I was walked up that street on (I would blush if my 
 cuticle permitted it) a Sunday afternoon. With suit- 
 able lamentations I say, Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. 
 I had been poaching on a Sunday. Yea, my friends, 
 the truth must be told that I had been fishing where I 
 had no business to be, it seems, and had been arrested 
 by the strong arm of the law, or rather four strong 
 arms thereof; and thus it fell out. 
 
 I confess that in those days I saw no great harm in 
 wandering by the river side, rod in hand, on a Sun- 
 day ; indeed, I had little chance of wandering thus on 
 any other day. It seemed to me to be a peaceful and 
 harmless occupation enough, and rather in harmony
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 65 
 
 with the day than otherwise ; and, although I am not 
 about to defend the practice, and have, rather in 
 deference to Mrs. Grundy, and the opinions of others 
 than from any self-convictions, long since ceased from 
 it, yet, although I have often turned it over in my mind, 
 I can find no canon of the Church or otherwise that 
 forbids it. We are forbidden to work, but we are not 
 forbidden to amuse ourselves within reason; and 
 we do smoke and read our newspapers, and drink or 
 talk over our neighbours, and do many other things 
 which more presumably moral folks think compara- 
 tively harmless. But the great majority forbid it, 
 and in this country we bow to that decision if we do 
 not want a rough time of it. 
 
 In my extenuation I can only say that in those days 
 I was an articled pup in an office, with very few 
 holidays, and an absorbing love of the rod, and I 
 did now and then transgress in the manner stated. 
 It happened, as I have said, that I found myself in the 
 course of my railway work in the lively village of 
 Downton. I had had a couple of months or so of 
 very hard work. Sunday at Downton gave one an 
 idea of a general agricultural tomb, with liquid 
 funereal accompaniments. Heavens ! how dreary it 
 was ! I thought of Alexander Selkirk. It was true 
 that " I was monarch of all I surveyed," but that 
 brought no comfort, for the survey was only 12ft. by 
 14ft. of stuffy inn parlour. I repeated : 
 
 Oh solitude, where are the charms that sages have seen in thy 
 
 face? 
 Better dwell in the midst of alarms than reign in this horrible 
 
 place. 
 
 P
 
 66 Hot Pot. 
 
 Alarms ! I give you my word, sir, that if a mad 
 bull had charged the inn door, or a raging Bengal 
 tiger struck down the landlord on his own door-step, 
 or a " bounding grizzly bear," as the showmen 
 describe him, had carried off the landlady's torn cat 
 (who made night doleful by his wails across the 
 street) to the neighbouring chimney pot, I should 
 have regarded it as quite a Godsend. Now, did you 
 ever did you, dear kind friendly reader spend a 
 day under similiar circumstances ? If so, lay your 
 " 'and on your 'rt," as they say at the Transpontine 
 theatres, and tell me what were your feelings. For 
 amusement or distraction there was only, as the waiter 
 in Punch remarked, " Gin, sir ; brandy, sir ; rum, 
 sir ; " and if I was in bad spirits, my state of misery 
 was aggravated by my being compelled to allow that 
 the Horse was in worse. And besides, I never had 
 any strong predilection for solitary drinking, and even 
 solitary smoking won't last for ever. The afternoon 
 was fine, and I thought a stroll up the river would do 
 me no great harm. I had a fly rod indeed, I always 
 had one somewhere among my luggage in those days 
 and I thought I might as well take that with me. 
 Doubting whether such a thing might be looked upon 
 with a very unfavourable eye, I called in the landlord 
 and consulted him. His views were latitudinarian in 
 one sense, though he held that whatever a good 
 customer did was right in another. A convenient 
 dogma, favourable to morality, comfort, and profit. 
 He did not seem to think there was any general objec- 
 tion. I asked him " Where could I go ? " and he told 
 me to go up the bank beyond the mill, and if anyone
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 67 
 
 came to me to mention his name, and it would 
 prove a talisman of great power. I did not find 
 it so. He might as well have been John Smith, 
 of London, as landlord of the White Horse, of 
 Downton. 
 
 However, taking my rod, I strolled off, and, finding 
 a footpath by the river side, I got out my rod and 
 began to fish. The river did not look very likely, but 
 from it flowed a small side-stream, running back 
 towards the mill, which looked very tempting, and I 
 left the main river to try it. I had proceeded along 
 it some distance, and had just taken a trout of l^lb., 
 when there came out of the mill the miller. He looked 
 at me much as the gude-man in the old Scotch song 
 might have looked when asking his wife, ft How 
 came a mon here wi'out the leave o' me ? " and the 
 answer apparently was not equally satisfactory, for 
 presently a youth species rustic, genus lout, of 
 course came to me and said in effect that " master 
 had sent him to say he'd be werry much 'bleeged if 
 I wouldn't fish in that water, as he hadn't given 
 leave to anyone to fish it this season." Whether the 
 boy had misunderstood or misconveyed his message 
 or no, I cannot say ; but, naturally supposing he re- 
 ferred to the pretty bit of water I was fishing in, I 
 said " Certainly, I will leave it immediately." I 
 mentioned the cabalistic name of the landlord, and 
 the genius at once withdrew into the jar, or rather 
 the mill; and thinking the name of that Solomon 
 had proved the talisman I thought it, and done the 
 business, I made my way back again to the main 
 river, some eighty or a hundred yards off. The river 
 
 P2
 
 68 Hot Pot. 
 
 was not trout water, being a heavy mill-head, full of 
 big jack and a few roach and dace, and I was 
 strolling on, giving a whip now and then, not with 
 any idea of really fishing, but because it was easier 
 than tackling up. I smoked my pipe in calm 
 serenity, without any idea of catching anything, 
 meandering and mooning, and certainly not harming 
 anyone ; when on looking round I saw two rural 
 bobbies marching down the bank, with heads erect, 
 and majesty in their port. "Where the deuce can 
 they be going ? up to the next village, I suppose," 
 thought I when, to my surprise, they came straight 
 to me and collared me. 
 
 " Holloa," quoth I, " what is the meaning of 
 this ? " " You was ordered by Mr. B. to go away, 
 
 and you didn't." " That's a " (I'm afraid the 
 
 epithet I used was not a choice one) ; " I was re- 
 quested very civilly to leave that water down there, 
 and I at once left it." " You was ordered to go, 
 and didn't, and Muster B. have giv' you in charge, 
 so you must come along of we to Muster Shake- 
 berry." (That is not exactly his name, but is as 
 near as it is proper to go to it.) "Now look here, 
 my friends," said I, "have the goodness to take 
 your hands off my collar. If you want me to ac- 
 company you, I will do so, but if you are going to 
 lug me along, by George you shall carry me." 
 The proposal was not agreeable to them, for the 
 road was narrow, boggy, slippy, and the river con- 
 venient; so they consented to allow me to use my 
 own legs instead of theirs, and I walked into the 
 village, with the majesty of the law on either side
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 69 
 
 of me, up the main street, with three-fourths of the 
 population of Downton at my heels. 
 
 In an ordinary way I should have been mortally 
 ashamed of my situation, but I was in such a 
 towering rage that I did not care twopence for any- 
 body or anything. I had been swindled, and if I 
 was a sinner, I considered myself a betrayed and 
 deluded one. The landlord was a false prophet and 
 an impostor; the miller a deceptive duffer, who did 
 not know his own mind nor his own language ; his 
 boy an idiotic atomy, who could not carry a message ; 
 my captors twelve feet of bone and sinew without 
 brains they might have ordered me off, taken my 
 name, and summoned me, without making me a 
 spectacle in this way; the crowd were chawbacons, 
 only fit to grin through a horse collar. I was an 
 injured and truly virtuous individual, subjugated by 
 a complicated tyranny. 
 
 Up to the justice's we went, through the gates, up 
 the gravel walk, and knocked at the door, the crowd 
 amusing themselves meanwhile by peeping in between 
 the bars and ornaments of the front gate ; and whether 
 I had been burning ricks, or robbing a church or 
 a neighbouring bank, seemed to be a very divided 
 opinion. Out came to inspect me the cook and the 
 housekeeper ; out came the housemaids, one of whom 
 was pretty. This pulled me together a bit ; I enlisted 
 her sympathies at once by bestowing on her a friendly 
 droop of the dexter eyelid in pure bravado, the house- 
 keeper being so horrified thereat she was old and 
 ugly that she held up her hands as if she had seen 
 her master brought in on a shutter at least. How-
 
 70 Hot Pot. 
 
 ever, the great man was not at home, so we proceeded 
 back towards the inn, and met him coming home 
 in his chaise. 
 
 He had been out to lunch or early dinner, and had 
 a comfortable allowance of solid and fluid under his 
 belt ; I could see several glasses of port in his nose. 
 He was, in truth, a most jovial, pleasant old gentle- 
 man. He had been in the navy, and retired to the 
 enjoyment of a country life, carrying all that was 
 good of him with him. The chaise stopped. " Now, 
 what is all this ?" and the justice eyed me over, then 
 heard what my captors had to say, and said, " Go 
 down to the White Horse ; I'll be there presently." 
 Again the procession was formed, and we resumed our 
 triumphal march my guards Hob and Nob, with 
 Snob in a tumultuous and overwhelming mob in the 
 re.ar. Thanks be, the White Horse soon opened his 
 rack and manger to receive me, and I was screened 
 from the gaze of the vulgar at last. 
 
 Anon the great man came. He heard the state- 
 ment of Hob and Nob ; then I mildly put in my own ; 
 and then what a wigging he gave the policemen ! 
 " Here," he said, " you fellows come and make all this 
 uproar, and hunt me up on a Sunday afternoon for 
 nothing. If you had taken the young gentleman's 
 name, and where he was staying, and warned him off, 
 you could have summoned him to-morrow, and avoided 
 all this hullabaloo. It is a most extraordinary thing, 
 but if a poor fellow cuts a stick out of a hedge or 
 a turf from the side of the road, you come and bother 
 me to death with it, and upset the whole place ; but if 
 a burglary is committed, or half a score of ricks burnt
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 71 
 
 down, you know nothing about it. The young gen- 
 tleman of course was wrong, very wrong. Fishing on 
 a Sunday very reprehensible indeed ! Dear me ! 
 without leave, too !" And he looked at me with a 
 half-quizzical, half-comical air. "You'll get out a 
 summons, d'ye hear ? and come and serve it on this 
 young gentleman the first thing to-morrow morning. 
 Come to me at eight o'clock to-morrow morning, and 
 I'll make it out ; d'ye hear ? And " (as the bobbies 
 bowed themselves out very much crestfallen) " you be 
 off at seven," he continued, turning to me. 
 
 Need I say that I took the advice so kindly ten. 
 dered, and that when the cavasses made their appear- 
 ance a few minutes after eight the next morning, 
 Bedreddin that's me was not bed-ridden, but was 
 standing at the gates of Damascus, otherwise Salis- 
 bury, and the disappointed seekers realised the truth 
 of the old saying, " It's the early bird that catches the 
 worm," with painful distinctness. The nest was still 
 warm, but " the bird which sung so sweetly had 
 flown." The summons and the law were there, but 
 the worm had wisely absquatulated, thanks to the 
 noblest beak I ever had the pleasure to come before. 
 Dear old fellow ! I met him some years after in the 
 coach, and re-introduced myself to him, and we had a 
 rare guffaw over the confusion of the bobbies, who 
 caught it again, it seems, right and left from him, 
 when they came back with rueful countenances to say 
 " the young gent had gone away hearly in the morn- 
 ing." He gave me leave to fish his water, which I did 
 shortly after with great success. It was a splendid 
 jack water, and I made such a capture of fish out of it
 
 72 Hot Pot. 
 
 one afternoon as I hardly ever made in my life. I 
 know my back ached with only carrying them a 
 hundred yards or so, and I lost as many as I caught, 
 though there was nothing over lOlb. among them ; 
 but I lost one in the same water the next day reputed 
 at 181b.
 
 Christmas in the Fisherman's Snuggery. 73 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN THE FISHERMAN'S 
 SNUGGERY. 
 
 "Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, 
 Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round." The Task. 
 
 A FISHERMAN'S SNUGGERY what is it like ? A square- 
 ish room, about 16ft. each way, low rather than lofty, 
 with recesses on either side of the fireplace, and a 
 glazed bookcase in each one containing a choice 
 collection of books on angling, ancient and modern, 
 and the other a good selection of works upon natural 
 history, botany, geology, and kindred sciences; for 
 your true angler should always have a love for Nature 
 and her secrets, and should study how to unlock them. 
 Below the book-cases are chiffonnieres, with cupboards. 
 In one long drawer, with a let-down flap, is contained 
 in various small drawers and pigeon-holes the entire 
 arcana of bait fishing, and in the other of fly fishing. 
 Both are open this Christmas day, and a loving ramble 
 amongst their contents is going on of which anon. 
 On each side of the fireplace is a gas jet and lamp for 
 the convenience of reading ; just under it, hollowed 
 out beside the chimney, are two little cupboards. In 
 one are kept pipes and tobacco rare old Viennese 
 meerschaums, the carving on which is perfect enough
 
 74 Hot Pot. 
 
 to make works of art of them, while the colouring, 
 from rich gold deepening down to dusky chocolate, is 
 superb ; fine old Dutch bowls, that Teniers or Ostade 
 might have painted, or, at least, have smoked ; a grand 
 narghile, resplendent in gold thread, clouded amber, 
 and gems, a present from the Pasha of Manytails; 
 eccentric carved French briars, wonderful bits of art 
 and bizarre fancy; fine old clay calumets from the 
 Mohicans and Chippeways; over the mantlepiece a 
 rack of chillums and* tchibouks, with splendid stems of 
 cherry and jasmine wood, fragrant enough for a true 
 believer to smoke when attended by the houris in 
 Mahomed's paradise. In the other cupboard cases of 
 cigars of many brands, but all of the finest Chicas, 
 Panatelas, Intimidads, little Princesas, and a dozen 
 more with cheroots of the choicest, the latter bedded 
 in their leaden coffins, and embalmed in green tea. 
 Nothing preserves their flavour and condition like it ; 
 but it does not do to drink the tea after it has been thus 
 used. We once heard of an old lady, a very careful 
 housekeeper, who, not liking to throw away such 
 beautiful-looking tea, as ordered by her master, took 
 a surreptitious cup, and nearly poisoned herself by so 
 doing. Under the cupboards are two little brackets 
 to stand the convenient tumbler on. An open fire- 
 place, with fine old Dutch tiles none of your Minton's 
 gorgeousness, but fine bulky old Adams and Eves in 
 blue tracery, and nothing else not even the traditional 
 aprons with calves like coalheavers' ; and there, too, 
 is that impossible Prodigal, with the husks as big as 
 trusses how he fed on 'em the mind cannot conceive ; 
 and Joseph in a pit like a small well, out of which he
 
 Christmas in the Fisherman's Snuggery. 75 
 
 could have stepped at any moment, and why he didn't 
 was the mystery ; and Lot's wife being turned into 
 the strangest blue salt that ever was seen surely ; 
 and Abraham and the ram ; and Jacob's dream, in 
 which a ten-round ladder reaches to a feather-bed 
 representing the clouds, and cherubs like exaggerated 
 salmon-flies are going up and down without legs 
 and why they wanted that ladder at all, as 
 the little boy said to the governess, when they had 
 wings, puzzles me quite as much as it did him, 
 "Why does zem angels have a ladder, Miss Brown, 
 when zem's got wings ; could'nt zem fly ? " he asked. 
 Probably his little sister's suggestion may have had 
 something in it. She, being a bird proprietor and 
 poultry yard frequenter, " Perhaps zem's moultin, 
 Tommy ! " But to return to our tiles. There we have 
 the whole Bible history in blue tiles, each more 
 wonderful, more surprising, and out of drawing than 
 the other. In the fireplace is a grate, which can be 
 taken out, and the andirons used for a wood fire, if 
 preferred. On either side are two comfortable easy 
 chairs, with a small table at hand that can be turned 
 into a reading-desk in a second. All round the room 
 are racks and pegs, upon which favourite rods, nets, 
 gaffs, &c., depend. On one side of the room, opposite 
 the fire, is a divan, with comfortable cushions for 
 lounging, and just above it another gas jet and read- 
 ing lamp. The window is a large old-fashioned bow, 
 with octangular panes of glass, and looks out through 
 a mass of creepers on a trim lawn decked with beauti- 
 ful shrubs ; inside the bow stands a small table and a 
 plain Windsor chair. In the table are one or two
 
 76 Hot Pot. 
 
 well-holes to hold bottles of varnish, liquid wax, &c. ; 
 on the edge of the table a capital vice is fixed, with 
 various mechanical contrivances for fly-making; a 
 drawer at the end of the table, which stands open, is 
 strewed with spring tweezers and nippers, scissors, 
 files, tinsel, twist, hanks of gut, &c. ; and beside the 
 chair stands a kind of Canterbury, in which are books, 
 containing feathers of all kinds, dubbings various, and 
 silks, chenille, &c., of divers colours, close and ready 
 to the hand of the operator. A few cases of rare 
 English birds and stuffed fish (the captives of the 
 angler's bow and spear), and one or two of Rolfe's 
 and Cooper's pictures, decorate the walls, which are 
 papered with a warm flock paper of brown and red. 
 No curtains help to hide the light from the windows, 
 but a couple of big folding-screens, covered by loving 
 hands with cuts from Punch mostly reminiscences of 
 poor John Leech stand behind either chair when 
 needed. There is a pleasant smell of camphor, Turk- 
 ish tobacco, and Russia leather about. 
 
 We have retired from the noisy sports of the 
 youngsters to digest our turkey and mincepie with a 
 post-prandial pipe and prose, and are noting various 
 odds and ends. " There," says George, taking a 
 dusty, dingy old salmon fly, past colour or mark of 
 teeth, tied on treble gut, off a hook on the wall, where 
 it hung ; " that is the fly I killed my first salmon with, 
 twenty-five years ago come April next ! Well I 
 remember it. Shall I ever forget it, indeed ? Does 
 anyone ever forget his- first salmon ? Aye, aye, it was 
 in the Thurso, in the Linn of Skinnet, as the pool was 
 called then, though it has long been called by another
 
 Christmas in the Fisherman's Snuggery. 77 
 
 name, close to where Brawl castle stands now. It's a 
 deadish water, or was just then, for the river was low, 
 and there was not much water. But the Thurso never 
 wants water, except to bring in fresh fish. Once get 
 them in, and it will keep on fishing well for a month or 
 six weeks without a drop of rain. All you want is 
 wind. He wasn't much of a fish, and in the dead 
 water played rather pikeishly, but I got him out at 
 last, quite panting with excitement. He weighed 
 about lO^lb. ; and surely so beauteous a creature 
 never was seen by mortal eyes. I never got tired of 
 looking at him. I killed three more that afternoon, 
 and well I blooded my maiden steel. There it hangs, 
 that good old gaff, broken at the head. That was 
 that lout Archy M'Kay's doing up on the Tay. 
 Archy got drunk one evening, and, coming home, got 
 a cropper over the rocks, and fell with my gaff in his 
 hand. It received, doubtless, a severe blow. At all 
 events, next day, up above Hell Hole, I ran a very 
 heavy fish 301b. or more and, after half an hour's 
 brilliant play, brought him round. Archy gaffed him 
 fairly ; the fish gave a plunge, and went away (having 
 dislodged the fly) with half of the gaff in his body, while 
 Archy stood like a fool staring at the other half. I 
 was raw, I tell you, siree, for I had had the water for a 
 week, and it was the only clean fish I had hooked that 
 week, the river being full of kelts, and clean fish very 
 few. 
 
 " That big landing net ? Yes ; as you say, what a 
 long handle ! By the aid of that long handle my 
 netsman once landed more than I bargained for when 
 we went out. It was a dead baby, pitched into a
 
 78 Hot Pot. 
 
 deepish pool, with a stone round its neck like a dog. 
 No ; it was never discovered who did it. 
 
 " Where did I get the stuffed otter ? Ah ! that is 
 a good joke. It was trapped by Spots the gauger, up 
 in Donegal. Ha, ha ! Spots used to trap otters and 
 badgers, and all sorts of things, away in the Rosses, 
 which is more water than land, and as much stones as 
 either though that's Irish for a bull, I suppose. 
 Well, Spots was on to this otter and another, and set 
 his trap in a lake hard by Dungloe. I went out one 
 morning early to fish this very lake, and, on the way 
 there, I passed near an island where they had poisoned 
 some crows, and I saw a dead wild cat, which I wanted 
 the skin of; so I made Thady, my gossoon, fist it 
 along. When we came to the lake, as I passed the 
 shore at one end, I noticed the rushes much knocked 
 about, and, going to see what it was, I saw a fine 
 otter drowned and dead in one of Spots's traps. A 
 good joke occurred to me. I hauled out the trap, 
 took out the otter, and put in the cat, and then we 
 hid ourselves in the heather, and waited the advent of 
 Spots. He wasn't long ; but, when he came, if you 
 had heard the odd farrago of wonder, rage, and 
 incredulity that he gave vent to, you would have died 
 of laughter. I burst out at last in such a peal, that 
 Spots" 
 
 " Spotted you." 
 
 "Just so. But don't do that again, old fellow, 
 because it's Christmas day, you know, and really 
 really. However, after that, Spots always dated 
 events from 'the time that he caught the wather- 
 cat.'"
 
 Christmas in the Fisherman's Snuggery. 79 
 
 " That broken top ? Yes, that was my favourite 
 double-handed trouting tool. I fished for a week of 
 Sundays, almost, for a big trout, at the back of some 
 houses at Winchester. I do suppose the brute weighed 
 lOlb, or lllb. There he lay, close under the wall just 
 below, and, by peeping over the garden railings, I 
 could just see him sucking in the comestibles. He 
 had often been hooked, and was mighty wary, and I 
 tried him for weeks with every bait I could think 
 of. At last I tried a cockroach I had known them 
 take big fish before well ; in fact, near a mill, it is 
 one of the very best baits you can use for a big trout. 
 I passed it over him once or twice, but he would not 
 come. At last I passed it so close to him that he 
 clearly got a good sniff of it, and it was irresistible, 
 and he took it like a lamb. Directly I hit him, off he 
 went down stream twenty or thirty yards, then up 
 again, then across to the other side; then he tried a 
 bunch of weeds, but they would'nt hold him, and he 
 came tumbling and rolling over, as I shortened in line, 
 till he was right under the point of my rod ; when, all 
 of a sudden, bethinking himself of a dodge, he bolted 
 up a 10-inch drain right under my feet, smashed the 
 top like a pipe stem, cut the line, and left me out- 
 rageous. I smoked two ounces of 'baccy, sir, that 
 afternoon before I could reconcile it. 
 
 " What is the story of that broken spinning tackle 
 hanging on the nail ? Oh, not very much. Broke in 
 the biggest pike I ever hooked, a 40 or 50 pounder. 
 I got fast in him in Loch Conn, or rather Cullen, near 
 the Pontoon bridge. By Jove, how he did travel ! 
 He just cut the reeds down as if they were mowed by a
 
 80 Sot Pot. 
 
 scythe. I went for a big 'un, so I had a tidy strong 
 line. ' Megorra, Misther F., but he's a baste as big 
 as a corkydile or a halleygaper/ said Patsey, who was 
 peering over the bows, ready to tackle him with a big 
 gaff (which we had out for the occasion) as soon as a 
 chanee offered. As we toiled after him, all of a 
 sudden something went wrong ; he ran foul of a 
 stump of a tree, or a big lump of peat, or something 
 at the bottom of the lake. Whew ! phit ! it was all 
 over in a second, and I was minus half a spinning 
 tackle. f Be jabers ! the whale that swalley'd Jonas 
 was just a babby to him/ said Patsey, after several 
 consolations from the big wicker ' three-pint/ Some- 
 how those big fellows do, nine times in ten, give you 
 leg-bail, or fin-bail rather. 
 
 ' ' You are looking at that old creel with the bottom 
 out. Ha, Ha ! That was a good joke. Jack Whirter 
 and I had a bet of a dinner who would kill the biggest 
 weight of fish one day, when we were in Sutherland- 
 shire, on the . Jack was a smart hand a very 
 
 smart hand and, while I was fishing the main river, 
 Jack came upon a small brook that had spated from a 
 night's rain, and, chancing on some worms, he went 
 up the brook, and made a great take by a great fluke, 
 while I, fishing in the main river lower down, had a 
 fair basket, but nothing extra Jack came back 
 beaming. The trap was to call for us at a certain 
 bridge, and take us back to dinner. While on the 
 bridge, waiting, I wanted to weigh Jack's take, but 
 he would not allow me, wishing to do the triumphant 
 when we arrived at the inn. Very good ! The trap 
 came up, and we got in, with Jones and Crawf ull, who
 
 Christmas in the Fisherman's Snuggery. 81 
 
 had been fishing higher up ; but there was no room 
 for our creels inside, so we strapped them on the 
 hinder rail. Now Master Jack was a wee bit of a skin- 
 flint ; his soul loved cheap lines, and he would put up 
 with any amount of tangling and inconvenience rather 
 than pay a good price for a good thing. Cheap flies 
 at Is. Gd. a dozen he also adored, no matter how the 
 hooks broke or the tying came to pieces. His waders 
 were always patched to a marvel, and his creel was a 
 caution. Yet Jack Whirter was a city swell, and with 
 thousands a year. As we jogged home, I had my arm 
 over the back of the trap, and, most inadvertently, my 
 hand embraced the bottom of Jack Whirter's creel, 
 and I felt the head of a trout nearly protruding through 
 a broken spar in the basket-work, and, as I was 
 fumbling about it curiously, the trout (quite a small 
 one) oozed through and dropped in the road. Had 
 I lost my bet ? Ha ! an idea seized me. He 
 wouldn't weigh at the bridge ! So I gently detached 
 another spar of the basket-work, and then I looked up 
 at the stars with an angelic smile, and took them into 
 my confidence, and we winked at one another as 
 we heard a soft flop on the dusty road behind every 
 now and then. When we got home, after the usual 
 questions and answers, ' How stands the bet ? ' was the 
 cry. ' Oh, that I won, of course ! ' said Whirter. 
 'Well, I don't know about " of course," ' says I, ' but 
 we'll settle that point by weighing in/ ' All right/ 
 said Jack, and out he went to fetch his creel. I 
 brought mine in with me, and the scales were got 
 ready for the match. ' Halloo ! ' we heard from the 
 doorway ; ( Halloo ! Why, what's this ? My creel is 
 
 G
 
 82 Hot Pot. 
 
 as light as a feather ! ' and in came Jack with an 
 empty creel in his hand at least, there was only one 
 small trout left in it and with half the bottom ont. 
 There was a roar at that, I tell you. Jack stood, 
 looking like a fool, while Jones, an aggravating chap, 
 said, ' Ah, I always told you that those cheap creels 
 were not to be trusted/ ' Cheap ! Why it's worn out 
 ages ago/ said Crawfull, fingering the bottom. ' Well, 
 let's weigh in,' said I, innocently. Jack had to pay 
 for the dinner, and it was years before I told him the 
 whole joke, but by that time he had improved some- 
 what, and that is the basket. 
 
 " That old boot with the rent in it ! Ah, don't 
 mention it ! I was fishing the Erne, on the lower 
 Bank of Ireland. The water was a trifle high ; I 
 overstepped myself, slipped over a round stone, and 
 in I went a header. In two minutes, in that tremendous 
 stream, my flint would have been fixed ; but, just as I 
 disappeared, and only my boots were to be seen, Terry 
 made a cast at me, and by good luck the gaff got hold 
 of my boot. That is the hole it made ; it ruined the 
 boot, but saved my life. Ah ! when the water flashed 
 over my eyes and into my ears, I began to feel queer- 
 ish ! What a lot of escapes one gets in salmon fishing, 
 to be sure ! Never mind; here's success to it, any- 
 how. Pipe out, eh ? Try that Latakia, and one of the 
 chillums that cherry one with the silver mounting 
 it will, as Mr. Quilp said, make you feel like the 
 Grand Turk ; and ring that bell for the coffee. Does 
 the pipe go well ? Like ( Paradise and the Peri,' eh ? 
 All right, old fellow. 
 
 " Yes, I see you looking at those old books. Truly,
 
 Christmas in the Fisherman's Snuggery. 83 
 
 there they are. Old Leonard Mascall's ' Booke of 
 Fishing with Hook and Line, and all other instruments 
 thereunto belonging/ &c., &c., printed in black letter 
 by John Wolfe, in London, in 1590, sixty-three years 
 before his next-door neighbour, dear old Izaak's 
 ' Complete Angler/ There they are, the whole five 
 editions, in good preservation, and the original bind- 
 ing too ; worth SOL and more in the market any day. 
 There, too, on the other side, is old Gervase Mark- 
 ham's ( Country Contentments,' with its quaint notions 
 on fishing, only forty years anterior to Izaak. There 
 they all are, up to the days of Blaine, Hawker, Ronalds, 
 Ephemera, and other moderns, over whom, my dear 
 boy, we will draw a veil. Don't look so hard at the 
 bottom of that tumbler I don't mean you. But now 
 there's Jane with the coffee. Just spring that night 
 bolt, will you ? I never allow people to come bursting 
 in on me without due notice, and some I don't let in 
 at all it's a bore to get up and let them in; so a 
 night bolt is invaluable. And now, just one pipe 
 more. Maraschino or Chartreuse ? Chartreuse ; all 
 right, my boy. And then let us join the ladies with 
 forfeits, and Sir Roger de Coverley; and I trust you 
 have enjoyed your Christmas afternoon's pipe in the 
 angler's snuggery."
 
 84 Hot Pot. 
 
 ST. MAYFLY. 
 
 " Now is the month of maying." Old Madrigal. 
 
 THERE be many saints in the calendar saints to whom 
 good men in past days have worthily paid veneration 
 and praise saints who did good for their fellow 
 creatures saints who did good for themselves, and 
 saints by haphazard, who did good for no one in parti- 
 cular saints good, bad, and indifferent ; for all 
 sorts of individuals, good, bad, and indifferent, have 
 canonised the objects of their adoration thus, and these 
 objects have been muchly diversified in pattern. With 
 some, even St. Sathanas himself has found a place, 
 and there can be little doubt that, whether his saint- 
 ship be publicly acknowledged now, he is none the 
 less an object of adoration to vast multitudes to whom 
 even the world and the flesh are insufficient for their 
 spiritual requirements. The right of canonisation was 
 much more freely exercised by past generations than 
 by the present one, when subjects of veneration are 
 not greatly in request. Utility is the saint we go for 
 nowadays. But fishermen are privileged persons ; we 
 have ways and beliefs of our own, and we have 
 dogmas and creeds of our own and, if so, why not 
 saints of our own? And that being so, who is to
 
 St. Mayfly. 85 
 
 quarrel with Saint Mayfly ? who is most assiduously 
 worshipped with profound devotion by a large crowd 
 of worshippers, who once a year celebrate to he, she, 
 or it, from a week to a fortnight's festival who is to 
 quarrel with it ? I repeat. 
 
 " If any speak, for him have I offended ; 
 What none ! then none have I offended." 
 
 So here goes to celebrate his festival once again. 
 
 " Don't put me on the committee, for I shall be 
 out of town for a fortnight. The Mayfly is just 
 coming up." 
 
 " I am going down to Stockbridge, and have given 
 orders that no business letters shall be sent to me for 
 the next ten days." 
 
 These sentences were really uttered in my hearing 
 one by a prominent member of Parliament, in refer- 
 ence to a committee on a rather popular bill; the 
 other by one of the wealthiest bankers of the City of 
 London. " The Mayfly was up ; " the saturnalia of 
 the fly-fisher was at hand ; its devotees were about to 
 disperse to all parts of the kingdom, from Canterbury 
 to Westmeath. For the feast of St. Mayfly is in its 
 way, among the patrons of the rod, a fair contrast to 
 the feast of St. Grouse among the votaries of the 
 trigger. How many among us have, as the last weeks 
 in May approached, anxiously looked for that dirty 
 scrawl which announces " William Tipper's respects 
 
 to Mustr. , Esq., and I igspecks as the vly ool be 
 
 up 'bout Toosday next, the 27th as is ; " and " William 
 
 Tipper's 'umble dooty to Mr. , Esq., and I'll be at 
 
 the station with the cart," and so forth !
 
 86 Hot Pot. 
 
 Who that saw the eminent M.P., or the keen, 
 shrewd Croesus of Lombard-street, poring over, or 
 holding up to the light, curious fabrications, com- 
 posed of Egyptian geese and wood-duck feathers, not 
 forgetting the attendant sauce piquant in the shape of 
 a hook, by the hour together for days before this 
 event, would think that they could afford to waste 
 their valuable time like this, in turning over an old fly 
 book or box, examining colours, testing hooks, &c., 
 and writing off expresses to Ogden, Hammond, Farlow, 
 or Bowness, for the best relays of the choicest 
 ef floaters," " according to the inclosed pattern " ? 
 Floaters, be it known to the uninitiated, have nothing 
 to do with persons engaged in manufacturing com- 
 panies as, from the daily occupations of those con- 
 cerned, might perhaps be surmised but are merely 
 an imitation of the ephemera or Mayfly, compounded 
 of feathers that will float upon the surface of the 
 water for some time, just like the natural insect, to the 
 exceeding bamboozlement and detriment of the fish. 
 And how that expected packet is looked for ! Emmas 
 or Paraguay dividends, or whatever may be the medium 
 of such fortunate conditions in the commercial world, 
 don't create a tithe of the interest. Mr. Smith and 
 Mr. Pain, the junior clerks in the secretary's office, 
 can't think what possesses the governor to be so 
 anxious about the advent of that little square card- 
 board box which is hourly expected by the post. He 
 has asked twenty times if that packet has not come 
 yet, and he was not half so anxious for particulars 
 when the stoppage of the Big Bumbaze Bank occurred, 
 by which they had been hit for at least fifty thou*.
 
 St. Mayfly. 87 
 
 And when the packet does come, too, on the afternoon 
 before the 27th, Smith declares that "the governor 
 tore off the envelope, looked inside with amazing 
 eagerness, and, most surprisin' to relate, after all 
 there was nothing he gives you his word but a 
 'eap of feathers inside ; and yet the governor seemed 
 that glad that his voice was quite cheering and changed 
 as he ordered the porter to run for a cab directly, and 
 to put up his luggage, and that long japanned tin can, 
 labelled ' Plans and Sections of the Random Railway/ 
 but which had something inside like ' sticks/ being 
 hard and heavy." Mr. Pain, who comes from Derby- 
 shire, opines that " perhaps it's rods in the case, and 
 the packet was flies, in which case the governor's 
 goin' a-fishin', and that's all about it, and he wishes 
 he was only goin' too, blowed if he doesn't, for he's 
 tired of bricks and mortar." 
 
 But see the grave, rugged-browed, saturnine man 
 of business next day on the river side, a hundred miles 
 away from Lombard-street, far down in Dampshire ! 
 You would not know him ; indeed, his very, nearest 
 business friends would not, unless they were alsp fisher- 
 men. The heavy, plodding, serious gait is exchanged 
 for a quick, springy step, as if he had never done< any- 
 thing but walk heather and river swamp all his life; 
 and where is the solemn suit of business black too, and 
 the cambric tie livery alike of Plutus and of waiter^ ? 
 Where, indeed ? Can that gentleman in the loose 
 tweed Norfolk jacket, and no ! yes ! actually 
 knickerbockers and worsteds, with really very tidy 
 calves and a neat ankle (for his age) inclosed in them, 
 be the great Mr. Blank, of the great firm of Blank,
 
 88 Hot Pot. 
 
 Stumpup, and Quills ? As surely lie is, as that that 
 is William Tipper carrying the basket and landing net 
 behind him, and presenting his ' Bumble dooty " in all 
 sorts of ways. And don't imagine that our cockney 
 banker is a muff by any manner of means on the river- 
 side. Not he ; whatever his hand finds to do, he does 
 it well and thoroughly, and he can put out twenty-live 
 yards of line with a floating Mayfly at the end as 
 straightly and lightly as can young Fallowfield, the 
 sporting squire's son, whose house you may see on the 
 hill yonder some five miles off, and who does nothing 
 but fish, shoot, hunt, and brag from year's end to 
 year's end. 
 
 The scene is a delightful one, and well calculated to 
 make one forget everything but the business on hand. 
 Here are green water meadows, with purling rivulets 
 bisecting them, and great yellow buttercups shining 
 like golden stars in the midst of the verdure ; beautiful 
 hanging woods, with here and there a break of lawn- 
 like turf, and a gentleman's seat behind in the dis- 
 tance ; close before, the river bank, beset with flowers 
 of every hue, and which, if they were but rare, would 
 be sedulously cultivated by florists ; here and there 
 the river bends and widens, and reeds and sedges 
 whisper their secrets to each other. Occasionally an 
 alder or an old pollard stoops over the bank, beneath 
 which the stream sparkles and eddies along in the sim- 
 lighfc, over swaying water weeds of a hundred strange 
 and beautiful patterns, broken now and again with 
 patches of silvery gravel. The scent of distant up- 
 land hay, with nearer May-bush and honeysuckle, 
 mingled with crushed water-celery and wild horse-
 
 St. Mayfly. 89 
 
 mint, fills the nostrils with delicious natural perfume. 
 The lark roams higher and higher and higher yet, till 
 it is lost in the sky, though its voice still peals down- 
 wards in a constant ripple of melody ; the blackbird 
 whistles in every little grove or plantation ; the sedge- 
 warbler twitters and chirrups its low, sweet song; 
 and, blending with all, the reeds and river rustle and 
 gurgle in chords of harmony. The delicate ephemerae 
 flutter upwards from every curl and dimple on the 
 stream. Look carefully along the surface of the water, 
 and you will see every second or two something which 
 looks like a horse-bean come floating down. It has 
 only just reached the surface as it catches your eye, 
 and a wonderful transformation, so rapid as to be 
 :almost like a conjuring trick, takes place. That is 
 the larva of the Mayfly, or greendrake (Ephemera 
 vulgata). It has just risen from the bottom, intent 
 upon launching itself into a new world a new exis- 
 tence. Hitherto, its place of residence has been the 
 water, and it has lived an active and very predaceous 
 existence among the caverns and oozes of the river 
 bottom and banks, hunting and devouring small 
 insects, worms, and even fishes, with a rapacity 
 which is marvellous in so apparently harmless a 
 creature. Look closer at it, however; observe that 
 pair of sharp, curved, pointed shears with which it is 
 furnished, and with which it seizes and cuts up 
 creatures even of its own size ; observe that singular 
 and beautiful fringe along the side, which, when it 
 is in the water, is in constant motion that forms the 
 gills, and by its constant action aerates the water 
 which passes through them. It is a wonderfully
 
 90 Sot Pot. 
 
 contrived insect, and, perhaps, in all nature there is 
 nothing more curious. But now the season of its 
 change has come, after a two year's residence in the 
 water. It rises to the surface, its back above the 
 water, and the tail part of the body hanging down; 
 no sooner does it catch your eye than " crack ! " 
 the skin across the back bursts, and up pop the two 
 wings upright from the water, and, in another second,, 
 it is up and away, dancing in another world, and 
 living purely in another element : as it does so, a big 
 trout rushes at it, but he is too late, and gets only the 
 empty case, the exuviee, for his pains and that is. 
 what makes the trout so eager at this time, when 
 feeding on the larva, for they know that, when these 
 come to the surface, if they are not quick, the insect 
 will be away. But now the rise thickens, and the 
 flies, in troops and squadrons, spring aloft, and sport 
 in the air in crowds, or float on the stream, thousands 
 strong, while the big yellow trout three and four 
 pounders frequently suck them in quietly under the 
 banks, or come up with a rush and a splash in the 
 mid-stream, which may be seen full half a mile 
 away. 
 
 "That's a big chap, your honour," says William 
 Tipper, deferentially, and pointing to the stump of 
 an old split-up pollard on the opposite bank, where 
 a fish is taking every fly that passes, and with as 
 little disturbance in the water as though he" were 
 but a wee sprattie of half an ounce. The line is swept 
 to and fro a few times to dry and straighten it, and,, 
 as a gentle summer breeze softly ruffles the surface, 
 away goes the deceitful imitation, and lights like
 
 St. Mayfly. 91 
 
 thistledown, or like the real fly, some two feet above 
 the victim. Gracefully it sails down to him on the 
 surface, with two other real flies in company. " Now 
 it is over him, sir ! and there he rises ! " " Beautifully 
 struck, sir I" and away rushes the " wee sprattie," 
 jumping out of the water with two mad leaps, and 
 displaying the golden, crimson-spotted sides of a noble 
 four-pounder, who, after trying all his strength and 
 artifice to escape in vain, is at last led gently into the 
 landing-net upon a shelving ledge of chalk some 
 twenty yards down stream. "And to think of his 
 pickin' out your artificial from between the two 
 naturals ! " says William Tipper, blowing out and 
 drying the fly. ' ' I never see such & thing; well, 
 they are beauties, surely, and as like as natur ! Them 
 wings, sir, when you hold 'em up to the light, is the 
 very colour to a moral." 
 
 " Ah, Bill, and the dye that they're dyed with is an 
 invention of my own ; " whereat the holiday-making 
 banker looks as proud, and a deal more pleased, than 
 he would if he had invented a new and successful 
 scheme of currency, while he lights a choice Partaga, 
 and sips a drop of sherry from his flask, although it 
 wants two hours to luncheon time, and in London 
 tobacco crosses not his lips till 10 p.m., and sherry 
 never before lunch. He is renewing his youth. Care 
 is cast to the winds. Business he will not attend to 
 at all : for he jokingly told his nephew, who is fishing 
 half a mile above, and who ventured some remark 
 on the fall in Anglo-Columbians as they came out 
 into the garden after breakfast, "I've left it all to 
 Stumpup, and I won't read a letter for a fortnight,
 
 92 Hot Pot. 
 
 for we don't come down to the river side, my boy, 
 to ' renovare ' our ' dolorems ; ' so no more of that, 
 ' an thou lovest me.' But try these Partagas, and 
 call Bill Tipper."
 
 Catching Tartars. 93 
 
 CATCHING TARTARS. 
 
 Agro qui statuit meo, 
 Te triste lignum. HORACE. 
 
 MY friend Crayon is perhaps the most genial man of 
 my acquaintance. Devoted to art and angling, he has 
 wandered east, west, north, and south, with his rod 
 in one hand and his pencil in the other. He is one 
 of the best fellows to smoke a pipe with I know, 
 being full of anecdotes of his experiences, many of 
 them very good, and which he tells with a quiet, dry 
 humour that is perfectly irresistible. From his wallet 
 which is like Touchstone's brain, ' ' with strange 
 places crammed with observation " he drew the 
 following the other evening, while P. and myself 
 were indulging in a soothing weed. I thought it so 
 good that I took a note of it : 
 
 " My father used to fish in the Lea just below 
 Tottenham Mills, and he and his friend B. used to 
 get some capital sport with the roach there at times. 
 There was one particular swim, a big hole, where the 
 roach, when "on," were often severe, and many a 
 heavy creel B. and himself took away from this hole. It 
 was pretty much open water in those days, though well 
 stocked, in spite of a good deal of irregular fishing. 
 The bargees sometimes, who used to be dreadful
 
 94 Hot Pot. 
 
 poachers in those days, took heavy toll as they passed 
 this water, and amongst them was one who was my 
 father's special pet aversion, and who always laid him- 
 self out to skin this particular hole. It was just 
 about as aggravating a thing, you know, as could 
 happen to two fellows, who worked hard usually, and 
 couldn't .get a holiday every day, when, after setting 
 themselves to work and baiting a hole carefully for 
 hours, till they got the fish on, then, just as they 
 were reaping the reward of their skill, to see a barge 
 come along, with a bargee standing ready on the deck 
 with a huge fifteen or twenty yard cast net, gathered 
 up ready for a throw, and then, just as the barge 
 passed, to see it whirled out into the air, taking in 
 pretty well all the best of the hole. The beggar 
 always knew, too, by instinct whereabouts the ground 
 bait was, you know; and then to witness the net 
 hauled up, with pretty well a bushel of splendid roach 
 in it, and to see the rascal grinning and jeering, with 
 all their take and their day's sport in his net, and to 
 know that there was no more sport for them that day, 
 and they might as well go home. It was too dreadful 
 altogether, and would have made a meek man can- 
 tankerous. My father was a moral man, and not 
 given to strong language ; but B. did say, that, upon 
 one occasion, when they were having some extra good 
 sport, he went so far as to say ' blow it,' and to wish 
 that that bargeman might come to some misfortune. 
 
 " One day, after a peculiarly aggravating scene of 
 this sort, 'B.,' said my father, 'this won't do any 
 longer.' ' It won't/ said B. 'It is unbearable, it is 
 abominable, it is fiendish ; but what can we do ? '
 
 Catching Tartars. 95 
 
 * Well/ said my father ; I've an idea/ He had 
 sometimes, and, thereupon, they put their heads to- 
 gether and talked it out. They knew pretty well 
 about the time the barge was likely to return, and, 
 the day before it was expected, they borrowed a big 
 punt from the man at the mill, got a huge cask, and 
 stuck it all over with tenter hooks, filled it up with 
 gravel and brick bats till it weighed about half a ton, 
 dropped down to the edge of the swim, and shoved it 
 overboard. Down went the cask with a mighty 
 plunge, and found its resting place just on the edge 
 of the swim, out of the way of the floats, my father 
 and B. chuckling cherubically. They then baited 
 the swim, and went to their inn with the placid 
 and virtuous resignation bestowed by a good con- 
 science at peace with itself and all mankind. The 
 next day they began their fishing. Sport was pretty 
 good, and in time grew better. There was a slight 
 dimple over the spot where the cask lay, and ever as 
 they came near it they got a bite or an offer ; the cask 
 formed a capital skirmishing ground and a hiding 
 place for the roach, and they seemed to approve of it 
 highly. 
 
 " They were just having their bread and cheese, and 
 sitting looking at the swim, when the barge hove in 
 sight. 
 
 " ' Here she is/ said B. 
 
 " ' Aye, and there he stands with the casting net 
 all ready/ said my father. ' He ! he ! won't he be 
 surprised ? ' 
 
 " ' Ha, ha ! what a lark ! ' roared B., with his mouth 
 full of bread and cheese.
 
 96 Hot Pot. 
 
 " On came the barge ; she was soon abreast of them, 
 and with a gentle sweep and a graceful bend the 
 bargee let go ; the net was spread like a huge 
 circular parachute, and disappeared in foam beneath 
 the crystal wave, well over the dimple aforesaid. 
 With a highly satisfied grin the bargee looked at the 
 anglers as he took hold of the line. 
 
 " ' Got summut this cast, I expect/ he said, with a 
 confident nod and a chuckle. 
 
 "' Shouldn't wonder if you have/ said my father, drily. 
 
 ' ' The line tightened. ' Hallo ! wots this ? wots this 
 here ? I say, wot the dash, dash, dash, dash/ The 
 barge still went on, just as if there was no cask there. 
 My father said that he never admired the calm 
 dignity and resistless power of a barge so much as he 
 did on this occasion. The bargee hung on to the end 
 of the line till his eyes nearly started out of his head. 
 There was a mighty strain, a sudden snap, and the 
 bargee disappeared backwards into the hold of the 
 barge, nearly fracturing the base of his skull (only a 
 bargee is somewhat nigger-built in that respect), and 
 with only a line, with a few threads of string at the 
 end of it, left in his hands. I have heard my father 
 and B. say that they had heard some tall swearing in 
 the course of their lives, but that that bargee would 
 have taken the rag off the most fluent and profane 
 Yankee among the mining population of Colorado 
 county, U.S. He raved and swore, as Mark Twain 
 says, till the atmosphere was perfectly blue. If he 
 had eaten the original puppy pie, and never found it 
 out till he came to the tails, he could not have 
 exceeded it till he vanished round a bend in the
 
 Catching Tartars. 97 
 
 river. They often saw him after, but only in the 
 distance, for he usually retired to the cabin when he 
 came in sight of the spot as my father said to 
 meditate, doubtless, on the mutability of human 
 affairs, and to muse on some particular form of impre- 
 cation which might be calculated at length to bring 
 balm to his bruised spirit. My father and B. went on 
 with their fishing, and had a capital day's sport, and 
 many more capital ones in the same swim afterwards, 
 for they never took the old cask out, and for some 
 years it was better than any number of water bailiffs 
 to the bargee's hole." 
 
 This story drew out another of like character, of 
 course, from P. ; thus : " I don't know what the con- 
 nection is between barging or boating and bad 
 language, but they certainly do somehow hang 
 together forcibly ; I can't think why. It's a great 
 pity though. When I first came to live at A. there 
 was an old chap there who wrought diligently in the 
 netting and night lining interests; netting had not 
 yet been abolished. He was known as the foulest 
 mouthed man in the place, and this was no light 
 distinction ; for the place used then to bear the repu- 
 tation of being, as poor old Jemmy Hall termed it, 
 the ' worst langwidgest place on the Thames.' Old 
 'Top Tile/ as he was called, in consequence of his 
 always wearing a tall black beaver hat, as a sacrifice 
 to respectability, was, besides being dreadfully foul- 
 mouthed, an abominable old hypocrite with it, and 
 sought to impress society with the simple goodness 
 and kindliness of his nature, while indulging in his 
 weakness for imprecatory formulae in this wise. One 
 
 H
 
 98 Hot Pot. 
 
 day I was lying down behind a bush on the bank 
 when old Top Tile and his grandson, a lad of ten, 
 came along in a punt ; as they went along, old T. T. 
 called to his grandson, ' You Halick, what the, &c., 
 &c., 'ave you dashed dashed done with that ere 
 dashed, &c.'d lave net ? Fm strong adjectived if I j ' 
 Just at this moment a boat full of ladies and gentle- 
 men came by, and T. T. continued in a whine, which 
 was an inexpressibly funny contrast ; c As Fm always 
 a tellin' o' you, my dear boy, why don't you do as your 
 parents tells ye; they haven't got nothin' but your 
 good at 'art, my dear boy, and (the boat being now 
 out of earshot) ' Dash your imprecated limbs and 
 other faculties ! if I don't/ &c., &c., ' your/ &c., &c. 
 This amiable old Christian used to net a particular 
 bough and old pollard which shaded a deep hole at 
 the bottom of my garden, just under a little window 
 in my summer house, It was a very favourite place 
 with me of a summer evening ; and, though I did not 
 care to fish it much, I could peep out and see the big 
 chub, roach, and bream playing up their scaly games 
 down in the shadowy depths below ; and it was 
 really a most interesting study. Well, this disgust- 
 ing old Top Tile, as sure as there was a bit of a flood 
 and a dozen or two of fish got under the tree, used to 
 come with his beastly net and catch them out. I got 
 so aggravated about it at last, that I collected stores 
 for his discomfiture. There was " item " the very rusty 
 remains of an old broken kitchen range, weighing 
 some hundredweights; two or three old butter tubs 
 hooped with iron hoops, well tentered, and filled with 
 rough concrete. Item, the remains of a ponderous
 
 Catching Tartars. 99 
 
 waterlogged bait corfe, which I had filled with brick- 
 bats ; and five or six of the very biggest brick burrs 
 I could procure anywhere. These I had collected 
 and conveyed to the spot furtively. It had been 
 raining for some days, and the river began to thicken ; 
 so, knowing from experience that my friend T. T. 
 would probably be out early next morning, I borrowed 
 a punt over night, and, with the assistance of my 
 man, who gardened for and punted me about, we 
 dropped this little lot into the depths most judiciously. 
 The next morning I was up with the lark, and in the 
 summer house, with the window open about an inch. 
 I hadn't been there a quarter of an hour when old 
 T. T. and his grandson, and a friend who punted for 
 him, came along, T. T. taking the rough edge off the 
 morning air with a cheerful and warming dose of 
 strong epithets. He had just bought a new net, and 
 the maker had not hung the leads or corks or the wall- 
 ing, I forget which, to his liking. ' 'A.ve a shy at old 
 Cockshot's summer 'ouse ? ' asked the friend sugges- 
 tively, by which elegant appellation they designated 
 me, if you please. 'You may be somethinged well 
 sure o' that/ said T. T. ' It do haggravate the old 
 &c., &c., so to see us a-doin' of it. He-he, haw-haw," 
 and there was a laugh. ' Tarry a while, my infants,' 
 thought I from the inside. The aggravation will be 
 otherwise bestowed this morning and the laugh 
 reversed, or I'm greatly mistaken. In three or four 
 minutes the net was run round the bushes and fixed, 
 the powsing pole dashed into every hole and corner, 
 amid reflections as to ' wot old Cockshot 'd think of 
 that ' ? with general remarks, more keen than kindly 
 
 H2
 
 100 Sot Pot. 
 
 or elegant , as to my supposed condition, at that early 
 period of the morning. Presently the pole was put 
 by, the rypeck pulled up, and they began to gather 
 the net in. They gathered in about three yards, 
 when there was an exclamation of surprise, and even 
 of annoyance. It became evident that the new net 
 had ' took 'old o' suthin ' ; and as time and tugging 
 progressed, it became more clearly evident that this 
 dashed somethinged ' suthin',' &c., did not mean to 
 give way, and that it would be requisite, if they did 
 not mean to stop there for ever, for something else to 
 give way. I draw a veil over the scene which ensued ; 
 I would not wish to describe it. Of that new net 
 they took home, I believe, the whole of the cork rope, 
 and some of the lead line, and perhaps half the walling 
 and bunt ; and they left behind them imprecations 
 enough to have sunk an ironclad. All I can say is 
 that if the ' recording angel,' as in my Uncle Toby's 
 case, had really to write them down, he had his work 
 cut out, and must have catalogued many of the items 
 as ' ditto repeated.' ' Cockshot's pollard ' was an 
 awfully sore subject with old Top Tile for many a 
 long day."
 
 Under the Soughs. 101 
 
 UNDER THE BOUGHS. 
 
 " Flow on, flow on, brave river, midst homes and altars free, 
 Inspire the poet's glowing song, the patriot's eulogy." 
 
 Okl Father Thames. 
 
 NOW AND THEN. 
 " THEN." 
 
 I HAVE put together here two articles one represent- 
 ing what chub fishing under the boughs used to be 
 twenty years ago, before the introduction of steam 
 launches and campers on the Thames, and another 
 which represents rather favourably than otherwise 
 what it is now. And if one should bewail the past it 
 will hardly be surprising. 
 
 At the present time (from twelve to twenty years 
 ago) there is no pleasanter amusement for the angler 
 than chub fishing with the fly on the Thames. In 
 fact, there is no more agreeable occupation for the 
 angler on the Thames at any season of the year. 
 Dropping quietly down the river just within a long 
 cast of the bank, he sits in the bow of the boat and 
 casts towards the shore, under every bough that looks 
 likely, and against every overhanging bank where 
 chub may be supposed to lie ; sometimes taking one, 
 two, or more fish, sometimes passing on without a rise
 
 102 Hot Pot. 
 
 still dropping steadily on down the stream without 
 let or hindrance. He never needs to go back, or to 
 fish over the same ground twice, if his boatman be 
 properly up to his work. It is the luxury of fishing - r 
 and while the sport is lively enough to keep the facul- 
 ties well employed, there is still time between whiles to 
 note and enjoy all the beauties of the scenery, the 
 brilliant weather for bright sunny weather is the 
 best for chubbing the sparkling stream and ever- 
 changing views. On we float past pollards and 
 withies, picturesque rushy aits and islets, or green 
 grassy banks fringed now with tall flags, and now 
 with masses of flowering plants of every variety 
 and hue, set in a wide margin of broad flat, lily 
 leaves, gemmed with their topaz blossom. Now 
 we drift slowly past some peaceful primitive little 
 village, whose white cottages nestle on to the stream, 
 looking in the distance like a flock of wild swans about 
 to plunge in. Now some picturesque little church 
 peeps timidly out, dropped and lost there by somebody 
 in a hurry hundreds of years ago, and so forgotten 
 while it grew, and still keeps on growing into a mossy 
 and ivy-clad old age a marvel of beauty and antiquity. 
 Gazing upon it in a sort of reverie, fancy tells us of 
 the half-hidden half-forgotten tombs within of the 
 good knights who in troublous times held watch and 
 ward over the fords in their towers hard by now 
 mouldered into dust like them, or possibly converted 
 into ignoble uses in barns, stables, or pigsties ; for to 
 many folks the most interesting ruin is but a handy 
 and fortuitous stone quarry. What is left of them ? a 
 name perhaps, and yonder worm-eaten banner staff,.
 
 Under the Boughs. 103 
 
 still hanging from the wall by rusty iron fastenings, 
 all but eaten up by age, and from which the silken 
 fabric, borne before them in many a stout melee and 
 deadly fight, when courage and fidelity won its fit 
 meed, has long, long since dropped away piecemeal 
 into dust and forgetfulness. Or haply, perchance, 
 there is a tomb still preserved the sarcophagus of 
 the good Baron Geoffrey de Hitemhard, and Dame 
 Alison, his wife, who repose in effigy of time-dis- 
 coloured marble on the top, draped in the (to us) 
 strange and ungraceful garments of the period, with 
 their hands piously folded in precatis, and their toes 
 turned up secundum artem (of the sculptor), surrounded 
 by twelve impossibilities, looking more like twelve 
 Chinese josses than anything else, and all in sculptured 
 marble, too, representing the six sons and six daughters 
 of the good old Baron and Dame Alison. Visions, too, 
 glance on us of beautiful old screening in carved oak, 
 broken down and stowed away in some recondite and 
 musty hole, with fragments of stained glass windows 
 covered with dust which hides tints that we have long 
 lost the art to produce, fragments of rusty armour, 
 heads of rare old gargoyles, fingers and toes, relics of 
 saints and noted sinners, and fifty other treasures 
 beyond price, but held in little account by the rural 
 churchwardens of the place. And hardly has a glimpse 
 of these things passed across our mind when the oar 
 dips languidly, and the church slips out of sight, and 
 we open possibly upon the old baronial hall of the 
 descendants of the doughty Baron and Dame Alison ; 
 for the old family, though shorn of its glories some- 
 what, still hold their own with rare old British bull-
 
 104 Hot Pot. 
 
 dog tenacity. For the Hitemhards had always a great 
 faculty in holding on, as their motto " nunquam 
 relinquo " indicates. They are a race which I pray 
 Heaven may long keep from dying out in dear old Eng- 
 land. Long may they live in bower and hall ! For 
 
 though 
 
 The good knight is dust, 
 
 And his sword is rust, 
 
 And his soul is with the saints, I trust, 
 
 his spirit has not quite died, and I hope never will die, 
 out amongst us. It will be a bad thing for us when 
 we begin to lose faith in our Hitemhards. Yonder 
 stands the mansion, half hidden by grand trees, some 
 of which are coeval almost with the original Sir 
 Geoffrey himself. Many a good and bad time has the 
 old house seen ; Noll's Hardheads and Ironsides had 
 their work cut out when bold Sir Arthur Hitemhard 
 held his own for God and his king. But Noll was too 
 many for him, as well as for a good many others like 
 him; and though stout Sir Arthur held out till he 
 hadn't a cartridge or a crust left, he was forced to 
 yield to superior numbers at last, and to fly the country 
 for a time. The Hitemhards, with King Charles, 
 however, got their own again in time, and the old 
 mansion was restored. But it is shut slowly and 
 lingeringly out of sight by an intervening point, and 
 we open upon the grand palace of Sir Tomkins Snooks- 
 bury the Sir Tomkins Snooksbury the man who 
 made such a fortune, you know, during the Crimean 
 war by selling rotten boots and weevilly biscuits to our 
 gallant soldiers. Mercy on us ! how the place does 
 glitter and glare at us ! what glass and gilding, to be
 
 Under the Boughs. 105 
 
 sure ! And the lawn ! Dear me ! why, it looks as if 
 Sir T. S. employed 365 gardeners, all with a mowing 
 machine apiece, daily to keep it in order. The 
 Snooksburys look down on their neighbours the 
 Hitemhards, and overbear them in fifty ways with 
 their superior wealth. But the Snooksburys, although 
 they did buy the Hitemhard borough of Wabbles- 
 worth hard by, over the head of the old family thanks 
 to the treachery of k little Drivlet, the family lawyer, 
 who hoped to get all the Snooksbury business won't 
 be gentlefolk yet for two or three generations, by 
 which time it is to be hoped they will have subsided 
 as they rose ; while the Hitemhards will still be gentle- 
 men, wherever they may be. 
 
 The king may make a bloated knight, 
 
 An alderman and a' that ; 
 But a gentleman's beyond his might, 
 
 Gude faith, he manna fa' that. 
 
 ' ' By Jove ! there was a good fish rose under that 
 willow by the summer-house ! Give her a touch with 
 your right, Tom, and I'll be within reach of him. 
 So that's nearer. Again. Ha ! that's over him, and 
 there, I have him ! It's no use fighting for that 
 old root, my good fellow, out you come." And I haul 
 out into the stream a fat four-pound chub, who is 
 soon transferred to the boat. " There's another or 
 two at the lower end, Tom, I'm sure ; there's bound to 
 be. Let her drop a yard or two. That's better. 
 Hold her there." 
 
 " Hy ! you vagabond ; what the &c., &c., &c. are 
 you doing there ? Do you know you are trespassing,
 
 106 Hot Pot. 
 
 fellow ? What's your name, you scoundrel ? I'll 
 summons you, by Jingo, I will. Who the &c., &c. 
 are you ? Do you hear ?" 
 
 " Old Snooks himself, by all that's ^m-righteous 
 an old ruffian ! Claims to have the right of fishing, I 
 hear, all along this bank for a mile, though he has no 
 more right to it than the parish beadle has. Had he 
 spoken me fair, I'd have spoken him fair ; but as it is 
 half a yard more, Tom ; that's better that's over 
 him, aye, and into him, too. Now old Snooks will be 
 furious ha ! ha ! Who am I ? Well, what's that to 
 you ? What am I doing ? Why, don't you see I'm 
 fishing, and what's more, I'm catching 'em. Landing 
 net, Tom. That's it ; quite a pair for the other one. 
 Bravo ! There's another or two yet." 
 
 About this time Snooksbury becomes inarticulate 
 from rage, and looks as if he'd have an apoplectic fit ; 
 unfortunately for his descendants, he doesn't, but calls 
 to him two stout serving men, Jems and Willum, who 
 jump into a boat in the most reckless and daring 
 manner, and come up to take our names, or our boat 
 if they can, or to do divers doughty deeds according 
 as the defendants permit them ; whereupon I lay down 
 my rod and take up a handy rypeck, and Tom seizes 
 a boat hook, and things begin to look serious for 
 friends Jems and Willum. As to taking our names, 
 the thing is an absurdity, and it ends in a jollying 
 match, in which, as we know something about Snooks 
 and his lot, and they know nothing of us, we get 
 much the best of it of course, while old Snooks shakes 
 his fist, and stamps, and roars, and nearly has another 
 apoplectic fit on the bank. As they can do nothing-
 
 Under the Boughs. 107 
 
 else, the boat is rowed and splashed all over the water, 
 and the water thoroughly disturbed. This riles us, 
 and I give Snooks a little bit of my mind perhaps a 
 big bit would be more accurate. That boat came to 
 grief somehow some weeks after, and was found 
 staved and water-logged some miles down the river, 
 and I hear that old Snooks is having a long, iron- 
 bound, bronze-moulded boat house built. As for us, 
 we drift quietly away, while Tom, with that trenchant 
 wit which Thames fishermen mostly possess, hurls 
 sundry queries at Snooks as to the price of rotten 
 shoes and weevilly biscuits. 
 
 " How will Culham pollards be, Tom ?" " Just in 
 right order, sir ; I was past 'em last week, and the 
 water was then a trifle high for 'em, but it's fell since 
 then, and now is all right." " Here we are, then." 
 And we approach a long row of pollards standing over 
 the bank, under which we know many old fat chub 
 delight to congregate ; so we put ourselves into posi- 
 tion. The big fly hurtles through the breaks in the 
 foliage, and falls far under the shade, and " gob and 
 gob plop, plop !" The big chub come up to their 
 death one after another, until, by the time we have 
 reached the end of the pollards, eight or ten good fish 
 have been added to the spoil. Then we drop on for a 
 few miles, now stopping to try some trusty bush 
 or some clay bank and cover, which we know of old to 
 hold good fish, and so on to Clifton Lock, and there 
 we discourse the lock man, who is an old friend and 
 ally. We duly liquor him up, and present him with 
 the customary wad of Cavendish, a supply of which, 
 for eleemosynary purposes, I always take with me ;
 
 108 Hot Pol. 
 
 and, having gained all the information we require, and 
 heard all the gossip from him, we drop on, now 
 stopping at another favourite bush, and now at a well- 
 known bank, and pitching the " silver turkey " well 
 over them ; now hauling out a good one ; then haply 
 losing (as one nearly always does) the fish of the day, 
 from some unforeseen inadvertence. At length we 
 reach our dining-room. The boat plunges in amongst 
 some bushes ; the arching trees overhead make a 
 delightful shade. The boat is tied up, and on the 
 grass turf our lunch is spread. In the twinkling of a 
 bedpost or a chub rod whichever you like, good 
 reader a plump roast fowl and a hand of cold pickled 
 pork or a knuckle of ham (again whichever you like) 
 reposes on the ground, and a pint bottle of good dry 
 " fiz " is dropped into the cool water. Let it be 
 of the best and purest vintage of champagne, and 
 not cheap. If there is a thing I set my face 
 against it is cheap liquors, they are always nasty, and 
 I have a weakness for treating my stomach now 
 like a gentleman. He was a careless dog, I allow, 
 in days gone by, and did not much heed what he 
 dropped into, or rather what was dropped into him. 
 " It was all the same to Sam !" But somehow, with 
 age and calm reflection one gets to think more about 
 these things, and that domestic demon or good angel, as 
 the case may be, " digestion," calls for far more serious 
 attention than it used to do. As for Tom, he is in 
 clover with that gallon of cooper he laid in at starting, 
 and a wad of bacon fit to astonish a Gaul, and he leans 
 back in the boat opposite to me in an attitude of lazy 
 rapture. " Pop." Ah-h-h ? Tingle-tingle, glug-
 
 Under the Soughs. 109 
 
 glug ! Delicious, 'pon my word ! Another wing ? 
 Well, no. A merry thought, then ? Ye-es, that's 
 just the thing, &c. I feel like a giant refreshed, and 
 now for the pleasant half-hour, not that the last one 
 has been at all unpleasant by no means ; but out 
 comes the old meerschaum, and H. and 0. Wills to 
 wit ; the smoke curls upwards in a lazy coil, and I 
 regard it with dreamy complacency ; puff, puff, puff. 
 If only Julia Montflathers, now, hadn't married that 
 beast Jack Strangways, of the Redundancy Office ; or 
 if Jack hadn't come to that pic-nic at Beulah Spa ; 
 
 and if the present Mrs. hadn't been Dear 
 
 me ! " Ah-h-h ! Snawk, snort, aw-wk I" Hallo, 
 God bless me ! what's that ? That brute Tom, with 
 no more sentiment than a pig, gone to sleep again, 
 like Pickwick's fat boy, with the last chunk of bacon 
 between his unclosed jaws, and his pipe beside him. 
 Well, well, poor fellow, he was up at four this morning, 
 and had a long row to be with me in time ; but 
 "Now, Tom; come along, wake up!" and in ten 
 minutes everything is cleared away and packed, and 
 we are out in the stream again, floating away down 
 past bush and scaur, green bank and willow, village 
 church, ruined abbey, old hall, and mansion of the 
 nouveaux riches, while the sparkling, ever-changing 
 stream keeps murmuring the old refrain, 
 
 Men may come, and men may go, 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 And if the stream doesn't murmur it, I do, so it is all 
 the same ; until evening falls, and Mrs. Chipperchild's 
 charming little inn where the sheets do smell of
 
 110 Hot Pot. 
 
 lavender, and the kitchen more appropriately of broil- 
 ing beef steaks, or bacon and eggs and coffee receives 
 us, while half a hundred- weight, or even a whole one, 
 as I have known, of fine chub, from l^lb. to 41b. 
 or 51b. each, are duly distributed by Tom to the village 
 worthies. Among them Tom is a personage, mark 
 you; and when he is established behind his yard 
 of clay beside the ingle nook in the big fireplace, 
 he " lets no dog bark," but, whether the subject be 
 fishing, philosophy, or politics, lays down the law in a 
 way that admits of no dispute. But a short time ago 
 I heard him discoursing on the war. Waving the 
 smoke aside by the point of his pipe, of which he 
 makes great use in furtherance of his oratory, Thomas 
 thus : " Now this here Boney, ye know, he's like the 
 hold Boney, he is. Once a Boney, always a Boney, I 
 says. He's a goin' into them 'ere Proosians like a 
 thousand of brick, he is, that's wot he's a goin' to do. 
 He aint forgot Waterloo, he aint, nor Bloocher neither, 
 and he's a goin' to square that 'ere account ; and them 
 metreorloses, mind you, aint invented for nothink, and 
 that 'ere Beesmark, or Beeswax, or whatever his name 
 be, he's got to look out, he hes." There was a grin of 
 approval and a horse laugh or two at Thomas's wit, 
 .and Thomas looked as if he had said a good thing and 
 knew it, and so on. The next time I hear him hold 
 forth, no doubt Thomas's sympathies will be with the 
 Proosians, and " that 'ere Beeswax '11 stick to 'em like 
 beeswax, for he's a sticker, he is, and kin take a 'eap 
 o' wolloping, he kin," and so on, for he likes to be on 
 the winning side, and, like the great majority of his 
 countrymen, Thomas is a bit of a time-server.
 
 Under the Soughs. Ill 
 
 A day or two of this sort of work will be found ex- 
 ceedingly enjoyable, and the angler need not go alone, 
 for one can sit and fish at each end of the boat, pro- 
 Tided they each watch the cast, though the man in 
 front usually has much the best sport. This, however, 
 you can balance by changing about now and then. I have 
 taken above a cwt. of large chub in a day in this way. 
 The flies used vary slightly, and it depends very much 
 upon what part of the Thames you fish. On the lower 
 parts large palmers are found to answer best ; on the 
 upper we find the silver turkey and artificial humble 
 bee beat the palmers out of sight. Now and then an 
 artificial cockchafer or beetle should be tried. The 
 silver turkey is a fly of grilse-fly size indeed, it may 
 be used even larger ; the body is of silver tinsel ; the 
 hackle, coch-y-bonddu of the deepest red ; wings, a 
 few fibres of green peacock herl, and over that two 
 strips of darkish turkey. To make the fly more 
 tempting a tail of a bit of wash leather is sometimes 
 appended, and with good effect too. I seldom found 
 any other fly but this and the humble bee needed from 
 Abingdon to Beading. There is no need to cast the 
 fly lightly ; indeed, to be attractive to the chub it 
 should flop into the water just as, if it was really a fat 
 insect fallen from a bough above. The best weapons 
 are a grilse rod and line and pretty stout gat, so that 
 as soon as the fish is hooked you can pull him away 
 from the boughs and flags, which he would inevitably 
 make for and dive under if he could. In throwing 
 under boughs, should the fly catch in a twig or leaf, 
 try gentleness first in dislodging it ; should this fail, 
 a sharp sudden snatch may be resorted to; every
 
 112 Hot Pot. 
 
 method should be tried to loosen the hook before 
 rowing up to it, as that process entirely disturbs the 
 banks for many yards down. Of course it is desirable 
 to cast as far under the boughs as possible, as in a hot 
 summer day the chub lie in the shade, basking com- 
 fortably, and sailing slowly about to pick up stray 
 provender ; but it is not every bough that is a chub 
 bough. There are various circumstances required to 
 make a good chub bough. The first is of course a 
 secure home under roots or hollow banks. Then the 
 bottom should be gravelly, not muddy or clayey ; next 
 there should be a good stream running outside the 
 boughs, though it may be but a gentle current under 
 them. Then the water should not be too deep nor too 
 shallow four or five feet is the best depth ; and unless 
 the angler is prepared to waste a great deal of time 
 in fishing many boughs where there are no chub at all, 
 it is as well that these circumstances should be known 
 to him. Then, again, the state of the water will make 
 a good deal of difference, and its being high or low 
 frequently settles the point whether the chub are at 
 home or not. In fact, for a successful prosecution of 
 this kind of fishing, the angler or his attendant should 
 know the water welk After hooking two or three 
 chub under any bough, it is hardly worth while to 
 waste more time in flogging it at that instant, as the 
 chub, being a rather shy fish, is easily alarmed at his 
 companion's struggles, and, though there may be 
 several other fish in the same spot, they will not take 
 again until they have had a rest of an hour or so to 
 recover confidence. There are other places besides 
 under overhanging trees which it is well worth while
 
 Under the Boughs. 113 
 
 to cast over for chub. High, bare, marly banks which 
 go sheer down into the water, and alongside of 
 which an eddy is observable, these are always worth a 
 cast. The tails of weeds in shallows should have the 
 fly shown to them. Old stumps, the eddies near locks, 
 holes in campshots, or any other shelter which looks 
 likely, should be tried, if ever so lightly, as, even if 
 the angler knows the river pretty well, chub will shift 
 a good deal occasionally. The head of a lob-worm, or 
 a real cockchafer, may be used, and cast like a fly, with 
 very good effect amongst large chub at times. But there 
 is nothing so neat, clean, or workmanlike as the fly. 
 
 " Now." 
 
 Of all the styles of fishing which were formerly 
 pleasant and seductive, there was none equal to a day 
 or two's fly fishing for chub on the Thames. You did 
 not require a southerly wind and a cloudy sky, nor 
 water just clearing after rain, nor any of those peculiar 
 and not common conditions which are required to pro- 
 duce sport in other branches of the art .; no all you 
 wanted was ordinary summer weather and water, such 
 as we usually have whole months of from June to 
 October, but of which we have seen very few days this 
 season. You wanted, besides, a fair amount of quiet 
 the ordinary sleepy, lazy kind of traffic common on 
 the river twelve or fifteen years ago, so that the chub 
 might come out of their holes under the banks and 
 roots, and lie just within shelter of the overhanging 
 boughs, watching for beetles, caterpillars, or what not, 
 to drop off the foliage above and float past, when, with 
 a wave like a small steamboat and a plunge like a 
 
 i
 
 Sot Pot. 
 
 salmon, the 31b., 41b., or 51b. chubs came at the 
 offender and engulfed him. A well-executed cock- 
 chafer, humble bee, or palmer with a hook to it had a 
 similar effect. I am sorry to say, had ; for, save 
 during the earliest hours of the morning, I know no 
 part of the Thames where it has that effect now. 
 Chubbing, as one used to do it, is gone ; and you can 
 no more catch from 501b. to lOOlb. weight with the 
 fly in a day nowadays than you could fly with a hook 
 through you under those very boughs yourself; for with 
 the first steam launch it is all over. " Fitter, pitter, 
 pitter, pitter," you hear the distant warning. " Here's 
 one of the tea-kettles coming," you say to yourself, and 
 you know that the sport is over for the day. You have 
 been lucky and killed four or five nice fish from 21b. 
 to 41b. each, and the fish are coming freely at the 
 chafer, and you calculate whether you can fish that 
 elder tree under which you know are several baron and 
 earl chubs, besides an archbishop and a royal high- 
 ness, before the steam kettle rushes by. Pitter, pitter, 
 pitter, patter. " There she rounds the point ! " 
 Patter, patter, patter, patter. " Coming up fast." 
 Patter, patter, potter, potter. " One more throw. 
 Ah ! confound him, he's missed it again ! " Potter, 
 potter, powter, powter. " Here it comes ! " Roll, 
 flop, sloosh ! Wave after wave rushes under the 
 boughs, washing the chub " full fathom five " under 
 the banks, there to stick in mortal terror for the next 
 ten hours or more; for there is never an hour, or 
 hardly half an hour, that the angler does not hear 
 the beat of those everlasting screws. The steamers 
 are bad, and the towing boats are bad ; but they are
 
 Tinder the Boughs. 115 
 
 scarcely so aggravating and productive of bad 
 language as an idiotic oarsman, or perhaps a pair, who, 
 coming down stream instead of keeping the mid- 
 current, come scraping and flopping along close to 
 the bushes in-shore, and do not care a button whether 
 they row over your line or no. I always long for a 
 good stout punt then, that I may, when they are some 
 yards away, exclaim, as old Jemmy Hall used to, in a 
 mild inviting tone of voice, " Row into her well, sir ; 
 :she's stronger there ! " and if he won't take advice, 
 why then he may damage the nose of his boat, and 
 possibly even his own. Boats rowing up stream, of 
 course, you know will keep close in shore, and you can 
 hardly expect them to row out from the bushes, though 
 a gentleman always will if he sees you in time, rather 
 than spoil your sport; but a snob, never he is too 
 fond of showing you that he has as much right to take 
 the wall as you have. 
 
 These several inconveniences, with a nasty cross 
 wind, which made casting hard labour, combined to 
 .spoil my sport for the two days lately when I went 
 up from Windsor to Bray and back, stopping at 
 Monkey Island to collogue host Plummer, in his 
 oddly decorated anglers' retreat among ye monkeys 
 monkeys painted and monkeys carved, and all very 
 clever and humorous, engaged in various sporting and 
 other operations, and called into being by the Duke 
 of Marlborough, whose fishing-house Plummer's com- 
 fortable anglers' rest was formerly. There is good 
 fishing all round about Monkey Island perhaps it is 
 ,s good trout water as any on the river, there being 
 .some rattling sharps, and jack being abundant, while 
 
 i2
 
 116 Hot Pot. 
 
 as for chub, barbel, and roach, they are plentiful ; and, 
 added to this, friend Plummer is an old fisherman him- 
 self, and, consequently, can always give you the safest 
 tip for his water, and tell you what it is best for you 
 to go after. Partly owing to the above reasons, and 
 to the incessant floppings and fightings kept up by 
 the multitude of swans between Boveney and Bray, 
 as I have said, I did not do much good. My best 
 fish was 3|lb. ; and I got six or seven others, some of 
 them goodly fish of 21b. and upwards ; but I lost a 
 lot, owing to the bad manner in which chafers are 
 armed by the tackle makers. They have one hook, as 
 a rule, placed under the belly of the cork imitation, 
 and this hook is so badly placed that it misses about 
 six: or seven out of every ten fish. I have invented a 
 method of arming them which I think will answer 
 admirably, and, not only will catch pretty well every 
 fish that really takes it in mouth, but a good many 
 that come short at it. I double a bit of fine brass 
 wire, so that there shall be a loop at each end ; this 
 is lashed along the belly of the chafer; the loop at 
 the head takes the gut, the one at the tail takes an 
 eyed triangle, which hangs down and, oddly enough, 
 when this is drawn sharply along, the triangle actually 
 makes the chafer spin, and shows it thoroughly, while 
 the hooks turning round can hardly fail to come in con- 
 tact with the fish, if he touches the bait at all. I call 
 it my spinning chafer. Anyhow, it is a great improve- 
 ment on the old system of arming. In chafer fishing 
 the bait will be made irresistible by the addition of 
 two or three gentles to give it a smell and taste. I 
 have now tried the ordinary chafer against every fly
 
 Under the Boughs. 117 
 
 I could think of, and I ain satisfied that it moves more 
 fish and gets more rises than any fly we know of. The 
 big fish particularly like it. It is rather harder to 
 throw than a fly, particularly if the wind is hard ; but 
 still you can get out quite enough line with a double- 
 handed rod. It does not do well with a single. 
 
 I have mentioned the swans on this reach, and they 
 are so numerous as to be quite a nuisance. I counted 
 above twenty at the same time ; my son counted 
 twenty-nine a day or two before. The place swarms 
 with them, and what the use of so many can be I can- 
 not conceive ; they certainly are not picturesque. A 
 pair here and there might be, but two or three dozen of 
 them no ! Plummer complains bitterly of the way 
 they kill his ducks, a great number of which they 
 destroy, and others they seriously cripple. I saw 
 five or six with broken legs, wings, &c. And perhaps 
 the worst fishing about that district is the perch 
 fishing, all the perch-spawn yearly being hunted out 
 and eaten by the swans, while even the trout redds do 
 not escape ; for Mr. Swan, with his tail in the air, and 
 his long neck, rips them up from end to end, and 
 gobbles the dainty eggs down by the pint ; and then 
 Plummer " can't make out how it is that there ain't 
 so many trout as there used to be/' How it is there 
 are any at all, with the huge mob of swans between 
 Boveney and Bray, I do not know. " Birds in their 
 little nests agree," says that good man, but bad 
 naturalist, Dr. Watts. I don't think, as a rule, that 
 they do, and I am sure they don't " out " of them j 
 for, from the sparrows up to cocks and hens, and on to 
 swans, they do a good deal of fighting. The latter
 
 118 Hot Pot. 
 
 particularly are always at it here, and, if three-quarters 
 of them were taken away, and made to emigrate, they 
 would all be the happier and better for it. 
 
 Since writing the above I have met with a fact 
 which strongly confirms my view as regards the 
 perch. The other day I had a little gudgeoning 
 with a very old friend at Hampton. He told me 
 before we went out that he never remembered so 
 many perch in the river ; and, truly, at every pitch 
 we went to we caught from two or three to seven or 
 eight perch. I should think we took two or three 
 dozen of them ; three-quarters of them, however, were 
 undersized, and were thrown in again. I have known 
 that water for thirty years, and I certainly never 
 remember anything like the vast quantity of small 
 two-year perch. For some years to come there will, 
 in the season, be the best perch fishing in the river 
 on the Hampton and Sunbury water, and the fisher- 
 men will reap a rich harvest in the winter. And what 
 is the reason ? Why, that there are very few swans 
 on the water, and, for the last two or three years, the 
 breeding seasons have been bad, so that there have 
 been but few young ones. Much of the perch spawn, 
 therefore, has escaped ; and it is very hard on other 
 parts of the river, not only on the angler, but on the 
 poor fisherman, who has enough to do to get a living, 
 that such a mob of swans should be maintained, to his 
 positive injury. I can understand, too, the Crown 
 claiming the right to have swans upon the public 
 river ; but what right City companies can have, miles 
 and miles above the point where the City jurisdiction, 
 ever extended to, I cannot understand.
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 119 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF AN ANGLER. 
 
 1 Novacula in coteni." Old Proverb. 
 
 FARMER GUMSHUN. 
 
 ONE evening, while on a fishing excursion down in 
 Bucks, I was smoking my pipe in the inn parlour 
 after a hard day at the pike, which had not re- 
 sulted very successfully, when I overheard the fol- 
 lowing story which was told between whiffs and 
 sips. We will omit them, and also the manner of 
 telling. It related to a certain Mr. Three-an'-four, of 
 Gray's Inn, and one Farmer Gumshun, of Bucking, 
 hamshire. It appeared that Three-an'-four, in some 
 roundabout way, through his wife's relations, had 
 become " acquent " with Gumshun ; and Gumshun, 
 being a hearty, good, hospitable chap, as some Bucks 
 farmers are, asked him down one 1st of September to 
 shoot. The farm was a roughish 700 acres, with a 
 fair sprinkling of birds on it, and Three-an'-four made 
 out from ten to fifteen brace a day for five or six days 
 very pleasantly, with an off-day on a neighbour's farm, 
 while high jinks and smoke-pipes came off very satis- 
 factorily of an evening ; and altogether it was about as 
 pleasant and healthy a week as a hard- worked London 
 attorney could wish for. Three-an'-four was a jovial
 
 120 Rot Pot. 
 
 chap, enough over a jug of old stingo or a bowl of 
 punch, and could sing you a jolly song with a good 
 chorus to it, or turn you out a merry tale which set all 
 the yokels on the grin; and chuckles were plenty, so that 
 his company was enjoyed and liked. Thus what was 
 only a casual visit became a yearly affair ; and Three- 
 an'-four' s advent was looked for as a pleasant occur- 
 rence, and his stories were bottled for country use and 
 told at market tables far and wide for the ensuing 
 twelvemonth. This continued for four or five years, 
 and Three-an'-four always pitched it very strongly 
 into Gumshun as to what he would do for him if he 
 would only come to town ; but, as Gumshun had no 
 occasion to go there, he merely felt grateful to his 
 friend and shook his hand, patted him on the back, 
 and insisted on his taking another glass before he 
 started of the " old ooman's corjial " a compound of 
 gin, sugar, oranges, &c., " only fit for anglers or very 
 honest men," as Izaak hath it. 
 
 At length it befel that Gumshun had some little 
 matter of business to transact in the metropolis, and, 
 driving to the rail some six miles off, he made the 
 transit to town. He got rather put about in the streets, 
 and was shoved hither and thither at the station ; and 
 at the Blue Boar, where he left his things until he 
 could inform Three-an'-four of his advent, they didn't 
 seem quite as hearty-like to him as they were at the 
 White Horse at Aylesbury or the Red Lion at Wycomb. 
 But, having deposited his bag, he asked his way to 
 Gray's Inn. 
 
 " Mr. Three-an'-four in, sir ? " t( I'll step and see, 
 sir. What name, sir ? " said an office imp, taking it
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 121 
 
 down with a grin at Gumshun' s gaiters. " Mr. Three- 
 an'-four '11 see you in ten minutes, sir," said the imp, 
 returning. Gumshun coloured a trifle, but sat down 
 and waited. The ten minutes spread out to pretty near 
 twenty, when a bell tinkled, and the imp said 
 
 "Mr. Three-an'-four '11 see you now, sir; that's his 
 office, sir door before you ; " and Gumshun made for 
 the door, thinking it was odd rather but still business 
 must be attended to before pleasure. So, clearing up, 
 he entered with outstretched hand to greet his friend, 
 who no doubt was on the threshold waiting to shake 
 his arm off. He entered. At the further end of the 
 room was a large box, with rails at the top, like the 
 den of a dangerous beast, which, perhaps, from some 
 points of view Three-an'-four was. As our friend 
 advanced into the room a small shutter was drawn 
 back, and the face of Three-an'-four was seen behind 
 the rails in the aperture. As to handshaking, that was 
 out of the question. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Gumshun, how-de-do, sir, how-de-do ? and 
 what has brought you up into this wicked world? 
 Business, eh ? Ah, to be sure, to be sure. Where are 
 you stoppin', Gumshun ? Blue Boar, eh ? Comfort- 
 able inn, capital. Come and dine with you by'm-by, 
 at six o'clock, and have a chat over all the good folks 
 at Wheat-land End. Terribly pressed by business just 
 now oh terribly. See you by'm-by. Take care of 
 yourself. Ta ta " and before he knew where he was, 
 poor old Gumshun found himself on Gray's Inn pave- 
 ment blinking like an owl in the sunlight. 
 
 Six o'clock came, and with it Three-an'-four, cheer}' 
 and genial as ever. They dined, and had a bottle of
 
 122 Hot Pot. 
 
 sherry and a bowl of punch, all of which was duly 
 charged in Grumshun's bill as two dinners, 9s. ; one 
 bottle of sherry, 6s.; ale, Is.; punch, 5s. total, 1 
 guinea. And just before he departed, Three-an'-four 
 said, " Ah, by the way, and how's the birds ? Plenty, 
 eh ? Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. We'll show 'em 
 the way along next ' first/ eh ? Now take care of 
 yourself ; do take care of yourself. Ta ta. Not a drop 
 more, thankye." 
 
 On the evening of the 31st of August next ensuing, 
 a gig containing Mr. Three-an'-four and the driver, 
 with a large carpet bag and a gun case, and drawn by 
 a raw-boned horse, struggled through the mud of 
 Wheat-lane End, and stopped at the Priory Farm. Rat- 
 ta-tat-tat. " Ah, James, my fine feller ! How's the 
 master ? Take that gun case. Take care, now." 
 
 James looked " duberous," to use his own words 
 subsequently. " He warn't quite sure how the master 
 was, but he knowed he was terrible busy, and would 
 see Muster Three-an'-four in ten minutes or so." A 
 quarter of an hour passed over, and Three-and-f our sat 
 fuming in the gig he wasn't used to this kind of 
 thing when the door opened and old G-umshun 
 appeared, holding up a huge gridiron before his face, 
 through which he spoke. 
 
 "Ah, Muster Three-an'-four, how do, sir? how do? 
 what brings 'e down to this 'ere wicked world ? Where 
 be stopping Mr. Three-an'-four? where be stoppin' ? 
 Red Lion at Wycomb ? Capital house, capital ! Come 
 an* dine with 'e by'm-by at six o'clock, and have a 
 chat over aal the good volks in Lunnon. Tur'ible 
 pressed by business just now, tur'ible. See 'e by'm-
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 123 
 
 by. Take care o' y'self ; do take care o' y'self Ta ta, 
 Ta ta " and the door closed on Mr. Gumshun and the 
 gridiron. 
 
 The driver roared with laughing all the way home, 
 and even the raw-boned old horse was said to have got up 
 a spasmodic sort of chuckle. Three-an'-four went back 
 again to London a sadder and a wiser man ; he was 
 never seen at Wheat-lane End again, and Grumshun's 
 friends tell the story with infinite gusto all round 
 the country to the present day. 
 
 Now, I don't doubt there was a good deal of truth 
 in the tale, for hospitality to stranger sportsmen was 
 but a few years ago by no means unknown in country 
 places, and even now in the more out-of-the-way 
 corners it is not quite absent ; but it certainly is, 
 under the present system of education, &c., growing 
 " small by degrees " and anything but " beautifully 
 less." I, however, have happily met many a pleasant 
 instance of it, even in the character of a perfect 
 stranger. I remember some years ago being down in 
 Oxfordshire with my old acquaintance Sam Sum- 
 punkyns one of the oddest fish I know, but of that 
 anon. Sam and I had leave through a friend from a 
 miller and proprietor in those parts to fish a bit of the 
 W., and we started betimes at our work. I will not 
 go on to describe the day or relate our sport. I killed 
 a brace of fish, I remember, which weighed 2lb. and 
 4^1b. respectively, with a fly we called the jay's-wing, 
 and should have killed more but for a very heavy rise 
 of the Mayfly, which quite spoilt our chance. Neither 
 Sam nor I knew the boundaries ; they were told us 
 after a fashion, and it seemed that they were rather
 
 124 Hot Pot. 
 
 involved. Not that boundaries ever troubled Sam 
 much ; he had a nasty knack of overstepping them, 
 and then apologising for it in the most polite and pro- 
 fuse manner when collared a practice very common 
 even among respectable folks, or folks in a respectable 
 station. 
 
 I hate breaking bounds, but on this occasion I was 
 fishing placidly through a meadow where was some 
 nice water. I was just casting over a fish that had 
 looked at me and refused, when a shadow came on the 
 water from behind. I was crouching down and looking 
 low, for the day was bright, when a broad accent 
 asked if I'd " had any sport ; " and I looked rather 
 cross, for the fish slipped under the bank directly. I 
 glanced round ; it came from a hearty, weather-beaten 
 old chap with a hoe in his hand. " No, I hadn't had 
 much sport.'' He " allowed the day was too bright ; " 
 I " allowed it was;" and so we got conversing. He 
 aid " his grandfather never took a fish out of that 
 stream under 41b. weight." Thereon I felt rather like 
 our friend James above, " duberous." I ventured to 
 bring in Mr. W.'s (our permissor's) name, which met 
 with no response ; and then to opine or suggest in 
 some roundabout way that the fishing before us be- 
 longed to him, which brought out the fact that it did 
 not> but was the sole right of the individual who, &c. 
 Thereon I fell honestly to apologising, feared I was 
 trespassing, hoped I had not intruded, and so on. 
 " Not at all, not at all. Don't speak on't, sir. Happy 
 to see any gentleman as is a sportsman for an hour or 
 two's vishin'. What's the odds on't ? There bain't a 
 many vish in t' stream, but what there be's good 'uns.
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 125 
 
 There's a five-pounder under that sally bush/' &c. I 
 was duly grateful, and fished and chatted till I had 
 g;>t through the old fellow's bounds, when nothing 
 would do but Sam and I must come up to the farm 
 and have a crust o' bread and cheese and a glass of 
 home-brewed. Wishing to meet kindness as it was 
 meant, we went and made a hearty lunch off a rare 
 big crusty loaf of home-baked, with home-made butter 
 coloured like cowslips and a picture to see, home- 
 brewed as clear as sherry, with a kind of fizz in your 
 nose after you'd swallowed a pint or so of it, and a 
 quarter of Cheddar. In course of conversation Sam 
 asked him if he had any shooting. " Not much ; there 
 was two or three coveys about, or would be ; he never 
 troubled them much ; but if Sam liked to bring 
 his gun down early in September he'd save 'em for 
 him, and he was heartily welcome." We did manage 
 to get away at last, when we could not eat or drink 
 more ; and we left the hearty old patriarch with very 
 pleasant feelings and lots of good wishes. 
 
 We had hardly worked through another field or so 
 when we saw a gentleman on the bank fishing just 
 below a mill. As we came up he walked towards us, 
 inquired of our sport, and stated that he had turned so 
 many score of trout into that very water but a few 
 months back. Then I again began to think we were 
 out of our latitude, and at once put the question. " Oh, 
 yes, the fishing was his ; so was the mill above ; but 
 it didn't matter a bit we were as welcome as the 
 flowers in May. He could fish every day we were 
 strangers, and couldn't." So, in spite of all remon- 
 strance, he put up his rod and walked with us. " You
 
 126 Hot Pot. 
 
 would stand a better chance with the fly if that side- 
 stream was running. We have not run it lately, for 
 the water has been so scarce ; but I'll tell my man to 
 turn it on." Our friend vanished into the mill, and in 
 two minutes a fine stream was running away from the 
 mill in waste out of pure courtesy, and merrily rattling 
 over the pebbles. But, though the fish rose, the 
 Mayfly was too mighty for us; so, after trying for 
 about twenty minutes, we gave it up, and, with many 
 hearty thanks for his kindness, we left our friend, who 
 offered us fishing whenever we liked to come his way. 
 We took our leave ; and I venture to think that it is 
 not on every stream you might come to that two tres- 
 passers would be treated exactly in this way. 
 
 As a contrast, I remember when Sam and I some 
 years ago got a sort of open permission on a bit of 
 water in Surrey. There was a terrible jealousy always 
 about the fishing. Just above our water was a most 
 obnoxious fellow, who held some snuff mills ; and, to 
 prevent the possibility of anyone fishing a yard on his 
 water, he had it railed off closely and a severe chain 
 run right across the stream. Nothing aggravated the 
 " 0. B." (" old buffer/') as we used to call him, like 
 our catching a fish, even on our own water, anywhere 
 near this chain. The moment he saw either of us 
 approach this spot, up went the waste-gate and down 
 came a mass of muck and weeds, which he always 
 stored up for the purpose. The disgusting proceeding 
 begat anything but a Christian frame of mind in us. 
 All we wanted was to be allowed to fish our own 
 water ; and if we desired to get anywhere near this 
 chain we had to slip and creep up like red Indians,
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 127 
 
 and then we could never compass it for more than a 
 quarter of an hour or so, for by that time we were 
 always observed ; and many a time did we give the 
 " O. B.'s " fish a rugging, even to the losing of a fly, 
 though we couldn't get them out, in pure spite and 
 aggravation. One day we had caught but one fish, 
 and were sauntering up the bank towards the chain. 
 
 " Sam," said I, " there's the O. B. grinning at us 
 through his opera glass." 
 
 " I twig him," said Sam ; " now for the weeds," and 
 sure enough in ten minutes down came the weeds thick 
 and furious. 
 
 " I say, Sam, there is not much chance below ; it's 
 a bad day. Let's stop here close to the chain, and 
 madden the 0. B. by catching that fish about ten 
 times." 
 
 " All right, old man ; I see it ; we will." 
 
 So we sat and smoked calmly till the weeds all went 
 by and the "0. B.'s" stock was exhausted, and then 
 I began casting close to the chain. Presently my fly 
 took the grass, and I kept on waving the rod as if 
 casting, while Sam stuck the dead trout on the 
 hook and slipped it into the stream. Then I struck 
 him scientifically, and next played him and wound 
 him up in the most artistic way that I knew, and 
 Sam landed him, almost too perfectly ; and so, after 
 proper inspection and exclamations of delight, he was 
 basketed and we wetted him. After a decent interval 
 the farce was repeated, the trout was played and landed 
 again, and after that a third time; then we moved 
 down a few yards and caught him twice more ; and, 
 not wishing to overdo it, we gradually meandered out
 
 128 Hot Pot. 
 
 of sight, leaving the " 0. B." in a perfectly diabolical 
 state of mind. Unfortunately, the upshot was not so 
 satisfactory. The " 0. B." was, through his profes- 
 sion, quite " up to snuff," and it seems that the lord 
 of the manor really possessed the right of fishing, 
 though he rarely interfered with the millowners or 
 exercised it ; but the " 0. B." went to him and worried 
 him, and worked on him to such a tune that he con- 
 trived to get our fishing stopped altogether, and so we 
 lost one of the nicest and handiest bits of fishing I 
 ever enjoyed. We had had it to ourselves for two 
 seasons. We never fished it of an evening, and could 
 nearly always kill our four or five brace of pounders. 
 The "0. B." was remembered (not advantageously) 
 in our orisons for many a day afterwards. Sam 
 always said he would treat him to some punch, or 
 dance a hornpipe on his waistcoat, or do something 
 equally festive to him, if ever he met him ; but, as he 
 Was not likely to meet him, tjieir orbits being different, 
 like Messrs, Pyke and Pluck he confined himself to 
 mere "verbal smiffligation."
 
 Bankers and Tinkers. 129 
 
 BANKERS AND TINKERS. 
 
 " I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I 
 can drink with any tinker in his own language, during my life."- 
 Henry IV. 
 
 As I have already said, I have a particular affection 
 for the humble banker, and I return to his considera- 
 tion, therefore, without apology; but, then, he must 
 be a humble banker a man of the true, old-fashioned, 
 simple Waltonian type ; intelligent, with a love of 
 nature ; keen for his sport, yet not greedy ; no 
 swaggerer, brawler, nor ruffler ; no grumbler nor 
 pothouse sot ; willing to share his sport or his fish 
 with a poorer brother; observant, and full gf odd 
 stories and reminiscences of former sport. Let such 
 be my banker, and I make common cause with him 
 instantly. I will sit me under a hawthorn or a wood- 
 bine hedge, and eat my hard eggs, smoke my pipe, 
 and chat the day away, and wish no better occupation 
 so that my banker may now and then, every quarter 
 of an hour or so, pull out a sizeable fish or two. 
 
 But I fear that public-house clubs, promoted by 
 publicans and undeniable " sinners," have, by work- 
 ing the " competition wallah " to their own ends, 
 produced a style of banker in too many instances, 
 whom one prefers to give a very wide berth to; a 
 
 E
 
 130 Hot Pot. 
 
 drunken, quarrelsome, noisy brute, whose language 
 would affright the naiads from their haunts, and even 
 shock the sensibilities of the kelpies. Excursion 
 trains of these individuals are now and then let loose 
 upon some quiet little country place, to make the 
 peaceful Sabbath and the sweet wholesome air 
 hideous with the vilest language and the reek of the 
 filthiest tobacco, stale beer, and gin. Twenty years 
 ago the object of the invasion probably would have 
 been a pugilistic competition ; but nous avons change 
 tout cela. Of all the elements introduced by modern 
 piscators into their art I think perhaps that of a set 
 competition is the least desirable and the least grace- 
 ful. Men dwell so much together in cities, and the 
 crowded noisy companionship is so little for their 
 mental or moral improvement, that the few hours' 
 quiet and rest, or reflection, which the true banker 
 gets when away by himself on Thames or Lea, act 
 like a moral and even physical bath to him. In fact, 
 there 'is really no one who so much requires it, per- 
 haps, as the bettermost and more rational among the 
 artizan classes of London and our other large cities. 
 Every man to his trade. Let each take an interest in 
 his own, and strive to work it so that it may produce 
 the greatest real benefit to the greatest number. 
 
 Consequently, as I have said, I take much account 
 of the solitary banker. One meets very original 
 minds, really "peculiar people/' among them at times. 
 I have met many who have interested me many 
 whom I have known for years, and who have been 
 quite old friends. There are three classes of men 
 among what we are pleased to call the lower orders,
 
 Bankers and Tinkers. 131 
 
 who furnish more fishermen than all the rest put 
 together, and they are tinkers, cobblers, and barbers 
 that is to say, comparatively speaking. Neither 
 tinkers nor barbers are a numerous craft, but the pro- 
 portion of these of their calling, who are devoted 
 brothers of the angle (with cobblers, who are more 
 numerous, perhaps), compared with those of their 
 crafts who are not, is far greater than may be found 
 in any other trade. The tinker is very often a peripa- 
 tetic vagabond though, perhaps, this is to an extent 
 tautology who lives from hand to mouth, and to 
 whom the capture of a fish or two or the failure of 
 the same often means dinner, or rather supper for 
 that is the cherished meal of such arabs or no 
 supper. When England was " Merrie England," and 
 there was some fishing in hosts of places free to all 
 and any who chose to fish, what a heavenly life it 
 must have been in summer time to be a tinker or 
 suppose we call him by the old word tinkler on a 
 good circuit ! when a man who knew his craft and his 
 customers was more welcome than even the pedlar 
 himself ! How without a care he mooned along 
 through the deep hazel and blackberry clad lanes, at 
 his own pace, some eight or ten miles a day ; now 
 musing, now singing, now stopping to crack a bunch 
 of tempting hazel nuts, now culling a choice spray of 
 blackberries, anon picking a nosegay of our most 
 charming indigenous flowers for the good hostess of 
 the Bear and Ragged Staff at the next village, who 
 was always glad to welcome the tinkler, and who had 
 always half a dozen small tiuklering jobs waiting his 
 arrival, which paid for his board and drink and left a 
 
 K2
 
 132 Hot Pot. 
 
 small silver surplus to speed him on his way in 
 the morning ; now stopping to grind a pair of scissors 
 for Jemima the pretty maid at the rectory, from 
 whom a kiss is ready payment, or to stop a hole in the 
 saucepan of Mrs. Giles, the farmer's wife at Grange 
 Farm, for which a few coppers and a draught of her 
 nut-brown home-brewed sent him happily onward; 
 now pitching a merry stave and singing, haply like 
 
 Autolycus 
 
 Jog on, jog on the footpath way, 
 
 And merrily hent the stile a ; 
 A merry heart goes all the day, 
 
 Your sad one tires in a mile a. 
 
 Now sitting down to smoke a quiet reflective pipe in 
 some fragrant shaw, where the beeches showered down 
 their mast and the wood-pigeons cooed all the day long ; 
 now cutting a long taper hazel or ash twig as the 
 sparkling stream hove in sight on Slopwash Common, 
 where half a mile or more of the very choicest of the 
 trout stream flowed, and which was open to all, and 
 which in those days no squire had ever ventured 
 to lay his embargo on, but which has long since, by 
 some chickery pokery known to modern law, been 
 grabbed, and shut up by the lord of the manor. 
 
 Formerly there were hundreds of these free bits of 
 water scattered about all over the country sometimes 
 half a mile or more, sometimes only a hundred or two 
 of yards in length or even less; but somehow they 
 were always about the nicest bits of golden, gravelly 
 shallow in the stream, and affected by the best-fed 
 aud largest trout. There are few enough of them left 
 now, alas ! Ahab has coveted the vineyard of
 
 Bankers and Tinkers. 133 
 
 Naboth, and if he has not got men of Belial to swear 
 blasphemy against anyone, he has collared the vine- 
 yard by favour of that law which is so effective when 
 there is plenty of money and possession on one side, 
 and a very little money and only a divided and limited 
 interest on the other. There are very few " Village 
 Hampdens " " with dauntless breasts " nowadays, and 
 the little tyrants have it all their own way. But we 
 arc describing the past. 
 
 And now see how tinkler Tim or Tom, or whatever 
 his name may be, pulls out of his hat an old cast 
 of flies or a worm tackle how neatly he fixes it to the 
 point of his most un-Farlow-like rod; with what 
 wondrous skill and lightness, considering the clumsi- 
 ness of the whole affair, he pitches it over that fine 
 pound and a half fish that the squire's son tried for in 
 vain yesterday ! But rough though the tinkler's flies, 
 they are of the right colour ; and the trout evidently 
 would rather go home with the tinkler than pay a 
 visit to the squire, and accordingly he takes the 
 offered dainty as greedily as an old maid does flattery ; 
 and after the usual amount of flouncing hither and 
 thither yields up his life to the tinkler's skill, as does 
 a brother of the same hatch and brood some twenty 
 yards above; when the cast is returned to the hat, 
 the hazel twig cast aside upon the bank, and once 
 more the accomplished piscator is loafing past the 
 cottages, crying " any pots and kettles to mend, any 
 umberellas to mend, any knives or scissors to grind," 
 &c., no need to say to him as Canning did : 
 
 Needy knife-grinder, whither art thou roaming? 
 Rough is the way, thy wheel is out of order.
 
 134 Sot Pot. 
 
 Iii his case it is all inapplicable ; lie knows where he is 
 going, and where he will be welcome too. The way 
 is easy enough, and his wheel is in first-rate condition, 
 as witness the sparks that fly from his stone as he 
 chats to Mary, the maid of the mill ; and as for needy, 
 I promise you that he won't, like Canning's knife- 
 grinder, ask you for sixpence to drink your health, 
 and if he did, I'm sure you would not, like the " friend 
 of humanity," exclaim : " I give thee sixpence ? I 
 
 would see thee d d first," &c. Canning's grinder, 
 
 you see, must have had a bad beat, while mine has 
 a good one, and that's just the difference. As for 
 mine, bless you ! he has more money in his pocket 
 than he wants to spend for weeks to come, and every 
 village, too, will yield him tribute ; and so he goes on 
 (or used to) happy, healthy, and contented, with few 
 cares and no taxes. For a man whose existence is 
 sufficient for himself, and who has the true vagabond 
 spirit in him, it would be hard to find a more con- 
 genial existence than the tinker's. 
 
 I knew a tinker once Tinker Tim I have called 
 him, though it was not his name ; but that was when 
 days began to turn upon the trade, though there was 
 still a living to be had by walking and working for it. 
 Tim was the strangest of fellows a most enthusiastic 
 fisherman ; he knew every bit of open fishing for 
 twenty miles round London, and a good many that 
 were not open, too, to some of which he was not always 
 unwelcome ; for Tim knew many rare secrets of the 
 art not chronicled by Dennys, and could impart them 
 judiciously when he chose (he could get particular 
 hackles from special fowls hard to get and rare to see,
 
 Bankers and Tinkers. 135 
 
 and he ha,d secrets for dying dubbing which were 
 worth many a good day's fishing to learn; and, if 
 a fervent angler had such a thing as a particularly 
 large and wary trout who had resisted all the allure- 
 ments he was master of, he was not now and then 
 above consulting the tinker, who was to be trusted 
 and was no poacher. Sometimes Tim was mighty 
 quiet and self-contained. He had little beyond the 
 time of day, and a good word or two for a stranger ; 
 but for the old acquaintance and gossip whom he 
 knew and liked he could be blithe as a bird and com- 
 municative as you please. Tim was one of those free 
 and happy souls who haven't a spark of envy or 
 jealousy in their composition ; who would tell a dis- 
 consolate flyfisher which was the killing fly, and show 
 a fishless banker the killing swim and bait, or perform 
 any other kindly office in his power. He was a first- 
 rate fisherman himself, and with a rod made of old 
 umbrella sticks, &c., contrived by his own skill, and 
 with a few fine sorrel hairs pulled out of some stallion's 
 tail, he often produced very marvellous results. Every- 
 thing, even his reel, was home made, and, rough as it 
 all looked, he had sundry ingenious appliances of his 
 own which were by no means unworthy of notice. 
 Tim was a wonderful hand at baits. He always h:id 
 baits of one kind or another, or knew where to get 
 them at short notice, which would catch fish, and the 
 old formula of worms, gentles, and greaves, the usual 
 repertoire of the punt fisher on the Thames, he utterly 
 abjured and scorned as a formula. He just used 
 whatever he could get grasshoppers, bumblebees, 
 wasp grubs, anything he could easiest come by. He
 
 136 Hot Pot. 
 
 once, with a mixture of rotten cheese, fat rusty bacon, 
 and buttercups (to give it a colour), all mashed up 
 together, made such a take of chub as I have seldom 
 seen ; and once, when no worms could be got, he made 
 a swingeing take of barbel by baiting with some 
 chopped-up butcher's scraps. He was never at a loss ; 
 if he could not get one thing he used another. His 
 great point was his knowledge of the state of the 
 water, and how it affected the various swims. The 
 Thames was, of course, his favourite and chief hunting 
 grounds, and here he was unerring ; one sight of the 
 water was enough for Tim, he knew in a moment what 
 particular swim was in the best ply ; and whether he 
 would stop at Hampton, or cry " knives and scissors 
 to grind " on through Sunbury, Walton, Shepperton, 
 and Chertsey, with his one-eyed, stump-tailed terrier 
 at his heels, or no, was just a question of colour and 
 inches, when he was in the mood to go a-fishing. 
 
 1 ' Ye see, sir," he would say, ' ' fish is just like us, 
 they knows where the wittles is best and cheapest, 
 and where the beds is comforablest and easiest. Now, 
 this 'ere swim, ye see, is just perfect like ; a hinch 
 or two more o' watered just spile it, though perhaps 
 you wouldn't think it, though I knows so. When the 
 water's like this, the hunder current brings whatever 
 grub there is goin' just past that old wilier stump 
 right in here, and the fish fellers it ; three inches 
 lower, and it sets right out into the stream, and three 
 higher, and its all of a bile, and this bottom aint worth 
 a dump. Wot then ? Why then I has to go up three 
 mile, and more too, close by Walton backwater there 
 we'll find the breams drawed in just in reach of the
 
 Bankers and Tinkers. 137 
 
 bank, and if that 'ere Hone aint stuck his punt right 
 in shore which he know his way about in respect 
 to bream he do, and there arn't a many as do I'll 
 war'n't I kill 301b., and more. For I knows a old 
 wood pile just off the road, where, by clearin' away 
 the rubbish, I'll pick as many red worms as '11 last me 
 the arternoon ; but these 'ere cowdung bobs aint a bad 
 bait neither, though tender for most sort o' fish, 
 though bream is fond of a red worm or a broundlin, so 
 I shall put these 'ere bobs by for to-morrer, and bake 
 'em to toughen 'em a bit. I mended the lock of Mr. 
 Purdy's well last time I was up at Chessy (Chertsey), 
 an' he promised to lend me a boat for a few hours, 
 and if I don't walk into them chubs under the bushes 
 there to-morrer it's a pity. I see two gents a fishm* 
 them bushes last time I was up there, and, lor bless 
 you ! they hadn't but three fish, and not one on 'em a 
 pound. The water was just six hinches too low ; the 
 'oles was half out o' water, and they went away a 
 sayin' that ' there worn't no chubs there,' when there 
 was a ton on 'em in the deeps werry like. It is a 
 wonderful thing to me how little men as has to get 
 their livin' by fishin' studies the water and the fish. 
 Fish shifts, as I said afore, with the grub and the 
 stream, that's just it ; and if you knows wot their 
 'abits is, by lookin' at the water you knows just wot 
 to go arter, and which swims '11 pay best and which 
 won't, whereas the loafer knows nothin' and dou't 
 want to know. Puntsman says this is a swim, and he 
 sticks to it all the season long, whether the water's 
 high or low, and whether the fish is in it or not. 
 * Once a swim, orvays a swim,' says he. There's more
 
 138 Hot Pot. 
 
 groun' bait wasted on the Thames in a year than 'd 
 need to catch all the fish in it if it was properly used. 
 I likes a man as goes pokin' about by hisself, a peepin' 
 and watchin' to find out where the fish lays, and when 
 he's found 'em, whether it's a regler swim or no, just 
 goes and fishes for 'em ; yer can't catch 'em where 
 they arn't, sir, ye can't really ; as Bill Ben orvays says 
 ' Sampson wos a strong man, but he couldn't pull his 
 boots on if he hadn't got none, and you can't ketch 
 the fish if they ain't there. It's agin reason.' As for 
 the feller as wastes pecks o' bait where there arn't no 
 fish, he's a himposter and a 'umbug. I see sich a 
 feller once go an' fish a noted perch 'ole, where the 
 water was 'igh and all of a bile. I see he didn't know 
 nothin' about it, and I sits down below a purtendin' to 
 fish for roach till he was gone. ' Bite Garge ?' says I. 
 ' No they don't,' ses he ; ' I've been trying a 'our or 
 more without a touch,' and he ups pole and cuts it. 
 'Bites!' says he, 'why there aint a perch in the 
 'ole. That 'ere Billy Shooker's been 'ere wi' his 
 nets, I calc'late,' and off he goes. As soon as ever 
 he was clean gone, I just sculls the boat up quietly, 
 ties her up to a withy, and lays there and smokes my 
 pipe. I never moves for a hour, but lets the fish settle 
 agin. Then I just gently drops a paternoster with 
 a worm on the bottom 'ook and a minner on the top, 
 well into a bit o' dead water, a little furder up than 
 where Garge was, almost in the meader sort o' cow 
 drink like it was, were there worn't eighteen inches o' 
 water, and were that ere genus Garge never thought 
 o' lookin' ; and I began a pullin' 'em out two at a 
 time, two at a time real good uns' and for two 'ours I
 
 Bankers and Tinkers. 139 
 
 laid into 'em, 'ardly a fish under 'arf a pun' some on 
 'em might be three to the pun', but not a many; 
 many on 'em topped the pun', and I just has as fine a 
 bit o'fsport all to myself for a hour an' half as ever I had 
 in my life; three dozen and over I sacks, till I'd 
 almost cleared 'em out. I never tells Garge nothin', 
 for I didn't want to 'miliate him ; but I sells 'em to 
 Muster Peters, all 'cept two as I took 'ome for 
 supper, for three 'arf crowns and a good arternoon's 
 work too. It's wonderful 'ow near people is often- 
 times to a good day's sport, and yet misses it for the 
 want of a little savvy wous d'ye see. That Notting- 
 ham Garge, he teached 'em something, he did, about 
 fishin' fine and far off, as they call it, and some on 'em 
 larnt it ; but some of the Thames fishermen is that 
 concayted and obstnet, and ignorant besides, that 
 no one nor nothin'll ever teach 'em n'out. There's 
 some of 'em as always will do the same thing time 
 after time. Wotever happens, you can't convince 'em, 
 and some of 'em never think they can throw in enough 
 groundbait, too ; no matter whether the fish is full or 
 empty, whether they're feedin' or fed, they keep on a 
 chuckin' it in, five or six balls at a time, till the fish is 
 that full that if you do by a chance happen to catch 
 one he's a 'bustin with bait, and on'y bit at your'n 
 out o' aggrawation at seein' so much on it wasted. 
 They can't understand that if you have the fish 
 handy, the great thing is to keep 'em on the look- 
 out, and not to gorge 'em right off, and many 
 a chance of a pretty good day I've seen done 
 for in that way." So Tim would chat with his 
 intimates, instilling precepts worth remembering,
 
 140 Hot Pot. 
 
 and dropping words of wisdom not to be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 " There's a big trout in the corner of Sunbury Weir, 
 Tim," I said to the Tinker one day ; I have tried for 
 him for a week, and can't get a touch of him. I have 
 seen him feeding all over the weir several times ; but 
 he won't look at my bait, and he is a real big one. I 
 wish you would come up and take a look at him." Tim 
 nodded, and said, " I shall be through there to-morrow 
 afternoon, and am going to stop the night there, and, 
 if you'll be up early in the morning, we'll give him a 
 look-up. It must be pretty early, too ; for, if he's 
 there, that 'ere Screwgem knows on him, and he's 
 aweer o' Screwgem and knows a bait above a bit ; but, 
 if we're 'arly enough before he gets up, d'ye see, 
 we'll happen to take him unaweeres." "Very well, 
 Tim ; come and tap at the side window at the Flower 
 Pot, and I'll be ready." "Give us two or three 
 triangles and a strand of gut, and I'll tie a proper 
 tayckle for him." " Take what you like, Tim," and 
 I handed him my box of " all sorts," from which he 
 selected what he wanted. 
 
 Five o'clock next morning found Tim at my window. 
 " Nothin' like the hearly mornin' for a big un," said 
 Tim ; " they've had the night to rest in, and arn't 
 frightened like they are when they've had twenty 
 boats and punts over 'em ; and the first time in the 
 day as a trout feeds is the most safest for a run from 
 him. I see the fish a week ago, aud he lies in that 
 corner where the heavy stream is," continued Tim, as 
 he punted up the weir, singing as he poled along, in 
 high spirits, a doggerel affair I had heard fragments
 
 Bankers and Tinkers. 141 
 
 of before, the tune being something like that of the 
 old glee, " Little Pigs " : 
 
 A werry big trout laid under a root 
 Root, root, rootletum toot 
 A werry big trout laid under a root ; 
 Whack-fal-larity, whack-fal-larity ! (bis) 
 Oh, what a big feller was he ! 
 
 A werry big cockchafer boozled along 
 Buzz, fuzz, boomerang bong 
 A werry big cockchafer boozled along ; 
 Whack-fal-larity, whack-fal-larity! (bin) 
 A buzzin' owld beadle was he. 
 
 Says Trouty, says he, with a wink of his eye 
 
 Eye, eye " Here, don't ye go by, 
 
 I've the snuggest back parlour as ever you spy ;" 
 
 Whack-fal-larity, whack-fal-larity ! (bin) 
 
 " Won't you step in and sing us a song '?" 
 
 The stupid owld beadle was proud of his song 
 
 Buzz, fuzz, boomerang bong 
 
 He stopp'd just a little, and stopp'd just too long ; 
 
 Whack-fal-larity, whack-fal-larity ! (bits) 
 
 Oh, 'tis pride's the worst company ! 
 
 And what 'd become of the lawyers and trout 
 
 Trout, trout, and the d 1 all out 
 
 If beadles, like clients, war'nt buzzin' about ? 
 Whack-fal-larity, whack-fal-larity ! (bis) 
 And it wasn't for wanitee ? 
 
 Meantime, I fixed the tackle, and put on a bait. 
 When we reached the spot, however, Tim declined my 
 arrangement. " It won't do, nohows. I see the fish 
 a-feedin', and I've seen many a big trout a-feedin'. 
 If he was a four or five pounder, that 'ere little bait 
 mout do well enough; but this 'ere fish is a dozen
 
 142 Hot Pot. 
 
 pound and more, and the baits them fish goes for is 
 real sizable ones roaches or daces of four to the pun*. " 
 Diving into the well, Tim fished out a dace of what I 
 thought portentous size for a trout. It was a big 
 jack bait of close on three ounces. He fixed it on the 
 hooks he had prepared, fastened it to the trace, tried 
 it two or three times till he made it spin to his fancy 
 no easy matter. " Now," he said, fixing the punt 
 temporarily to the side of the weir, " you wait there ; 
 I'll spin the weir, and, if I hooks the fish, I'll drop 
 the rod down to you ; you play him till I runs round 
 to you, and then, when we're both in the punt, I 
 think we can handle him, for we must get him away 
 from the weir as soon as we can, as there's a pile or 
 two in it wot is old friends of his'n, I reckon." 
 
 In two minutes he was on the weir beam, lying 
 down flat upon it, and spinning the bay where the 
 trout was supposed to be with wonderful ease and 
 skill. Ten minutes past, and the bait spun into and 
 out of the stream, now up, now down, but nothing 
 happened. Another ten minutes passed, and I saw the 
 big fish roll over the top of the water some yards below, 
 and then make a dash down in front of Tim's bait ; 
 the baits were leaping into the air and flying in all 
 directions, and they were big roach and dace, and not 
 " Brougham's babies " by any means. Little by little 
 the line was paid out, and the bait dropped down a 
 few yards, across and across, from eddy to eddy, yard 
 by yard. In about ten minutes more the fish had 
 gorged his first bait, and came up for another. I was 
 looking on with breathless interest, when I saw the 
 big fish roll up, with half his back out of water, and
 
 Bankers and Tinkers. 143 
 
 pounce upon Tim's bait like a tiger. Tim was on his 
 feet in a minute, and I heard the reel give one pro- 
 longed screech as the monster dashed down to the 
 tail of the stream, and Tim came slipping along the 
 weir with the rod bent double, and the fish fighting at 
 the end of the stream, with fifty yards of line out. 
 " Now look out ! " roared Tim, above the cataract ; 
 " the moment you gets the rod, get the line tight 
 agin. He's on safe ground where he is now, and it'll 
 take him a minute or two to come up, and by that 
 time I'll be along with you." 
 
 Keeping the rod upright, and the line as tight as 
 he could, he dropped the butt gently into my hands. 
 The fish was well on, and I had scarcely hold of the 
 rod when he began to head up, and I wound in the 
 line ; and, by the time he had reached his feeding 
 ground again, Tim was in the punt, and we had got 
 below him. Two other fine runs he made down to 
 the tail of the weir, and the second time, with a little 
 gentle pressure, we got him into the sharp, but steady, 
 stream below, and worked him away from the weir 
 pool into a neighbourhood where he was more of a 
 stranger; and here it was only a question of time and 
 a good hold. Tim managed the punt like a master, 
 only giving a brief word of caution now and then, and 
 not many of them, for he had " confidence in the rod," 
 as he expressed it, and never liked to flurry the angler. 
 Presently, as the trout began to run short, the punt 
 was grounded on a gravelly shallow, where there was 
 plenty of slack water outside, into which I coaxed the 
 fish. The pole was laid down, and Tim took up the 
 net, kneeling down and sinking it, ready for the last
 
 144 Hot Pot. 
 
 act of the play. I gradually led the fish nearer and 
 nearer, and, when I saw him under the rod point, and 
 what a splendid fish he was, I confess that my heart 
 was in my mouth. " Oh ! if anything were to happen, 
 and he got off now ! " I felt that I should hate myself 
 for ever. But my fears were groundless steadily 
 the net was thrust forward deep in the water. The 
 fish came within reach, and, with an upward sweep, 
 Tim had him, and he was flopping in the bottom of the 
 punt. " Whoo-oop ! hoop ! hoop ! hoo-oop ! ! Thirteen 
 pounds and a half, by the Lord Harry, and what a 
 splendacious creature ! a king of trouts, with all his 
 jewels on, gold and silver and rubies. Twenty-eight 
 inches and a half ! he's the finest fish I ever caught, 
 Tim." " Yes, sir, I 'spect he is, for he's a rael 
 beauty, and worth gettin' up for, and I sees as Mr. 
 Screwgem's of the same opinion, only he don't get up 
 quite early enuff ; for here he comes. We was only 
 just in time, sir. Lor, Sir ! the sight o' this'll be galls 
 and wormholes and wuss than the toothache to him ; 
 for he, you may lay your life, he meant to 'ave him, 
 only, ye see, we've got him." And Screwgem, who 
 came up just then, didn't look too delighted, though 
 he vastly admired the fish, and drank doch-an-dhurris 
 with us. 
 
 We reached the landing place, and I gave Tim a 
 sovereign, which I had much difficulty in forcing on 
 him, and collared my trout, which made what Tim 
 called " a nero " of me for a week or two in piscatorial 
 circles. " Mind, sir," said Tim, turning to me as he was 
 going, " whenever you wants to catch a big Thames 
 trout, use a big bait, and don't go foolin' around with
 
 Bankers and Tinkers. 145 
 
 a footy little bleak as he won't pick his teeth with." 
 And so for the time we parted. 
 
 Tim had but one relation in the world, and that was 
 a niece. Tim's only sister had married a good-looking 
 ne'er-do-well, who took to, or rather increased his 
 drinking after he was married, and finally left on his 
 wife the duty of supporting both herself and him. 
 Work and trouble eventually killed her ; her scamp of 
 a husband became an inmate in a pauper lunatic 
 asylum, where he too died ; and Tim took charge of his 
 niece, Alice Benson, cvtat nearly six. Little Alice, a 
 sunny-faced, golden-haired child, for years went Tim's 
 rounds with him. At first Tim contrived a kind of 
 swinging hammock on the back of the grindery, in 
 which the child could rest when tired of walking, and 
 sing and prattle while Tim trudged on and wheeled 
 her along many a mile over hill and dale. One of the 
 prettiest sights I ever saw was coming one day sud- 
 denly over a stile upon the tinker and his niece sitting 
 under a shady bank ; the tinker teaching the golden- 
 haired infant her letters, amid much play and laughter, 
 the grindery standing at ease under a large oak tree 
 hard by, and the one-eyed terrier slumbering in the 
 fleckered shade made by the edge of the foliage : Tim 
 pointing out big T and little t with the stem of his 
 pipe, and explaining how T, i, p, spelt " Tip/' the 
 name of the terrier, who cocked his ear, and wagged 
 his tail-stump at each repetition of his name ; while 
 Alice laughed merrily at Tip's astonishment. It was a 
 a sight worthy of an artist's pencil. After four years 
 passed thus, a kind friend, good Mrs. Parker, the land- 
 lady of the Golden Gudgeon, a quiet little hostelry on
 
 146 Hot Pot. 
 
 Thames bank, somewhere between Windsor and Read- 
 ing, offered to take charge of the child, and bring her 
 up as her own an offer too good to be declined, and 
 Tim for years went once a month to spend a night at 
 the Golden Gudgeon. 
 
 Time went on ; it was the period of Moulsey races, 
 and this was some twenty years ago. It was the 
 fashion then for young men sometimes to go over on 
 the Hurst in the evening, long after the racing was 
 over, and see the fun among the gipsies. Tim hap- 
 pened to be passing Hampton on the first day of the 
 races, and being always anxious to utilise the time, 
 went out in the evening to drop two or three eel lines 
 in, on the chance of earning a shilling or two on the 
 morrow. He had finished his job and was] dropping 
 gently and noiselessly down the bank at the top of the 
 Hurst, when, some fifty yards or so ahead, he heard 
 the sound of angry voices ; then a scuffle and blows. 
 Tim shouted aloud. Then there was a faint cry of 
 " help " and a splash in the water, and the parties 
 engaged on one side in the scuffle hastily retreated. 
 When Tim came up to the spot only a hat lying on the 
 shore was to be seen. He dropped the boat down some 
 yards, kneeling down and looking along the surface of 
 the water, and suddenly espied something dark and 
 bulky, which surged up in the eddy, and, making a 
 cast with the hitcher which he held ready, by good 
 luck he hooked the object, which proved to be the 
 body of a young man, which he hauled to the shore. 
 Here he soon found that life was not extinct, and that 
 he was only stunned, and Tim soon got him into 
 his boat, poured some spirits down his throat, and
 
 Bankers and Tinkers. 147 
 
 rowed him quickly down to Hampton. The young man 
 had gone over for a lark, had been set on by three 
 gipsies, who sought to rob him. The sound of Tim's 
 voice, however, somewhat disconcerted them, and they 
 only got his watch; his pocket-book and purse, in 
 which were large sums, being fortunately spared. No 
 doubt, stunned as he was, he would have been drowned 
 but for Tim. When he was all right again, an hour or 
 two after, he sent for Tim, and asked how he could 
 serve him, and thanked him very warmly for his'timely 
 assistance, which had, he asserted, certainly saved his 
 life. As for the money upon him, which amounted to 
 several hundred pounds, that at least, or any portion 
 that he required, Tim was entitled to ; and Tim's 
 friend, who seemed a fine, generous, liberal-hearted 
 young fellow, pulled out his note case, and scattered 
 his bank notes about wildly on the table. Tim, 
 however, only thanked him ; but declined at pre- 
 sent to take anything. The time might come when he 
 should be glad of a little assistance as a loan perhaps ; 
 but at present he wanted for nothing. He would drink 
 his honour's health in a stiff nor-wester of brandy and 
 water, and if he could give him his card, some day 
 when he required aid, he would call on him. From 
 this he could not be stirred ; so at length, with 
 the card of Mr. Chas. Cookson, 1 9A, The Albany, Tim 
 retired. 
 
 By this time Alice was eighteen years old, and was 
 perhaps the prettiest girl on the river. She was very 
 useful to good Mrs. Parker, and the house was pretty 
 well affected ; but it did not get on so well as it should. 
 It had got into the hands of a niggardly brewer, who 
 
 L2
 
 148 Hot Pot. 
 
 supplied indifferent liquor, and this, of course, sent 
 visitors further afield ; and good Mrs. Parker had little 
 by little got behindhand. She was not quite as active 
 either as she had been a dozen years since, and she was 
 nearly a hundred pounds to the bad. Two or three 
 months after the last incident related Tim found him- 
 self again at the Golden Gudgeon. Poor old Mrs. 
 Parker was sadly out of sorts. " Ye see, Mr. Tim/* 
 as she always called him, ' ' it ain't no use ; how I am 
 to get out o' debt and keep on if Mr. Burrel will send 
 in such rubbage to call beer as that ? Look at it ; it's 
 as thick as gutter mud, "and as sour as wargis. I can't 
 drink it myself, and how can I expec' others to ? 
 People won't stop here for such stuff as that when the 
 Swan at Mumpsf ord draws as fine a tap o' ale as needs 
 be." " That is true, ma'am," says Tim ; " the ale, 
 Mrs. Parker, ma'am, is not what it used to be since 
 Mr. Burbey went out of the business. When it was 
 Burbey and Burrel there was none better; now it's 
 only Burrel and no Burbey, it's hops without malt 
 indeed, it's quite another thing; and now, ma'am, let 
 me ask you one question, what would it take to free 
 this 'ouse and pay everything off altogether ? " Lor, 
 Mr. Tim ! why it'd take more nor 300Z." " How 
 much more 3 ten, 3 twenty? " "About 3 twenty," 
 says Mrs. Parker. "Then, ma'am, you'll add the 
 name of Tim or suppose we say ' Co.' to that there 
 signboard, for I'm a going into partnership, I am. 
 That money '11 be forthcoming, ma'am, on the security 
 of this 'ouse and business. I knows where to get it* 
 Are you agreeable, ma'am ? I shall set up my tent 
 here, for I'm tired of wandering. I shan't interfere
 
 Bankers and Tinkers. 149 
 
 with you, ma'am, depend on it. I shall look arter the 
 fishin', which has long been neglected here. It's a 
 capital station for punts and boats. I shall have two 
 or three of each, and there's a young feller as I sees 
 here sometimes as comes from Henley a friend of 
 Alice's, I think (Alice blushed crimson) a nice young 
 chap, I think, too, though I don't know his name." Mrs. 
 Parker looked with a merry twinkle in her eye at Alice, 
 who was very busy, laboriously doing nothing to a 
 towel in great confusion. " Yes, young Straker, Jack 
 Straker, you mean, Mr. Tim; he's a very good and 
 honest lad, and has a rare turn for fishing, too." 
 Alice blushed still more, but gave a look full of thanks 
 to her old friend. " Well," continued Tim, " that's 
 just the lad I want ; he'll help me look after the fish- 
 ing, and we'll soon build a bit of a boathouse and a 
 snuggery for him and me here, and I've no doubt we'll 
 be all as happy as crickets, and the old Golden 
 Gudgeon '11 be a rael golden gudgeon after all." And 
 so it was arranged, for both were honest and confiding. 
 Tim's friend lent him 500Z. ; he wanted to give it to him, 
 but that Tim would not have, but he gave the best secu- 
 rity he could offer for it, and the old house was rescued 
 from the brewer, and was nicely done up punts and 
 boats provided, summer houses, smoking arbours, 
 skittle and bowling alleys, bees (which Tim called, in 
 his quaint fashion, " Nature's tinkers ") and every- 
 thing befitting a river-side paradise. But his friend 
 Mr. Cookson did more, he brought small parties of his 
 friends down for a day or two now and then, and the 
 place soon became quite the rage, les yeux Uleus of 
 Alice adding, no doubt, to the charm of the place.
 
 150 Hot Pot. 
 
 Anyhow, before another year or two, the Golden 
 Gudgeon began to turn in gold at a pretty good pace, 
 and the borrowed money was soon returned, for Tim 
 would not take it as a gift as Mr. Cookson tried hard 
 to make him. Tim insisted on being independent, so 
 Mr. Cookson had to give way at last, though Tim 
 lost nothing by it in the long run. Tim and young 
 Jack, as his protege was called, worked con amore at 
 the fishing, and soon had their hands full, and it was 
 not long before Tim got the withy and rush beds into 
 his hands too, and at the slack times of fishing did a 
 good trade among the basket and chair makers. There 
 is .not at this present moment a pleasanter place to 
 sojourn at for a day or two than the Golden Gudgeon. 
 If ;Mrs. Jack Straker (late Alice Benson) does not 
 make you comfortable, why, I think, you're hard to 
 please ; and if Tim does not show you a good day's 
 sport it won't be his fault. Anyhow, if he takes to you, 
 you will enjoy his queer, original chat ; for his mind 
 during his wanderings has become somewhat like 
 Touchstone's, and "has strange places crammed 
 with observations." There is one thing they do not 
 encourage, and that is roystering and brawling. " The 
 cup that cheers but not inebriates " is the cup that they 
 like their customers to enjoy, whether it be in the 
 parlour, the little snug bar, the smoking-room, where 
 Tim holds f oi'th while tackle-making or mending ; in 
 the yew-tree arbour, where old tales are told arid 
 fishing adventures related ; or in the punt chair, where 
 business engrosses him, Tim will always advise you, 
 like Izaak Walton, to " study to be quiet."
 
 The Pleasures of Grayling Fishing. 151 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF GRAYLING 
 FISHING. 
 
 " I did once take, upon the 6th day of December, one and only 
 one of the biggest graylings, and the best in season, that ever I 
 yet saw or tasted." COTTON. 
 
 I HAVE fished for grayling in many waters, both in 
 England and on the Continent. For size I think the 
 Hampshire rivers bear the palm away, since fish of 
 three pounds weight are there common, and I have 
 often had two or three of that weight in my basket on 
 the same day, while two-pounders are looked on quite as 
 ordinary fish, and even fish of four pound have now and 
 then come to hook. Shropshire, however, bears away 
 the palm for numbers of good, takeable fish of from 
 a pound to a pound and a half. In Derbyshire the 
 fish, as a rule, are smaller, though, perhaps, even 
 more plentiful. In Germany they are abundant, but 
 do not often run above two pounds, and not com- 
 monly so large as that. But, wherever they are 
 found, to my mind, they are most exceedingly wel- 
 come. With September our trout fishing closes, as 
 a rule, and in some places with August ; but then 
 commences the best of the grayling season, and all 
 through the winter, whenever the weather is soft and
 
 152 Hot Pot. 
 
 mild, or the sun-glint brings up the fly, capital fly- 
 fishing for grayling may be enjoyed. And how 
 pleasant it is on a fine October day, or even later 
 on, when the trees have shed their leaves, and the 
 feathery tracery of their thousand twigs and branches 
 networks the sky away on the horizon; when the 
 night dews gem the grass like diamonds on every 
 blade, when the water seems to take an extra sparkle 
 from the clear blue sky, and the insects hum upwards 
 into life, under the delusion that spring is upon them ! 
 What a delightful sensation it is to roam beside the 
 river after some weeks absence, inhaling the fresh, 
 grateful air, with springy step, and humming the last 
 new melody, in pure joyousness of spirit ! Thus, as 
 you go, you note each stream and pool, and mark well 
 its condition. This one is a trifle too high to fish well till 
 you come down to the tail, to-day ; that is just in right 
 order ; and there, too, you note the dimples made by 
 the shy umbra, as he sucks in the willow flies and duns. 
 Yonder, in that eddy under the bank, now, is a good 
 fish, Mr. Novice ; he has risen three times while you 
 have been standing there. Try him ! With careful 
 step and pliant rod, you approach, and, with a wave, 
 send the line across the stream. The flies hover for 
 a moment over the spot, and then are swept away 
 down stream, but no rise answers your invitation, and 
 the fish ceases promptly from rising altogether. Why 
 is this ? What is the reason ? The cast was deftly 
 made ; there was no bungle in it. Whence, then, 
 this sudden alarm and sudden cessation? Well, 
 scholar, I will tell thee. Dost thou not see that that 
 fish lieth in an eddy, as most big grayling do if they
 
 The Pleasures of Grayling Fishing. 153 
 
 can get into one? The flies your fish was taking 
 were brought round by the eddy under the bank, and 
 were, when taken, moving in the direction of up the 
 stream, whereas yours, as soon as they had pitched on 
 the water, were swept downwards against the current 
 of the eddy, and this unusual motion has alarmed your 
 fish. Seek you out another better placed, and note 
 well all such points as these in future ; you will find 
 them useful in grayling fishing. And so, luck attend 
 you ! May your creel weigh heavy to-night ! 
 
 DEAR F., 
 
 The river is settling down nicely, and about next week 
 will be in fine order. Chiffin writes me word that one or two 
 fairish dishes have been made by some of the members alrefidy, 
 though the water is yet full high ; but I shall run down to Hop- 
 shire on Monday evening. I have written to Burton to keep a 
 couple of beds, and if you will meet me at 2.15 at Paddington, 
 we shall get to our journey's end, by favour of that excellent and 
 well-managed railway, the G.W., by 9.30, sooner or later thus 
 with luck, achieving the grand total of 130 miles in seven hours 
 and a half, to the satisfaction of the directors, I suppose, and the 
 intense enjoyment of the passengers ; whether we might not co 
 it in a little over half the time or no is another matter. How- 
 ever, I have a new tap of regalias, Madura Brobdingnagios, 
 three of which will about compass it. Ben Church and little Tim 
 Duffer are going down to Caistown to shoot by the same train, 
 so we will have a rubber and pass the time somehow. So no 
 
 more at present from yours affectionately 
 
 SARAH. 
 
 " From Tom Bedell," I exclaimed, as I turned the 
 letter over previous to investigating its contents. 
 Dear old Sarah, what a good fellow he is, and what 
 a fine fisherman ! can tie a fly like no almost like 
 Mrs. 0. Smith, no relation to the great " wreck
 
 154 Hot Pot. 
 
 ashore " 0. Smith of our youth, but daughter of the 
 clever artificer of floaters who hails from Cheltenham, 
 and who knows how to use as well as how to make 
 them; as for Tom he can spin a weir like old Bill 
 Wisdom ; can throw a salmon fly like Pat Hearns, and 
 can beat Sandy the switcher at his own game ; shoots 
 nearly as well as Gannon used to, and spars like an 
 angel. His nickname " Sarah " was acquired by his 
 having thrashed, in about three rounds, a coster who 
 was ill-using a child. " S'elp me greens, mate," said 
 the peripatetic tradesmen to a friend as he put on his 
 jacket, with an enlarged lip and two eyes in deep 
 mourning, " I thought the swell was a sleepy cove, 
 he was so quiet over it ; but he 'its ah, he 'its ! as 
 straight and as 'ard as our Sarah," a lady evidently 
 of renown in domestic pugilistic circles. 
 
 The next eighteen or twenty hours allowing for 
 eating, drinking, and sleeping were devoted by me 
 to putting things in order. I wanted some whirling 
 duns, half a dozen willows, and a few red tags and 
 bumbles, so I walked down to Farlow's and got them, 
 with a nice light cast or two, not of drawn gut, which 
 I always avoid. I left various directions as to various 
 matters of business, &c. ; stowed all that I required ; 
 and at 2.20 on the following day I was seated opposite 
 little Tim Duffer, who had just turned up the two of 
 hearts. What rubbers w^ played, and what chat we 
 chatted, matters nothing; at Caistown our rubber 
 broke up ; after that we each took forty winks, then 
 we woke up and lighted fresh weeds, and in good time 
 reached Chipping Croxton. Here host Burton's 
 shandrydan met us, and a three-mile drive deposited
 
 The Pleasures of Grayling Fishing. 155 
 
 us at the door of the Grayling Inn, a very appropriate 
 name, for our hostelry was situated on the banks of 
 one of the finest grayling streams in England. It gave 
 fine trouting in the summer, did the Muck, but it was 
 at its best in the month of October ; and then, what 
 baskets of grayling I have seen taken out of it ! what 
 pounders and two-pounders ! only these latter are 
 more often the prey of the deadly grasshopper 
 than the fly. The club consists of ten members, of 
 whom Tom Bedell is one. They can take a friend out 
 with them a certain number of times, each member 
 having a score of tickets annually for friends. These 
 tickets are not transferable during two weeks in the 
 year that is, during the first week of the Mayfly and 
 the first week in October the club being mostly keen 
 fishers, mustering strongly at those seasons, and 
 strangers being then excluded. The grasshopper is 
 limited in its use, or the grayling would soon be all 
 but cleaned out of any stream if it were habitually 
 used, as most persons who know what a deadly bait it 
 is in skilful hands will be disposed to admit. Each 
 member has four tickets for grasshopper fishing, which 
 he can use himself or give to a friend, and even with 
 this the slaughter of big grayling is often tremendous. 
 I have seen a 251b. creel filled twice in a day, and 
 hardly a grayling under lib. ; so that it will be seen 
 that the practice requires strict regulating. Only one 
 member was down at Slocum Pogis, as our ville was 
 named, and he had a little cottage hard by, where he 
 rented a couple of rooms yearly ; so that Tom and I 
 had the Grayling to ourselves. Burton had been 
 butler and handy man to one of the presidents of the
 
 156 Hot Pot. 
 
 club. The taps were excellent, things were very well 
 attended to there, and there were few places where you 
 could be better done-for in a quiet way than the 
 Grayling. The host and hostess attended to every- 
 thing Burton's wife having been cook in a London 
 hotel for a time so that one ate one's meals in secu- 
 rity and confidence; and thus we were in clover, 
 having the house to ourselves. Our sitting room 
 opened from a French window (in the summer) on to 
 the lawn, which was tastefully decked with shrubs, and 
 led down to the river. Old-fashioned flowers were 
 everywhere at the right season ; now the chrysanthe- 
 mums, late dahlias, and China roses were all we could 
 boast of. The house had been an angling inn so long 
 that the memory of man runneth not to the contrary, 
 and all sorts of old mementoes and old associations and 
 traditions were kept up. Here is the old boots, porter, 
 knife-cleaner, lunch carrier, and general factotum of 
 the Grayling. 
 
 " This is Sir Thomas's pool, yer honour, and is 
 called after him. That was before the club was 
 formed that was. Here Sir Thomas killed sixteen 
 trout in the Mayfly season on the glorious first of 
 June day of Lord 'Owe's vict'ry, yer honour, as you 
 may see by the hallmanack in the 'all, yer honour, which 
 my own father lost his harm in, yer honour, an' 'ad a 
 pension, an' lived at Grennidge, and sarved his country 
 grateful sixteen trout, as weighed thirty-two pound 
 exact, for I was a young man then, and weighed 'em, 
 and it ain't ever have been done never since. Nor 
 won't," he adds, slowly, " no, not till there's another 
 Boney and another Lord 'Owe's victory on the first of
 
 The Pleasures of Grayling Fishing. 157 
 
 June. Just by that further arch of the bridge, sir, 
 was caught that there fab'lous big trout, the biggest 
 ever heer'd on any veres. Colonel All-port cotched 
 him, he did, and his likeness is over the mantel in 
 yer honour's settin' room. Twenty inches and a 'alf, 
 and weighed six and a three-quarter pound and a 
 hounce." There was a black paper figure of the fish, 
 touched up by a local artist, in a glass case over our 
 mantelpiece. "And out of that 'ole, yer honour, 
 where it's swirling under the willow, Councillor Keel- 
 haul cotched the biggestest graylin' ever seen in this 
 stream, or any other, four pound and three-quarters. 
 That was only seventeen year back. With a wasp 
 grub it was ; 'ad him first swim. ' What'e got there, 
 Keelhaul ? ' says old Hadmiral Surtout, who was a 
 midshipman in Capting Koss's hexpedition, and used 
 to tell tremengis stories 'bout the North Pole. ' One 
 o' your whales, hadmiral,' says the Councillor, a trying 
 to get the fish in the net. ' Gad's worms, sir, it must 
 be the one as swalley'd Joney then, for he's thund'rin' 
 old by the look of him,' says the hadmiral, a larfin' fit 
 to split." And so on, and so on. Yonder is the old 
 yew tree seat, carved into a shell, with a presiding 
 peacock in front of it, laden with three cheeses mon- 
 strously growing out of its back, with a fourth one 
 representing a new generation of anglers in progress. 
 What care has been bestowed on that old yew by 
 tender and reverent hands, who trained up its shoots 
 in the way they should go ! What endless pipes have 
 been smoked there ! What tankards of nut-brown 
 ale and jorums of cold punch have been disposed of ! 
 What pleasant communings on piscatory matters have
 
 158 Hot Pot. 
 
 been held by the senior anglers of past generations ! 
 One can fancy (so little are the surroundings changed) 
 that one sees the sober garb, the long-flapped coat, 
 the well-combed wig, the high boots of bygone days, 
 holding sweet converse, or singing a catch, under the 
 old tree still. And yon old, old apple tree, moss- 
 grown and lichen-clad into the mouths of how many 
 generations of urchins has it dropped its apples ! And 
 the grey old church, too, with its soothing chimes 
 how many generations of the rude forefathers of the 
 hamlet have they chimed into life and tolled out of it ! 
 How many joyful marriage peals have made glad 
 hearts now still, or resolved again to earth beneath 
 the green sod in the quiet churchyard. 
 
 Regard, too, the old settle at the door, or the red 
 curtains in the tap-room, behind which many a fine 
 old poacher has collogued with his friends as to how 
 they should dodge the keepers, who has since founded 
 a family in Australia, going out there for his country's 
 good and his own, owing to some little irregularity in 
 mutton. And then the pride of the Grayling the 
 visitors' commonplace book of the inn, which no gold 
 would buy, which is zealously watched and guarded, 
 and which contains a name or two not unknown 
 notably that of one Horatio Nelson, a sailor who was 
 thought something of in his day, though his practice 
 is regarded as effete and obsolete by the great captains 
 of the present generation. His plan was to keep his 
 own ships afloat, and to sink the enemy's ; but then 
 he was a selfish man, who did not understand the 
 virtues of self-sacrifice, and, happily, his unchristian 
 doctrines are exploded. Then there was one Humphrey
 
 The Pleasures of Grayling Fishing. 159 
 
 Davy, a chemist and druggist, who dealt in lamps, and 
 called them safety lamps ; but that, of course, was the 
 puff of the period. Also is the name of a stonemason 
 chap, Francis Chantrey, down there a tombstone 
 carver a good fisherman, though, who could chisel 
 the trout and grayling out as well as funeral mottoes. 
 And, later on, there is a straggling signature, which, 
 on close inspection, we make out to be that of John 
 Leech, " the great characterurist," as our friend the 
 boots, showman, &c., described him, " and who actily 
 sketched him off one day for a picter in that 'ere 
 Punch paper, witch he add him there exactly six weeks 
 arter, and we 'as the picter now ; " and many others 
 of lesser moment. Here, too, is the old barometer that 
 hundreds of anglers have tapped in their time ; and 
 then the old clock on the stairs, that has ticked and 
 ticked I don't know how many thousands or hundreds 
 of thousands of hours, and has so often chimed up 
 impatient anglers, keen as their own hook points, ere 
 daybreak. And the old book case, with a few old 
 bound numbers of the Sporting Mag., and two or three 
 old angling books, Moses Browne's Walton, with 
 the plates wonderful absurdities or Hoffland and 
 JBlaine, and so forth. And the two easy chairs on 
 either side of the fire, fitted to the frame by long 
 sitting-in what anglers have used them ! We have 
 sat in them, have taken our several toddies, smoked 
 our pipes, gone to bed in sheets smelling of lavender, 
 slept like tops, waked, tubbed, looked at the river, 
 breakfasted on fresh grayling, deliciously browned, 
 devilled kidneys, and streaky bacon with a Cochin 
 egg, and some watercress to wind up with. Chiffinch,
 
 160 Sot Pot. 
 
 the keeper, lias put our rods together, we have lighted 
 our matutinal weed, the flasks are filled, the lunch put 
 up, there is a large bottle of beer, and two lads to 
 carry our traps, and off we start. 
 
 As we stand on the old stone bridge, of course we 
 peep over. No angler ever yet crossed a bridge 
 without peeping over ; he couldn't. There are one or 
 two late-feeding trout of half a pound or so visible, 
 and feeding slowly. But the bigger ones are keep- 
 ing house in the deep water below, out of which, in 
 another month or so, they would push on to the ford for 
 matrimonial purposes. Just at the end of the sharp, 
 where the rough merges into the smooth in a few big 
 eddies, one or two quiet rises betoken the grayling on 
 the feed. 
 
 "Ton's a good one, Chiffinch, that farther one 
 nearest the deep water." 
 
 " 'Bout a pound and a haif ; I seed 'un yes'day ; 
 ye'll get abreast of him just above the pollard ; " and 
 Chiffinch, who had a long spare bamboo rod over his 
 shoulder, strode on to open the gate. 
 
 The bridge was a double arched one, and on the 
 near side the stream flowed through, rushing down 
 along the footing of the arch a good deep swirling 
 holding stream, a place, indeed, to hold first-rate 
 fish, and it was rarely without one ; and in May, one 
 never neglected to drop a fly on the smooth bit just 
 above the bridge pier before the stream divided, for 
 there was always a chance in it. For if one good fish 
 was caught, another succeeded to it without delay. 
 It was a first-rate victualling yard, with a safe hold 
 behind it.
 
 The Plediwrcii of Gruylwg Finking. 101 
 
 That's where the Colonel caught his big fish, "a a 
 you may have 'eered on in history," as Mr Weller 
 remarked. It was rather a downey trick the Colonel 
 laid a dozen of wine that he would catch the fish with 
 fair rod and line within a week. The fish had been 
 hooked half a score of times by one bait and another, 
 and knew them all full well ; he had got off in a 
 variety of ways, mostly by running between a sunk 
 post and the wall of the bridge arch, when he gene- 
 rally forced a draw, if he did not make a large break, 
 and the result of his experience was that he was proof 
 to bait. Worm, minnow, grasshopper, fly, were all of 
 no use, he knew them all well. So the Colonel 
 collogued an old female who used to bring fish over 
 from Chipping Croxton through the village, and got 
 her, every day for a week, to pitch a handful of 
 shrimps over the bridge into the water as she passed, 
 and before the week was out our fat friend below took 
 the new bait greedily. Two nights before the day of 
 performance the Colonel went out with his waders on ; 
 coming back in about an hour rather wet ; he had been 
 up the stream, cutting off some overhanging branches 
 which spoilt one of his best casts, and had slipped into 
 the water partially ; so he said. The next morning, the 
 Colonel proceeded to the bridge, accompanied only by 
 his netsman, and the other party to the wager, for he 
 wouldn't have a crowd near him, and so the rest of 
 the party stood far off, and looked on as best they 
 could. Arriving on the bridge, he looked over 
 cautiously, resting the rod along the coping, and 
 holding the line and hook in his hand so as not to 
 alarm the fish. There lay his intended prey, anxiously
 
 162 Hot Pot. 
 
 expecting his morning shrimp. The Colonel dropped 
 a shrimp; the big trout rose and took it with a 
 thoroughly business-like air, and then looked about 
 for more ; another dropped, and he took that too ; 
 but there was a hook in that one, and soon the 
 Colonel's rod was bending double over the coping. 
 After a desperate rally up stream, and across once or 
 twice, the fish seemed to make up his mind, and 
 down he went under the arch. 
 
 " Now he'll do you," said his friend. 
 
 " Not he," said the Colonel, with a confident smile 
 on his face. 
 
 "He will; by Jove he will. He'll get round that 
 awkward post ; that's just how he beat Charley 
 Venables and Tom Porter." 
 
 l< Bet you another dozen he don't," said the 
 Colonel. 
 
 " Done with you ; but take care, my dear fellow, do 
 take care. Now he's off; now he makes for it. I 
 wouldn't see you lose that fish for any number of 
 dozens of champagne ! Hallo ! Why, here he comes 
 up through the arch again ; missed his tip seem- 
 ingly." The Colonel played him with great skill and 
 patience, and after another short fight above, the fish 
 made down through the arch and took out line ; once 
 more, after a scurry round, he came up again this 
 time slow, and down on his luck; and after another 
 turn or two, the fish seeming all abroad, Archy, the 
 Colonel's man, who stood ready up to his knees in the 
 water below, netted him. There was great rejoicing, 
 and huge admiration among the crowd who now came 
 up to inspect.
 
 The Pleasures of Grayling Fishing. 163 
 
 "Well, I've lost my wine/' said his friend; but 
 how the deuce the fish didn't plant you in that post 
 I can't think ; he fought hard enough for it." 
 
 " So he did, my friend," said the Colonel, " so he 
 did. I admit it freely ; but it wasn't' there ; I 
 sawed it off two nights ago, for I thought it had been 
 there long enough. 
 
 " Sold again ! " cried his friend. " Never mind, 
 Colonel, we'll drink your health in the wine to-night 
 at all events." And that's how the big trout was 
 caught. 
 
 But here we are. "Now, Chiffinch, what cast have 
 you got up for me ? " 
 
 " Red tag, silver dun, and bumble ; always likes 
 them, so does graylin's. For Muster F. I've put up a 
 little yellow dun, a furnace, and a willow, and six 
 better flies at this time o' year there ain't, not on this 
 river. Now, sir, cast where you see'd that big 'un ; 
 he ain't put up lately, but he's below a scratchin' his 
 head with his tail, and thinkin' o' breakfast, for they 
 don't feed werry early at this time o' year." 
 
 Tom let out line, and after wetting it once or twice 
 up stream, put out seventeen or eighteen yards as 
 straight as a rule, and allowed the flies to float down 
 stream. There was the faintest possible dimple in the 
 water, nothing to call a rise in trout-fishing parlance, 
 but it was enough. Tom raised the point of the rod 
 some six or eight inches, and experienced considerable 
 resistance. Then the line cut the water rapidly ; it was 
 evident a big grayling was on. Soon he came tumbling 
 and rolling like a whale in a flurry on the surface. 
 
 " Gently, gently ; so ho ! The hook is very wee, 
 M 2
 
 164 Hot Pot. 
 
 wee, and these big graylings are as tender in the 
 mouth as an unbitted colt. So ho ! steady that's 
 better," quoth Tom, as the fish took again to running. 
 Nearer and nearer he was worked to the shore ; for 
 cautious play is the order of the day, and in time skill 
 was rewarded by seeing a fine pound and a half 
 grayling in the net. " Took the red tag," quoth 
 Chiffinch, " it's all a good fly for grayling." 
 
 tf N. 1 ; what a beauty he is ! like a bar of silver 
 spotted black," said Tom, quite panting with excite- 
 ment over his first fish. " Let's wet him by all means 
 no luck without;" and the solemn ceremony was 
 performed and the fish duly creeled. 
 
 " Now then, F., do you go down to the next bend 
 below the gate and fish that reach down carefully, 
 it is about the best on the river ; and when you come 
 to that long, swirly hole below the plank bridge, give 
 it a turn with the grasshopper. There are some tall 
 grayling in it usually, but they do not rise well at the 
 fly. Chiffinch has all the materials, and will go and 
 show you the cunning casts, and we will meet at the 
 weir and lunch, as I shall cross at the plank bridge 
 and fish down the other side, and come over to you at 
 the weir; after which we'll fish down to Podgington 
 Bridge, where the trap will be waiting for us." 
 
 As I always obey orders, particularly when I find 
 them so satisfactory as these, I stumped off, followed 
 by Chiffinch and my lad, leaving Tom to a long, heavy 
 reach of water. 
 
 " Now, sir, don't forget the banks ; allers try under 
 the banks at this time o' year. The best graylin* 
 often lies there; and if you sees your line tighten
 
 The Pleasures of Grayling Fishing. 105 
 
 or stop as it rolls down stream, even for the forty -fifth 
 of a second, strike, never mind about seein' no rise 
 nor nothin', strike; you needn't strike 'ard, just a 
 slight twitch, that's all, and don't be too rough with 
 'em. They're tender-mouthed critters is big graylin'. 
 It ain't like trout fishin'. You wants to have twice 
 the h'eye on yer line, or you'll miss 'alf your rises. 
 Ah, there he was ; you didn't touch him. Try him 
 again. A graylin' if he don't taste the fly '11 rise half 
 a dozen times sometimes, and then fasten arter all, 
 though they rises more falser earlier than they does 
 now when they're a feedin'." A grayling had risen 
 at me in mid-stream and refused. I covered him 
 again, and again he came, and this time I held him.* 
 He was something near three-quarters of a pound, and 
 after the usual tumbling, &c., we netted and bagged 
 him to the willow. 
 
 " Ah, you didn't see that one," said Chiffinch, as 
 my line stopped for the ghost of a second as if caught 
 in an eddy, though there was hardly any sign of a rise 
 on the surface. I confessed, to my shame, that I did 
 not, and two minutes after the same thing occurred a 
 few yards lower. "Ah, they're artful old beggars, 
 they is," said Chiffinch ; " pounders an' over, I've 
 seed 'em several times; but now, take care, there's 
 a good 'un at the corner of them stakes ;" and as the 
 line once more checked, and a slight whirl showed 
 on the water, expectant, eager, and excited, I struck 
 
 * Grayling will frequently rise at and refuse the wet fly. 
 When this has happened, I have rarely found them after a few 
 minutes' interval refuse the dry one.
 
 166 Hot Pot. 
 
 as though I had hold of a salmon rod, and " Con- 
 found it, he's taken the fly, I really believe." 
 
 " Well, you wos a little rough on 'im for a pound 
 and a halfer. Yes, the wilier is gone'd. I thort so. 
 Never mind, we'll soon put on another.'' I groaned 
 over the loss, and abused myself. 
 
 ' ' It didn't matter, sir ; it's mostly the case with gents 
 as is trout fishers. Don't you lose no temper. You'll 
 get into yer batting when you've lost a rise and a fly 
 or two, and then you won't lose no more." And 
 I soon found that Chiffinch had reason, for after 
 another mull or two, and one more sharp strike that 
 nearly, but not quite, lost me a niceish fish, I got into 
 the style, and landed three or four fish without a fault. 
 When we reached the foot bridge we stopped, and 
 Tom came stalking down to us. He is a mighty 
 walker, and never wastes a minute when on the river 
 side, but fishes hard while he is about it, walks hard 
 when he has to make from point to point, and so 
 is uncommonly hard to beat. He is rather proud of 
 his walking powers, and when he was up shooting 
 in Perthshire some years since he tackled his head 
 keeper, who was a noted Highland pedestrian in that 
 part of the country. " Now, Sandy," said he one 
 afternoon, when they were some twenty miles from 
 the Lodge, " I hear that you are a mighty man at 
 walking. Now then, look here ; we're about twenty 
 miles from the Lodge, and we'll just make a stretch 
 right away for it across country, fair heel and toe 
 walking, and see who gets there first. If you do I'll 
 give you a couple of sovereigns." And they started. 
 For many miles they made a capital match of it ; but
 
 The Pleasures of Grayling Fishing. 167 
 
 beef and beer stayed better than oatmeal and whisky, 
 and at the eighteenth mile Tom began to draw ahead, 
 and at the nineteenth walked right away from him. 
 Sandy got his couple of sovereigns nevertheless, and 
 Tom gained great *uSos from it; but when he acci- 
 dentally mentioned some time after that his grand- 
 mother's aunt was a MacTavish of MacTavish, it was 
 all accounted for, and he might have done anything 
 short of murder in an area of some twenty square 
 miles thereabouts without much question. 
 
 " Now then, Chiffinch, try that hole with the grass- 
 hopper, and just show Mr. F. the working of it ; " 
 whereupon the keeper took a small box out of his 
 pocket, in which were half a dozen hooks, with a 
 plummet of lead on the shank about the size and shape 
 of a small narcissus root, and wound about all over with 
 yellow, green, and red wool ; lapping this on to a yard 
 of gut, he fixed on a small bit of white quill some five 
 feet or so up the line, and then sticking half a dozen 
 gentles or maggots on the hook bend, just as he 
 said, to give it a flavour, he dropped it into the eddy, 
 and allowed it to sink to the bottom ; and then kept 
 on jerking it up from the bottom some six or eight 
 inches, and drawing it this way and that way to cover 
 and search the ground thoroughly, and never leaving 
 any slack line in the water. The rod was moderately 
 stiff almost as stiff as an ordinary bait rod, and 
 pretty long. The white quill was to indicate when the 
 bait touched the bottom. Every now and then 
 Chiffinch made a short, quick strike, when he thought 
 a fish touched the bait. " Allers strike on suspicion, 
 sir never wait ; the moment you feels any resistance,
 
 168 Hot Pot. 
 
 strike, or you'll be too late. Ah, would you ? Try 
 that again, now. There, I said so ! " and Chiffinch 
 hooked and played a very fine grayling of 1 j Ib. The 
 rod was stiff, however, the tackle stout, the hook large 
 about 4 or 5 at least the grayling hadn't the 
 ghost of a chance, and was hauled out kicking. Then 
 he hooked another of about the same size. Then I 
 Took the rod, and missed one or two that I thought 
 were weeds at the bottom; and then a strike and a 
 tug from a heavy fish made me aware that I had a 
 large one on ; and, though he played for some time 
 heavily, and tried the tackle, he hadn't a chance, and 
 a lovely grayling of an ounce over 21b. was at length 
 done to death. The eddy was a large one ; the river 
 ran down like a salmon stream in the throat of the 
 pool, and former floods had worn a great wall away in 
 the marly bank below, and between this and the stream 
 was some twenty feet or more of water, about six feet or 
 seven feet deep, over which eddies constantly whirled 
 and rolled ; and, as the eddy ran along for some twenty 
 yards in the midst of which a small ditch ran in, a very 
 favourite lay it held a good stock of fish, and took 
 some time to fish it. It was always, early in the 
 season, good for four or five fish every time you fished 
 it, and sometimes more. So I went on, and, next 
 feeling a touch at the line, I struck sharply and 
 hooked a fish, which ran out into the heavy stream and 
 played furiously; but I soon saw that he was hooked 
 foul a common occurrence in this kind of fishery, as 
 I have seen lots of grayling at the end of the season 
 torn in the side, where they had broken away from the 
 hook. We landed the fish, however, and he proved a
 
 The Pleaaiires of Grayling Fishing. 169 
 
 pound ; after which I got one more, and the eddy was 
 fished out when I resumed the fly. In the meantime 
 the sun had peeped out, and the fly had evidently 
 changed, for when I covered two or three rising fish 
 they declined my offers. Accordingly I looked 
 carefully to the edges of the stream, and pre- 
 sently I saw two or three flies come down one after 
 the other, which, however, were all out of reach. 
 Following them down, however, one was caught in an 
 eddy, and just as he was wheeling round, and likely to 
 come within my reach, a twopenny-halfpenny shut 
 grayling whipped up and took him down. At length, 
 however, I did get one out, and found it was a dark- 
 coloured spinner, with light clear wings. The fly 
 which I had nearest to it was a light-winged quill 
 gnat, which was a very good likeness. This I put 
 over the three recusants before noted, and two out of 
 the three put in an appearance directly and received 
 judgment. After this we came to a lot of swift, rough 
 trout water, which it was useless to fish ; and then we 
 walked on over a marshy bit, flushing five or six snipo 
 and a couple of wild duck, to a beautiful streamy clear 
 reach about three deep, where the grayling were rising 
 freely. I got here a good one of l^lb. and four or five 
 of fib. ; but I found the fish rather shyer there, as the 
 water was more open and clearer, and the fish often 
 rose two or three times without taking, but the dry fly 
 sooii brought them to hook, and I did pretty well here. 
 Then I got hung up in a bush on the other side, out 
 of which nothing but a break could save me; so I 
 broke, sent Chifiinch round over the weir bridge to 
 retrieve the cast, which he did, and in the meantime I
 
 170 Hot Pot. 
 
 set to and put up a new cast, after which, as it was 
 close on lunch time, I sauntered to the weir, where I 
 found Tom seated in a snug corner with a cold hand 
 of pickled pork, some home-baked bread, a chunk of 
 Stilton cheese, a couple of late lettuces, and a big jar 
 of Bass, to all of which we respectfully paid our 
 attention. Lunch and pipe despatched, we once more 
 resumed our rods. With the exception of a short bite 
 here and there for a mile or more, the water was 
 rattling and sharp, chiefly trout water, when we came 
 to another reach or two of grayling water, out of which 
 both Tom and I picked up a few fish ; but they did not 
 rise as well as they did in the morning. We changed 
 flies, but the fish were off. Some heavy clouds came 
 up, and looked like rain. One or two more holes I 
 tried with the grasshopper, and picked up two or three 
 good fish ; but even at that bait they fell off, and when 
 we reached the bridge at last and found the trap wait- 
 ing for us, we were quite ready for it, and both our 
 creels showed signs of plethora. On reaching home 
 we turned them out. Tom had thirteen brace, and I 
 had ten and a half ; but, thanks to the grasshopper, I 
 had, on the whole, a better show as regards size, 
 many of his barely topping Qb., and only one, the first 
 he caught, touching l|lb. As we reached home it 
 began to spit with rain, but we did not regard it. A 
 good wash and a good dinner to follow, with a com- 
 fortable toddy and a weed after, made us perfectly 
 happy ; we hadn't a care. " Oh. the joys of angling ;'* 
 " Oh, the sweet contentment ; " " Oh, the gallant 
 fisher's life," &c. ; but as we went up to bed we heard 
 the rain pattering smartly against the windows.
 
 The Pleasures of Grayling Fishing. 171 
 
 " Clear off 'fore twelve, boun' to," mumbled Tom 
 sleepily ; " little colour in the water to-morrow." But 
 alas ! my brother piscators, how often does " hope tell 
 a flattering tale ! " In the splendid language of the 
 great Dr. Johnson, though he did make a wretched 
 " goak " about anglers, " Ye who listen with credulity 
 to the whispers of fancy, and pursue with eagerness 
 the phantoms of hope ; who expect that age will per- 
 form the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies 
 of the present day will be supplied by the morrow, 
 attend to the history of " two unfortunate fishermen on 
 the banks of the Muck. It rained hard all night, and 
 when we woke it was raining still. The river was up 
 eight or ten inches, the streams all out of order, 
 and, what was worse, the nasty little Chew had shot; 
 and, as it runs all through clay lands, the river was like 
 gutter mud. Our faces were very blue, but not so blue 
 as Chiffinch's ; for there would be no fishing for quite a 
 week even if the rain held off, and that was many half- 
 crowns out of that worthy keeper's pocket. Accord- 
 ingly, as there was nothing else for it, we paid our bill, 
 ordered the trap to catch the ten o'clock train, and 
 in eight hours were back in Babylon. 
 
 And this is the worst of grayling fishing ; you are 
 so often flooded out. Two years ago a friend, who 
 belongs to a regular grayling club, asked me to go 
 with him. I couldn't at the time, so he went alone, 
 had 130 miles journey down into Shropshire, and when 
 he got there, found that it had rained the night before, 
 was raining then, and the river wouldn't be in order for 
 a week ; so he went his 130 miles, back again, without 
 wetting a line ; and that is by no means a solitary case.
 
 172 Hot Pot. 
 
 WILL WHISTLE. 
 
 " A man he was to all the country DEAR." 
 
 "WHAT! don't you know Will Whistle? Lor? I 
 thought everybody knew Will Whistle. Why, he's 
 so well known in this part of the country, that the 
 story is told of him that if you addressed a letter to 
 him, ' Will Whistle, anybody's house in Dampshire 
 but his own/ it would be sure to find him." 
 
 ' ' Eeally ; but what is our friend William ? What 
 is his occupation ? what does he do that he is so well 
 known ? " 
 
 " WTiat is he ? Why, everything. He's well 
 oh, he's well, I don't why Here Jems, what is 
 Mr. Whistle ? " 
 
 Jems (loquitur) : " What's Mister Whistle ! Why, 
 he's Mr. Whistle. I never 'eerd as he was anythink 
 else." 
 
 " Just so ; but what is his position, or what does he 
 do for a living, then ? " 
 
 " Do ? Well, he does for a good many, in a genteel 
 kind of way, I never heerd o' anyone a-doing of him, 
 though." 
 
 " Any estate ? " 
 
 Jems shakes his head and looks dubious. " Not as
 
 Will Whistle. 173 
 
 I ever heerd tell on; not what you med call regler. 
 He might have, in course, but not here away. He 
 might own Snobfield Common in a way o* speakin,' 
 on'y it's a common ye see, and what's a common can't 
 be called private." 
 
 " Property ? " 
 
 "Well, he've got the Bungeylow and and the 
 powney, and them dawgs, and and an-cetrer. But " 
 and a sort of quavering indistinct conclusion in- 
 sinuated a doubtful, undefined estimate of Mr. 
 Whistle's further belongings. " But," said Jems, 
 brightening up, as if after all this was the main point, 
 " he's a wery nice gen'l'man, and knows a good deal, 
 he do. Lor ! what he knows you'd 'ardly believe. 
 
 " In what way, now ? " 
 
 " Well, well, say farriery now ; there ain't a vet fur 
 nor near as knows more nor he do, not one of 'em ; and 
 then weights and performances and 'andicappin, its 
 A B C to him. If you wants to know the winner of a 
 Derby or a Chester Cup say, any time this twenty 
 year, there ye are; 'e've a-got it all in his 'ead, 
 logged down in-fallimel. Likewise who rode him, and 
 who ran second and third. And dawgs ! Lord love 
 ye ! dawgs is second natur to him. And at cards or 
 any kind o* game, he's that knowledgeable that no 
 bench o' bishops in the land could equal him. At 
 cricket, and shootin' too, Lord bless ye, he was 
 borned wi' a bat in one 'and and a gun in t'other, I du 
 believe. As for farmin' and crops and stock, and all 
 that, in a amatoorin' and genteel way, he can talk to 
 a farmer, ay, and deal wi' him, as you wouldn't 
 believe. He don't 'unt so much as he used ; but I'm
 
 174 Sot Pot. 
 
 told that as a young 'un, with the Wangleby hounds, 
 he was always there or thereabouts ; and even now he 
 knows every litter o' cubs far and near. But he got 
 a hurt in a stiplechase some years agone as spiled his 
 riding. But you be a-goin' to ' The Dene/ sir, and 
 you're sure to meet him there; for that's one of his 
 'ouses, and he drove that way three hours ago, and 
 he always sleeps where he dines." " And break- 
 fastys there next morning/' adds Tummus, my first 
 interlocutor, significantly. " And it is'nt nowise 
 certain he don't dine there again the day after. But 
 your hoss is ready, sir. A shillin' for the bate, sir. 
 Thank'ye, sir. All right, Jems ! Let her go." And 
 I drove out of the yard of that capital old hostelry, the 
 Lion of Linstock, where I had stopped to refresh after 
 a fifteen-mile spin. 
 
 I was going to spend a day or two with my old 
 friend Dr. Dandriff, of The Dene, in the pleasant 
 village of Snobfield, and, in discourse with the head 
 ostler and an assistant as to the surrounding country, 
 had gathered the above. Another half-dozen of miles 
 or so landed me at The Dene, and there I found a 
 pleasant party, including Will Whistle, and a hearty 
 welcome. Our friend Will was a well-preserved 
 gentleman of a certain age, slightly verging into the 
 chinchilla shade as to his hair. He was a fresh- 
 coloured man, nearly clean shaved, with very short 
 mutton-chop whiskers, and a longish, flexible, crafty 
 upper lip, that looked as if it was always feeling about 
 for something to nibble ; very good and white teeth, 
 if they were his own, about which one seemed some- 
 how to have a doubt ; a high old-fashioned tie ; loose
 
 Will irhiatle. 175 
 
 but well-made clothes, faultless boots and gloves, and 
 always a good hat, which he held to be the outward 
 and visible signs of a gentleman, as do a good many 
 other people. He limped slightly in his walk. So 
 much for his personal appearance. He was always 
 polite, and even empresse with ladies, and he gained a 
 certain amount of tolerance from a good many, but by 
 no means from all. Bless the sex ; they were mostly 
 far too straightforward in one sense, and too apt to 
 judge by their sympathy in another, to take Will 
 Whistle unreservedly into their confidence. They 
 accepted his politeness, and were on their side equally 
 polite. He was often useful, very much so, and they 
 put up with him ; but you rarely heard a woman give 
 a very good word of Will Whistle. Now and then 
 one who did not know the old bachelor would make 
 an attack upon his too susceptible heart ; but he was 
 a rank irreconcilable, and was soon dropped like a hot 
 potato. 
 
 In a country house among men he was a useful 
 visitor; he knew every county family, and all their 
 connections and business, for forty miles round. He 
 had ways of knowing, and never forgot or divulged a 
 secret save when he'd a purpose to serve, and then 
 well, then he knew how to do it to the best advantage. 
 He was always welcome, notwithstanding. He rounded 
 a party off, as it were filled up the chinks and, 
 though he was not a great talker nor a professed 
 story-teller, he remembered everything, and somehow 
 things always went off glibly and smartly when he 
 was present. He seemed instinctively to drop here 
 and there the few sentences which were suited to
 
 176 Hot Pot. 
 
 the principal guests, whom it was his interest to culti- 
 vate, and which brought them on the tapis in their 
 best form ; then he became a courteous and interested 
 listener. He was the most skilful toady I ever met. 
 He never buttered a man coarsely unless he was a 
 small man, and then it was more by way of a sneer, 
 and for the amusement of bigger people. At this 
 kind of performance he was tolerably clever ; but he 
 sometimes burnt his fingers at it, as it is a peculiarly 
 exasperating form of entertainment to the victim ; 
 and if, as once or twice happened, the party practised 
 on turned on him resolutely, he had to shut up, for he 
 was not thoroughbred. It was curious, though, how 
 the servants all, from the highest to the lowest, paid 
 him deference and attention, and yet I don't believe 
 he ever parted with a copper to any of them. But no 
 one's pony, when brought out of the yard, was better 
 done than Will's ; no one's bed room was more care- 
 fully attended to ; no one got a better corner at the 
 covert side; and, whoever else went without game, 
 it wasn't Will Whistle. The biggest hare and the 
 cleanest brace of birds, and an odd rabbit or a pigeon 
 or two, by way of a make-weight, would be sure to be 
 found in his cart when he reached his bungalow. The 
 fact was, though he did not dispense much money, he 
 gave them " tips " and helps of various kinds, which 
 were worth it. He was very partial to good eating 
 and drinking, though he treated his digestion with all 
 manner of consideration, and neither multiplied his 
 viands nor his drinks ; but what he did takfe was, if he 
 could procure it, the best of its kind. Sherry, port, 
 and Madeira were his only wines. He never touched
 
 Will Whistle. 177 
 
 fizz or spirits, and of those three wines there wasn't a 
 better judge in Dampshire. He never talked wine 
 much ; but you were always safe in drinking out of 
 the same decanter as Will. I used to rile him hor- 
 ribly, when I got to know him better, by asking, 
 " What wine are you drinking, Mr. Whistle ? Ah ! 
 sherry, eh ? Thank you, I don't care if I do just 
 one. Thanks. Ah !" with a nod of approval, 
 " that'll do," and I never left it. Ten to one it 
 was fine old East India, or something of that sort. 
 He would look at me across the table as if he wished 
 it would choke me, as no doubt he did. 
 
 I once chanced to overhear a short consultation, 
 which ran thus : " If 1 nod to you as I ride up the 
 course, you can put on a couple of sovs safely, 
 Bousfield." " Thank ye, sir, thank ye, Mr. Whistle ; 
 I'm sure you're very kind, sir ; and oh, by the way, 
 sir, I nearly forgot it, but the old '47 is on to-day, 
 sir." " Ah, really ! Good morning, Bousfield." I 
 said nothing, but I had some of that old '47 myself, 
 and ever after I followed Will's line. 
 
 He was a very good and careful whist-player, and 
 was skilful in cutting in. He won on the balance 
 a comfortable little something yearly, though he never 
 played high ; he went upon a snug little system of 
 never losing more than a certain fixed sum ; when he 
 reached that limit he considered that his luck was not 
 worth following up. His winnings were not so re- 
 stricted. Of course, he did not admit this, but I 
 found it out by patience and putting two and two 
 together. He had a wonderful facility for making 
 everyone he had to do with more or less useful or 
 
 N
 
 178 Hot Pot. 
 
 profitable to him, in some fashion or other. No 
 matter how small the consideration, a man, in Will's 
 eyes, was always good for something if properly used. 
 How to effect this was his one great study. In a 
 radius of twenty miles or so round " the Bungalow " 
 were many comfortable places of resort, and he went 
 from one to the other with great skill and judgment. 
 He never bored his entertainers or came at incon- 
 venient times, and never stayed without a hearty 
 invitation. There was always a reason for his being 
 in the neighbourhood some races or coursing, or 
 a big shoot or a cricket match, or something in which 
 he was sure to be somebody, and therefore mostly 
 welcome. He had a sweet little thoroughbred pony, 
 that could do anything but talk, and she picked up a 
 stake here and a cup there, and something worth 
 having elsewhere, besides drawing his neat little cart 
 about, and earned her oats nobly, with something to 
 spare. He had a retrieving setter whose sagacity was 
 something demoniac. " Rags," as he was called, was 
 more infallible than the Pope himself. Then he had 
 a brace of greyhounds, which were quite good enough 
 to win money on, even if they failed to collar the 
 stakes, over the local eight and sixteen dogs stakes in 
 that and the next county ; and, if they went into any- 
 thing bigger, Will knew their form to a pound, and 
 the money came home somehow. His betting was 
 of the modest order ; but it far more often came off 
 right than wrong. Then, if anyone wanted a dog or a 
 horse, Will knew exactly where to get what he 
 wanted ; in fact, he knew pretty well every horse and 
 dog in the county, and bought and sold a good many,
 
 Will WTiistle. 179 
 
 always at a profit, and no one could ever lay a bad 
 swindle at his door. " My dear sir, I bought the dog 
 at Tankester, of George Walker, for eight sovereigns ; 
 give me a ten-pound note, and he's yours, and you'll 
 never regret it." Or " The pony was knocked down 
 to me at Chousenham's for twenty-seven guineas less 
 the shillings. Write me a cheque for 35Z., and if 
 he don't suit you in a week's time I'll take him back 
 and split the difference." " Small profits and quick 
 returns " suited Will and his friends likewise. So it 
 was with everything else. " Want some pigs ? Got 
 three I'll sell you, pure Berkshire ; bought 'em yester- 
 day. Give me a sov. for buying, and my man shall 
 put them in the stye." In this way Mr. Whistle's 
 modest expenses were provided for handsomely, even 
 though his estate was non-existent. " Ten per cent, 
 per week on capital " was, as Will said, " winning." 
 
 The Bungalow was originally a four-roomed keeper's 
 cottage, very prettily situated on the edge of Snobfield 
 Common, which was an open space of seventy or 
 eighty acres, on which commoners fed their donkeys, 
 &c. The cottage belonged to Sir George Chesswass, 
 who had moved his keeper to a more convenient spot, 
 and didn't want it. Will got the cottage out of him 
 for a service of some sort which he did him, with the 
 shooting over the common in perpetuity. A timber 
 vessel was wrecked some miles off on the coast, and 
 Will bought a lot of the wrecked cargo for a song, 
 got a farmer or two to draw it for him for a similar 
 consideration, made his own plans, worked in the local 
 carpenter, and, with the assistance of his own man, 
 a regular Jack-of-all-trades, he added three or four 
 
 N2
 
 180 Hot Pot. 
 
 other rooms, all on the ground floor, decorated them 
 tastefully with all manner of rare old sporting prints,, 
 picked up all over the country, touched up and 
 improved sheds and stables, put a rail up all round, 
 and subsequently converted it into a fence, whereby 
 certain patches of the common, in all, perhaps, about 
 one acre, were included in his domain, till the place 
 was as comfortable, convenient, and quaint a gentle- 
 man's residence as need be, at a cost of probably 
 less than 50Z. hard cash, and any day he chose to 
 walk out he could have turned it into 1000Z. or 1200Z., 
 or more. The common had many sweet nibbles about 
 it for a cow or two, and this, little by little, Will 
 managed, in his peculiar way, to get to himself, by 
 making it inconvenient and objectionable to other 
 cows and donkeys. It was more or less covered with 
 gorse, and there was good store of rabbits in this 
 gorse, and ofttimes a covey of birds, and a pheasant or 
 two, with a stray hare now and then; and in the 
 middle of it was a boggy pond of an acre or so, where 
 in the winter many a duck and snipe came to grief ; 
 adjoining it was about 200 acres of rough, poor land, 
 belonging to a neighbouring farmer, who had incurred 
 obligations which he couldn't repudiate from Will, 
 and over this nice little addition to his manor Will 
 held sovereign sway, and got more game off than any 
 one would credit at next to no cost at all. Will's 
 larder was therefore by no means expensively supplied ; 
 there was generally a pig in the tub, fattened at some- 
 one else's expense ; the same with his poultry ; and 
 what friends he made among farmers and their wives 
 by getting a sitting of eggs of choice sorts out of
 
 Will Whistle. 181 
 
 various friends; and how all this worked in to his 
 own popularity and profit, need not be told. 
 
 He was a clean and fair shot, never smashed his 
 game to bits, and never went for sensation shots ; but 
 a pheasant anywhere within thirty-five yards, with 
 Will squinting down that rare old Manton of his, was 
 a little bit out of luck, for certain. Will, therefore, 
 was constantly in request, on the big days as well as 
 the off chances. Keepers liked him, and consulted 
 him as though he were the highest court of appeal. 
 As Mr. Gaiters, Lord Snapshot's head keeper, said, 
 when pleading an invite for Will, ' ' What I like, my 
 lud, about Mr. Whistle's shootin' is, it's reliable 
 that's what it is ; and, you know, we must have a 
 reliable gun at Collop's corner, or the Mar kiss's 
 people'll see more of our birds than we want." Any 
 of Gaiter's " clients," as he called them, would have 
 stood a couple of sovs or more for that corner, and 
 Will stood nothing. But Gaiters got a pup of the 
 Markiss's breed of retrievers, which he'd been trying 
 for a long time in vain ; and the Markiss's head man, 
 Mr. Toplofty, was very successful in his bets at the 
 next Row-down coursing meeting, and picked up 
 three fives over the last course, when Will's dog only 
 got the second money. I doubt if there was a much 
 better judge of a greyhound in England than Will, 
 and even Lord Snapshot would ask him for his pick 
 for the Waterloo cup. Though he now played cricket 
 but little, he was the secretary and backbone of that 
 capital club, " The Acrobats." Now and then he was 
 put up just to break the bowling, if there was a 
 particular bowler to break down. His blocking was
 
 182 Hot Pot. 
 
 something hideous, marvellous and crushing. Time 
 after time the ball dropped from the bat within a yard 
 or two, supine and useless. Pitch it short or long, 
 straight or crooked, dribble or shoot, it was all the 
 same. He never made runs. He'd be in an hour for 
 half a dozen or so ; but he was like a pig in a gate 
 horribly in the way and he rarely went out till he- 
 had killed the bowling. How Mr. Grim Twister, the 
 professional county bowler, hated him ! If there was a 
 man on earth whose leg he would have liked to break y 
 it was Will. He had bowled at his legs dozens of 
 times, but it was no use not a bit. 
 
 Will had no relations living. He had had a brother 
 formerly, but he was dead. A staid middle-aged 
 party kept his house, and her husband was Will's 
 man of all work. 
 
 " Any letters, Mrs. Mugsby ? " asks Will, coming 
 in, after depositing his hat and stick in their usual 
 places most methodically, and subsiding carefully into- 
 a mighty easy chair made of a few spokes of deal 
 and a bit of carpet, very nearly the maximum of the 
 luxury at the minimum of expense while Mugsby 
 leads the pony to the stable. " Hem, let's see ; Mrs. 
 "White wants a settin' of those Rouen ducks' eggs does 
 she ? Well by the way, who sent that cheese, Mrs. 
 Mugsby ? " 
 
 " Mrs. White, sir, with her respectful compli- 
 ments," replies the good lady. 
 
 " Oh, very well then, we'll get her those eggs. 
 Yes. ' Dear Will ' eh, what ? Fiver be blowed ! 
 T'other way up, my dear lad. The draw is on the 
 other boot, as you'll find anon. Let's see. ' Would
 
 Will Whistle. 183 
 
 Mr. Whistle like to walk over the home coverts with 
 Mr. Toplofty and a friend on Tuesday, as the Marquis 
 won't shoot 'em no more this season, and I knows of 
 three or four cock in Little-shoots, and there's plenty 
 birds left T. Toplofty.' Yes, Mr. Whistle would 
 like accepted. Tuesday at ten ; " and he dropped 
 the engagement into a japanned weekly remem- 
 brancer on the mantelpiece. " We're gettin' on 
 there, I think ; and if I can only once get hold of the 
 Marquis, with Rakeshaw's help, I'll there'd be some 
 rare pickings there ! " and his countenance beamed 
 with a cunning smile at some anticipated profits in 
 the future. " Hem ! what's this ? Raisins' bill, eh ! 
 Ah, well ! the bacon '11 balance that, and leave a 
 little to spare too. Farmer Jones, eh ! ( Respectful 
 compliments, and have sent a T.U.R.C./ oh ! tur- 
 key, ( one of the Crismas ones ' and good ones 
 they were ' and begs Master Whistle's acceptance 
 of same, and to thank him likewise for that sow, as 
 she's done right down well/ &c., &c., &c. Let's look 
 at the turkey, Mrs. Mugsby. Ah ! a deal too big for 
 us ; put him in the hamper along with the rabbits, 
 and let Mugsby take them over to the station as soon 
 as he's had his tea. You can put in those pheasants 
 too I brought home last night from The Dene. 
 There's a couple of cocks, too, I got off the common. 
 I've half a mind to eat them myself. But no stop 
 a bit ! Send 'em to Lawyer Rakeshaw with my 
 respectful compliments. It's the only game he 
 cares about. He did me a good turn, and 
 will furnish me with many a ' long bill ' in 
 return he, he ! and the altar of friendship should
 
 184 Hot Pot. 
 
 always be properly cemented with interest and 
 ah pickings. And, Mrs. Mugsby, tell Mugsby 
 to see about those empties, and to ask the station 
 master to be so kind as not let my hampers 
 lie about the platforms for everyone to read the ad- 
 dresses. You understand ; and here, take him a 
 couple of rabbits. He's a very good fellow, and 
 knows how to hold his tongue an excellent thing in 
 station masters, who are mostly gossips. And now, 
 Mrs. Mugsby, bring me my slippers and the hot 
 water, nutmeg, and sherry, and the Calendar. See 
 to-day's Tuesday. Post that run and poor Dick 
 Diminy's memoir to The Ager, or it won't be in 
 time this week." Our friend did a little in the 
 sporting literary way, and turned over an honest 
 pound or two in that fashion. " Oh, that's the 
 Calendar ; yes, thanks. And now what weight did 
 Cheesemonger carry in that Biennial ? I'm sure 
 they were all wrong last night about that, though I 
 said Sir George was right ; and there's a sov. or two 
 to be picked up there by an industrious young man. 
 So Tomlinson tried to sell me over that puppy stake, 
 did he ? and claims a fiver of me, does he ? He's a 
 
 d scamp, that chap. He's selling his straw, 
 
 which is contrary to his lease ; and if my friend Rake- 
 shaw gets to hear of that, as he may, it will be bad 
 for him, I fancy. I said so eight stone seven, and 
 won easy. That's worth noting ; that's as good as 
 a tenner any day. We'll tick that " (makes a note in 
 a neat little book). " Lord Snap wants the bitch to 
 try his puppy with. Well, he shall have her. He ! 
 He ! She's a little off now, and couldn't hold Pirate
 
 Wliistle. 185 
 
 in the run up yesterday; so I shall know more of 
 the trial than he will ; and if he enters at Row-down 
 that should be worth something also. We'll tick that 
 too. I like the looks of that colt of Hobby's. I 
 wonder if he'll take a couple of score for him ? If he 
 will, there's a pot to be made out of him. He don't 
 know who the horse was, but I do ; and if I get him, 
 what a fluke it '11 be ! We'll tick that likewise with two 
 crosses. Knowledge is power, and, as my friend the 
 Claimant said, ' some has brains and some has money j J 
 and, after all, it's more system than brains. There's 
 plenty with brains in a way, but they don't know how 
 to use 'em. Some people waste 'em in reading poli- 
 tics, philosophy, poetry, and such stuff. Why, there's 
 only one line in all Shakespeare I ever thought worth 
 remembering 
 
 The world's mine oyster. 
 
 My idea exactly exact " and, so musing, he fell
 
 186 Hot Pol. 
 
 AN ANGLER'S CHRISTMAS YARN. 
 
 "Thou art a cobbler, art thou." 
 
 " Truly, sir ; all that I live by is with the awl." 
 
 Julius Csesar. 
 
 THE following tale comes out of my Uncle Ben's tackle 
 box, which is a receptacle for all sorts of odds and 
 ends, and has been pitchforked into my reminiscences 
 somehow. My Uncle Ben loquitur. Be pleased to re- 
 member that, as the story is written in the first person. - 
 It is a very jolly thing, no doubt, to sit as we 
 are now, over the port wine and walnuts, after a 
 good dinner of prize beef, leviathan turkey, prodigious 
 plum pudding, and the most fragrant of mince pies ; 
 while the youngsters crowd in between our legs, each 
 with a plate full of apples and oranges, nuts, raisins, 
 or figs, and no fear of Dr. Gregory in the distance, 
 but with joyous anticipations of the dance, the forfeits, 
 and the romps under the mistletoe to come. But, let 
 me tell you, there are a great many people in this big 
 town who have no snug fireside to sit by, no families or 
 friends to help 'em, and no jolly dinner, and no jollier 
 dessert, and jolliest evening to while away their 
 Christmas-day. I am an oldish man now, and I have 
 got wife, children, and friends about me ; but I 
 remember the time when I was only a forlorn appren-
 
 An Angler's Christmas Yarn. 187 
 
 tice serving out my time, when things were very much 
 otherwise. I passed a Christmas or two in those days 
 that were dismal enough in all conscience. What to 
 me were all the crowd hurrying to and from church, 
 laughing, joking, and passing the compliments of the 
 season to one another ? They were going to pleasant 
 family circles and lively dinners, and dances in the 
 evening. I hadn't any family circle, I knew no one to 
 ask me to dinner ; and as for dancing in the evening ! 
 I wasn't licensed for it. However, to my tale. 
 
 Not far from my lodging was a little by-street 
 called " Dumbledown Row ; " it led from nowhere to 
 nowhere, and the houses on one side had a sort of 
 lower projecting sheltered storey, like the old Rows at 
 Chester, and you went up steps and walked on the top 
 of the lower storey, which was parted out into here a 
 little shop, or a stall, or a kitchen, or what not, and in 
 the smallest of one of these tenements lived a cobbler,, 
 one Jeremiah Cheese. Cobblers, from long contempla- 
 tion and solitary confinement, are too often rather 
 morose in temper ; but this was not the case with Jerry 
 Cheese. He was the merriest little blade imaginable, 
 always singing. Bless you, he had a sweet tenor 
 voice, that rang up the quiet deserted row at times 
 like the note of a nightingale through a copse. That 
 first attracted me to Jerry. He tap, tap, tapped out 
 the time to his music in a striking and quite a 
 melodious way. The " Woodpecker," being a highly 
 appropriate song, of course was one of Jerry's prime 
 favourites, and the " Woodpecker " tapped and Jerry 
 tapped in wonderful concert, and, as Jerry said, the 
 music helped out the work and made it go easy.
 
 188 Sot Pot. 
 
 Many a half -hour have I leant over Jerry's little low 
 half-door, smoking my pipe and holding disjointed 
 chat with him, until at last I was so far promoted as 
 to be asked inside a favour very rarely conceded to 
 anyone, let me tell you and an old block in a corner 
 was from that time out regarded as my natural kennel. 
 If I came to the door, and Jerry was negotiating notes 
 with the woodpecker, he would simply nod and con- 
 tinue, as I slipped into my usual corner, "But the 'ood 
 (tap) pecker tappin' of (tap) the 'ollow (tap) beech 
 tree- (tap) e-e, The 'ood (tap) pecker tappin' of (tap) the 
 'ollow (tap) beech tree (tap, tap). There! soled and 
 'eeled as good as new ! Two-and-six, Missis Burley. 
 It used to be two-and-three, but hide's dear. Dear 
 me, yes ! everything's dear ! Can't think what the 
 world's a-comin' to ! 'Ave you 'eard as they talk o' 
 shuttin' up that there bit o' water at 'Ack Bridge ? " 
 (turning to me). To this I reply in the negative. 
 
 " Ah, but / 'ave ! They're a-railin' off a good bit 
 of it, I'm told. It's a darnation shame ! That's the 
 way them bloated haristocrats treats us poor people ! 
 What's the use of talkin' of the dignity o' labour if it 
 ain't got no adwantages ? ' Wot's a gentleman without 
 his recreation ? ' says some'un in the sportin' prints ; 
 but I wants to know wot's a poor man without his'n ? 
 That's the question as '11 have to be answered some 
 day. Let 'em take care that 'ere recreation ain't Tails 
 I win, and 'Eads you lose," continues Jerry gloomily. 
 " Why, there won't be a bit o' water within fifty mile 
 o' London where a poor man '11 be able to go for a bit 
 o' fly-fishin' for a trout, soon ; and I remember, when 
 J was a boy, miles on it, take it altogether, within
 
 An Angler's Christmas Yarn. 189 
 
 fifteen or twenty mile o' London. There was that 'ere 
 nice piece at Leather-head " brightening up " why, 
 I've 'ad four brace o' rattlers out o' that water in one 
 day, not one on 'ern under a pound and a quarter, and 
 the biggest 'un 'ard on three pound. But then that 
 WAS a day ! " and Jerry would nod his head as he filled 
 his pipe for a piscatorial jaw, as if to express that such 
 a day as that was worthy of the largest red letter 
 known to bill posters. "And then," continuing, 
 " there was three bits on the Wandle, all of 'em good 
 for a brace o' fish to a hiudustrous cove perhaps more 
 if you stopped late enuff. And then there was a nice 
 bit on the Cray afore it was spilt by paper mills rat 
 them mills ! If I was president o' this yere republic, 
 I'd stop all them paper mills right off leastways, I'd 
 make hevery one on 'em cart his own rubbish into the 
 next parish. Wot right 'ave any one to defile the pure 
 waters as God gave for all on us alike ? Tell me that ; 
 and why can't I walk out o' my stall down to Thames 
 bank off the quay, and catch roach and dace for my 
 supper, as they used to did ? Tell me that. It's all 
 along of them plutocrats. Wot with one crat and 
 another crat, we're crushed to the hearth, that's what 
 we air. Ah ! and them was trout too, mind you, in 
 the Cray/' said Jerry, harking back " such beauties ! 
 I've seen 'em up to 41b. and 51b. there. Then there 
 was a bit on the Darent ; but that was too far, and not 
 easy to get to, and there warn't much on it. There 
 was one or two bits on the Colne one werry nice bit 
 nigh Uxbridge. I'd a friend, as was carrier there, as 
 often gev me a lift down, and I walked back arter 
 fishin', and there was lots more to pick and choose
 
 190 Hot Pot. 
 
 from. I could 'a fly-fished for trout pretty nigh every 
 day for a fortnight, and never 'a fished the same water 
 twice, then, and no f by your leave and with your 
 leave ' at all about it. Now the rich hes took 'em all in, 
 more shame for 'em ! When this yere's a republic agin, 
 we'll have 'em all open agin, and more too. Eights ! 
 what ! D'ye mean to tell me as I arn't got no rights 
 in a water as I've fished man an' boy, at my good will 
 and pleasure, for 'ard on fifty year over forty-five least- 
 ways and my father afore me ? Wot is a right if 
 that aint ? I don't know nothin' about lor, and don't 
 wan't to. Lor, so far as I kin see, is a werry good 
 thing for a rich man, an' a werry bad thing for a poor 
 'un. My uncle went to lor, an' arterwards naterally 
 to the workus. That's wot he did ! An' if I 'ad my 
 will, I'd just make all them old Lord Chancerys, 
 Common Pleases, Divorce, and Errors, an' all that, 
 into suthin' useful ; for it's a sin an' a shame to see so 
 much beeyoutiful 'oss 'air wasted for nothin' on them 
 wigs. Lord a mussey ! wot a thing it would be to 
 pull out a two-pound roach with the Lord Chancery's 
 pigtail ! It 'd be more use then than ever it was 
 afore. Oh, yes ; I'm a rip-uplican, I know. An' 
 what if I be ? There's better 'n me as is ; leastways, 
 I'd rip up that 'ere woolsack and make some use on it, 
 if it was only pillers for the orsepital, if I 'ad my 
 ways, an' one or two other abuses besides or my name 
 ain't Cheese, which it air, young man. But, now, look 
 you 'ere ; what are you going to do on Crismis Day ?" 
 Such was Jerry Cheese, the most ferocious republi- 
 can in words and principles, but, in reality, the softest- 
 hearted, the kindliest, lowliest, most loving and love-
 
 An Angler's Christmas Yarn. 191 
 
 -able disciple of dear old father Izaak, I ever knew. 
 Yes; spite of Jerry's sallow face and thin black hair 
 in spite of his slightly rounded back, almost deformed 
 in spite of his bandy legs and his odour of leather 
 in spite of his strong politics, and of all his drawbacks, 
 to really know Jerry Cheese intimately was to love 
 him. But then it was not easy to know Jerry inti- 
 mately. He took a fancy to me, I don't know why, 
 and we became fast friends. Jerry, as I have shown, 
 was a devoted fisherman; when I first knew him, I 
 knew nothing of the art. He, however, inoculated 
 me, and taught me. I became his disciple, and grew 
 fonder and fonder of the sport under his teaching. 
 Jerry knew every bit of water that could be fished by 
 people in his circumstances for twenty miles round 
 London ; he knew when it was, or ought to be, in 
 good fishing order, and very often contrived to drop 
 upon it in the nick of time. And really it was quite 
 astonishing what treasures of experience he had stowed 
 away. There were bits of streams mere fords or 
 road crossings, with a short space above and below, 
 perhaps out-of-the-way ponds, and odds and ends of 
 fishing in places almost unknown to Londoners then, 
 and yet often very close to the metropolis, to which 
 Jerry contrived somehow now and then to get admis- 
 sion ; and there were many others out of which Jerry 
 knew how to extract fish which seldom yielded much 
 to other anglers. Many a time and oft did Jerry and 
 I sally out on a Saturday evening, to walk the night 
 through, and get to some favourite fishing spot by 
 early morning, to fish all day, and return next evening 
 laden with the finny spoils.
 
 192 Hot Pot. 
 
 Thus, with such associations, I need not repeat that 
 Jerry and I became fast friends ; and it was just about 
 a week before Christmas, some years ago, that Jerry 
 put the question to me which I have already repeated, 
 " Wot be you a-goin' to do on Crismis Day ? " 
 
 I knew, of course, what Jerry meant to do. There 
 was no day in the year, when he had leisure, that he 
 did not go a-fishing. " Church ? " well, yes, Jerry's 
 church was rather a " Broad Church," perhaps inclu- 
 ding the broad fields with the broad firmament above 
 them ; and there, if he did not actually prostrate him- 
 self and pray, like Jacob, yet did he thank God in his 
 heart for his simple pleasures, and the pleasant earth, 
 sky, and water ; and in this much Jerry was his own 
 parson and his own clerk. The roar of the weir was 
 his organ, and the birds his choristers. He was a 
 communist in such things in reality. Jerry, on this 
 occasion, having no family ties, no cares as to the 
 turkey or mince pies upon his shoulders, was resolved 
 to go away up the Thames, where he knew of a 
 certain jack and perch hole, with a roach swim above 
 it, which he thought " likely ; " and I, having but 
 few ties either then, agreed to join him. 
 
 Jerry had a friend who was an engine driver (he 
 had several friends more or less in the locomotive way, 
 and made use of them), so that we got a lift on his engine 
 in front of a goods train, early in the morning, down 
 to a remote siding some thirty miles out of town, with 
 a promise of a lift back next evening. Half a mile 
 brought us to Slopperton lock ; and here Jerry had an 
 old chum in the lock keeper, who, having been apprised 
 of our coming by Jerry, left the shed open for us, and
 
 An Angler's Christmas Yarn. 193 
 
 the old boat unlocked, with some live baits in a can 
 hung over the side. We crept into the shed, among 
 old sails, nets, &c., and made ourselves as snug aa 
 circumstances would admit of till morning broke ; and 
 then, unchaining the boat, dropped away down the 
 river for a mile or so to Potter's Ait, a long, irregular 
 eyot or ait of half a mile or so in length, covered with 
 tall withies and fringed with pollards. Towards the 
 lower end, in a sort of sheltered niche, was our swim, 
 and, pushing the bow of the boat in amongst the 
 bushes, and fixing her firmly there, we commenced 
 our operations, first taking a thimbleful of something 
 short to keep the raw morning air from chilling our 
 stomachs. How I remember it all ! Far down bobbed 
 a big bung, with a lively dace 3ft. below it, waiting 
 for a jack to beat up his quarters ; at a shorter dis- 
 tance a more moderate cork, with a smart minnow 
 and a little gudgeon at a like distance below, invited 
 the predatory perch, while Jerry and self, nearer at 
 hand, baited the swim and fished for roach. But, 
 somehow, we did not do much ; half a dozen moderate 
 roach, and one small jack of three-quarters of a pound 
 or so, and never a perch at all, formed our take. We 
 struggled on against luck, but our efforts were futile ; 
 the fish were sulky. The day grew more and more 
 cloudy, and the wind rose up. At length we got 
 tired, stepped out of the boat on to the ait, and left 
 the rods to fish for themselves. 
 
 About twenty yards inland was a small, dilapidated 
 hut, used by the rod cutters when engaged on the 
 ait for various purposes. Jerry surveyed it with a 
 critical eye. " I think we'll have to take refuge here 
 
 o
 
 194 Hot Pot. 
 
 from the looks o' the weather. It'll snow before long, 
 
 I'm thinking. You go and get some wood from them 
 
 old pollards, while I tidies up here a bit ; " and Jerry 
 
 cleared out the hut, while I brought some dead wood, 
 
 of which there was an abundance lying about. Two 
 
 or three large flat stones, used for the same purpose 
 
 before, were set up as a fireplace just outside the door, 
 
 and, seated just inside it, were we, on two huge 
 
 bunches of dry shavings of the withies, which lay in 
 
 heaps about the hut. The fire was soon blazing away, 
 
 restoring warmth and life to our numbed fingers, 
 
 while our stock of provisions a stout knuckle of 
 
 ham, a good whang of cheese, and a couple of thick 
 
 slices of cold plum pudding, rapidly toasting into hot 
 
 on two sticks before the fire formed our humble 
 
 repast. With this we had provided a bottle of gin, 
 
 and we soon had some boiling water; for Jerry, who 
 
 knew by instinct where everything was, or ought to 
 
 be, had routed out an old tin pot, and polished it into 
 
 something like cleanliness. There were thousands of 
 
 folks at that hour a great deal worse off than we were. 
 
 The wind came moaning and whooshing down among 
 
 the withies, the snow began to drive and eddy 
 
 rapidly round ; but what cared we ? We were out 
 
 of the blast, well sheltered, with a good fire in front, 
 
 plenty of fuel handy, hot grog enough for all the 
 
 afternoon, and plenty of backey what more could we 
 
 desire ? Several pipes were smoked, several hot 
 
 grogs disposed of ; we were enjoying the very height 
 
 of comfort, and conversation went meandering on 
 
 between intermittent puffs and alternate swigs, and 
 
 at last old Jerry settled down, as he sometimes did,
 
 An Angler's Christmas Yarn. 195 
 
 from disjointed chat into connected narrative, in this 
 wise : 
 
 " Bill, the engine-driver, told me as we came along 
 that he lost a big jack of eight or nine pounds in that 
 very swim yonder, and it's unaccountable why we 
 couldn't get a run out of him. He might ha' made us 
 happy on Crismis day it's on'y once a year ; but 
 jacks is rum fish ; sometimes they will, and then they 
 won't, and then all of a sudden they will again, too, 
 like winking. One while you'd think they was all 
 starving, and another while that they was all mad on 
 for feeding. They gets small too. It's long sin' I 
 ketched any jacks of a size; but when I was at 
 Spratton there was jacks there. Spratton ah ! I 
 always thinks o' Spratton sometime on Crismis Day. 
 Ah ! well I may too " and he gave a kind of shudder, 
 and thought silently for a minute. "I've told you 
 some things, but never about Spratton," he continued 
 presently. " It's a dullish day, and fit for a dullish 
 story ; the wind howls and the snow flies thick, and 
 and I don't mind, just to pass the time, if I do tell 
 you." He paused again, took a pull at the grog and a 
 puff at his pipe, and then began. 
 
 Many years ago, when I was quite a young man, 
 I was a journeyman down at the little village of 
 Spratton, in Norfolk. Spratton lies handy to a small 
 mere leastways it was a mere then, but it has since 
 been drained, and is now as fine corn land as any in 
 the county ; but at that time Spratton Mere was a very 
 pretty little mere, perhaps a hundred or more acres in 
 extent. It was a favourite place for anglers in them 
 days, and many a one came down from Norwich and 
 
 o2
 
 196 Hot Pot. 
 
 Yarmouth, and stopped at the Rose and Crown at 
 Spratton for the angling, and many a big basket 
 of roach, bream, perch, and pike have I had out of it. 
 We used to reckon 'em by the stone. The pike at one 
 time was very fine in it, till a knot of idle fellows 
 about the place took up with netting and trimmering 
 and all sorts of infunnel devices, till at last, where we 
 used to catch 'em with the rod up to 151b. and 201b. 
 sometimes, it came to be that a 5-pounder was a 
 rarity. Many a time did we try to get these fellows 
 to leave off their mischievous work, telling them how 
 they were injuring the place as well as the fishing 
 by keeping anglers and customers away from it, and 
 how many a five shillings was lost to the fishermen, 
 and many a pound to the Eose and Crown ; but they 
 wouldn't be persuaded, for they sent their fish up to 
 Norwich and Yarmouth, and they fetched enough to 
 keep 'em loafing about idle and drunk half their 
 time at the pot-houses. So nothing could stop 
 'em, for the lord of the manor, who might if he'd 
 liked, was away in furrin parts, and cared nothing 
 about it. 
 
 Well, among these chaps was young Sam Cousins, 
 a fellow-journeyman of my own at one time. Sam 
 was a good and quick workman, and could easily have 
 earned more wages at his work than he got in this 
 loafing, idle way ; but Sam couldn't abear work, and 
 'ated confinement of any sort, even for a 'our, and by 
 indulging in these courses he got worse and worse, till 
 he gave up his trade altogether at last. This game 
 went on till fish got scarce, and in course money 
 got scarce too with the poachers, and beer likewise,
 
 An Angler's Christmas Yarn. 197 
 
 and then they took to grumbling and growling at the 
 anglers, and swore that they destroyed their livin' 
 their livin' ! Pretty livin' it was, I take it, the 
 skulkin' vagabones ! Well, it got towards winter, 
 a good many years agone, and things was going 'ard 
 with the poachers, and it was likely to be a blue look- 
 out for Crismis with them ; and at length it came 
 to the day afore Crismis Day. I'd been down to the 
 mere in the afternoon, trying for a pike or two as 
 I wanted to give my master for a present, to help his 
 Crismis cheer a bit, and by great good luck I'd got 
 two goodish ones, about 61b. and 41b. each. I was 
 tackling up to go home, when who should come along 
 but Sam Cousins, with a big basket and trimmers, 
 a-goin' to his boat he was at the time. He sees my 
 two fish, and good 'uns they was for that time o' day. 
 " Wot !" he says, "so there you be, Jerry Cheese, at 
 it agin, a spilin' our livin' as lives by fishin' ; and you 
 anglers never catches nothin' oh, no ! and it's all 
 along o' we that the fish gets few." He had the chat, 
 ye see, at his fingers' ends, like the best or worst 
 o' 'em. 
 
 " Livin' !" says I ; " a pretty livin' it is ; and as for 
 fishin', why don't ye call a spade a spade, and say 
 poachin' ? That's what all that trimmerin' is, and 
 I wish the lord of the manor, Mr. S., was at home; 
 he'd soon stop it, and not see the mere ruined, and the 
 town too for that matter, as it is bein'." 
 
 " Lord of the manor be ," says he ; " wot's he 
 
 got to do with we ?" 
 
 " Why, everything to do with you," says I. " The 
 fishing belongs to him, and nobody else ; and if he was
 
 198 Hot Pot. 
 
 at home he'd soon have all those trimmers and nets of 
 yourn off the water." 
 
 " Would he, by ! If he interfered with we, 
 
 we'd just stick him and his bailiff in the middle o' the 
 mere, where I hope I may be stuck 'ard and fast if I 
 don't 'are a rare mess o' fish by to-morrow mornin'." 
 Poor feller ! He didn't know wot he was a sayin', 
 nor how evil words comes back on one (continued Old 
 Jerry, solemnly) . " Here, I've got in this basket fifty 
 big trimmers, and, if they 'aint in demand almost all 
 over the mere by daylight, may I never come ashore 
 alive." 
 
 Says I, "Sam, you mout do better nor go a- 
 poachin' on Crismis eve. It 'aint right nor Christen- 
 like ; poachin's bad enuff at any time, and wuss then." 
 
 "Crismis Eve be !" "Hush Sam," says I, 
 
 "Look 'ere, come along o' me, for old friendship's 
 sake. Let that job be. It's like to be a 'ard night, 
 if I'm any judge o' weather, and you'll be better 
 at 'ome with me. I've got ten shillin' o' my own, 
 and if you'll come, blarm me if you shan't have half 
 on it, so as not to have a dull Crismis to-morrow." 
 
 This softened him a bit, and he says, slow-like, 
 " Jerry," says he, " you're a good feller, and I've got 
 to be a reg'lar rip, but it's all no use now, and while I 
 ken work I won't be beholden to no one for my 
 Crismis dinner and swig. All right, old feller, the 
 weather's nout to speak on we'll have a fall o' snow 
 mayhap, and then it'll be warmer, and there'll be rare 
 fishing, and I'll 'ave sich a take as h'ant been had for 
 many a day. All the tothers is down at the Cock and 
 Bottle the milksops won't turn out ; too cold f or'em
 
 An Angler's Christmas Yarn. 199 
 
 for a right on the mere but I'll show'em Fm made 
 o' different stuff ; so good night, old boy." 
 
 Well, seein' as he was determined, I said no more, 
 but collared my fish and went 'ome. We had a jolly 
 evening for the old master wasn't a bad sort, and we 
 had forfeits and snap-dragon, and dancin' and hunt- 
 the-slipper; and his da'ters, as were 'ansom gals 
 rael 'ansome they was; like a pair o' high-heel red 
 morocco slippers with silk tassels and silver buckles 
 was werry pleasant. I never see no gals half as 
 pleasant since. One on 'em but there ! she never 
 could abear the smell o' leather, and married a baker. 
 (Here Jerry took another pull at the liquid ; the topic 
 affected him.) But to continny. The neighbours come 
 in strongish too. " Wot a cold night it is ! " says one ; 
 " Bitter cold ! " says another, as they was puttin' on 
 their things to go. " I don't think I ever minds 
 such a frost as this on Crismis eve for the last ten 
 years. Why, there'll be three or four inches o' ice on 
 the mere t' morrer, and skatin' in two days if it 
 lasts." Then all of a suddin I thought o' Sam, and a 
 chillier chill came over me than ever the frost could 
 give me. It was a bright moonlight night, and a north- 
 easter that nipped like pinchers, sharp and hard as 
 steel. Good Heaven ! what'll become of the poor 
 feller if he gets catched in the mere to-night ? He'll 
 be froze up, surely ; but then he must 'a found it 
 comin' on, and would be sartin to come back. So I 
 walked on, comforting myself with this notion. 
 
 I was just going to turn in, when the thought 
 struck me I'd run round to his lodgings, and see if 
 he was back. I did so, and the old woman as kept
 
 200 Sot Pot. 
 
 'em poked her head out of the window, and to 
 my question grunted out a surly " No ; he was down 
 at the Cock and Bottle with his mates belike." But 
 that he wasn't, I knew, because that was closed an 
 hour or more. What should I do ? I could not go 
 to bed, so at last I wrapped my thick coat round 
 me, and set off down to mere again. It was not 
 above twenty minutes' walk, and I soon stood on the 
 bank where I had left Sam. His boat, I saw, was 
 still away ; but there was a slight fog on the mere, 
 so that I could not see far over it. I shouted again 
 and again, and waited for a reply ; but the crackling 
 of the ice that was now forming thickly on the mere, 
 and the noise made by the waterfowl alarmed at my 
 voice, was the only sounds I heard. I went back, and 
 called at the house of one of Sam's closest com- 
 panions. He was half asleep and half drunk, but I 
 made him understand my fears at length. " Oh, 
 Sam, is it ? " he replied at last. " Oh, he's all right, 
 I know ; for he told me that he was goin' to set his 
 trimmers, and then go across the mere and up to the 
 Chequers at Basham, to arrange a bit o' business with 
 the lads there, and then to come back and look for the 
 trimmers in the morning; so he's safe enuff." 
 
 This calmed me a bit, and I went home to bed ; but 
 I had a baddish night, with dreadful dreams, and 
 once or twice I woke up in a fright, fancying that I 
 had heard poor Sam's voice calling to me in a faint 
 low whisper across the mere ! Once I even thought 
 I heard it while I was awake, and the very idea put 
 me into a complete cold perspiration. Ugh ! I 
 shiver even now at the recollections. With morning
 
 An Angler's Christmas Yarn. 201 
 
 light I could endure it no longer, and I dressed, took 
 a crust of bread, and again hurried down to the 
 mere. There was still a mist, and I could see 
 nothing. The ice had thickened to an inch and a 
 half. I was thinking of walking round the mere to 
 Basham to make inquiries, when the sun came up. 
 The mist lifted and flew away in a minute, and there, 
 in the very middle of the mere, was a boat motionless 
 and frozen in, but, as far as I could see, there was no 
 one on board her. I shouted and shouted till I was 
 hoarse and my voice cracked, but there was no motion 
 in the boat, and no answer. Just then the man whom 
 I had gone to, Phil Rogers, came down. " Wot's the 
 matter, mate ? What's the hollerin' about ? " I 
 pointed to the motionless boat. He looked too, and 
 his eyes gradually grew rounder and rounder as he 
 grew paler and paler. " Sam ! " he muttered in a 
 low bewildered sort of voice ; " then it was him as I 
 'eard call about two o'clock. I couldn't sleep for it, 
 and that's wot brought me down so early." " What, 
 did you hear it too ? " I asked. " Did I ? aye did I ! 
 It was a sort o' low faint whisper, and called me by 
 my name three times. The last time I'll swear I was 
 broad awake, and I heard it as plain as I hear the 
 wind now rustling through them reeds, and it was a 
 low, rustling call, just like that." " This is awful 
 strange," said I, " for I heard it too. But what's to 
 be done ? " " Done ? " " Ah, done ! " But neither 
 of us had an answer ready. Mayhap, we said, he 
 went to Basham Barter all, and the boat's got loose 
 and drifted out. There was hope in this, but not for 
 ong.
 
 202 Hot Pot. 
 
 Somehow ill news flies fast, and people get hold of 
 it wonderfully quick. My own uneasiness about Sam, 
 and something that Phil had said, soon brought 
 people about ; and one young fellow, who had been at 
 the Chequers at Basham overnight, declared that Sam 
 had never been there. This left us little hope ; but 
 what was to be done ? The ice Couldn't bear at all 
 fifty yards out, and how were we to get to that boat ? 
 " There's nothing for it, boys, but to break a way 
 through to the boat," says I. " Get some stout poles 
 and axes four or five of you, and come along in this 
 boat with me. It will be a long job ; but we must do 
 it for poor Sam. 'Hap he's not in it, as we see nothin' 
 of him ; if so, no harm's done." No sooner said than 
 half a dozen stout chaps, armed with hatchets and 
 heavy poles, jumped into the boat, and began break- 
 ing a way through the ice and shoving the boat 
 along. It was slowish work at first ; but as soon as 
 we got used to it, and understood the work, we made 
 quicker way, and yard after yard was broken in, and 
 we got out further and further towards the boat, until 
 a good deal more than half the distance was reached. 
 
 By this time there was a great crowd on the shore, 
 and other boats kept bringing us refreshments; in- 
 deed, all the village had turned out. With that we 
 fell to with a will, and made rapid way, so that we 
 were soon within fifty yards of the boat. We all 
 stood up, and craned over to see if we could see any- 
 thing inside it ; but it was too far off yet. Splash, 
 dash ! how the good axes and stout poles smote the 
 ice and dashed it into huge fragments, and how the 
 perspiration poured off us and smoked in the frosty
 
 An Angler's Christmas Yarn. 203 
 
 air ! On we pushed. Hurrah, another ten yards ! 
 That does it, my hearts ! and then there was a dead 
 silence. " Poor feller, poor feller ! " Yes, there in 
 the bottom of the boat lay a long, shapeless mass, 
 hidden by a light tarpaulin, which was frosted over 
 with rime, and a slight fall of snow which the sun 
 had scarcely touched, out in the middle of the mere. 
 I jumped into the boat and lifted the shroud, for a 
 shroud it was in truth. There lay poor Sam, stiff, 
 frozen, and dead. He had set his trimmers, and laid 
 himself down in the bottom of the boat under the 
 tarpaulin, and no doubt had fallen asleep. The frost 
 king had come down and swept his soul away. One 
 of the last boats that came out to us brought the 
 doctor off, who said he must have been dead for 
 hours. 
 
 " But seems to me as the snow is over." 
 The afternoon had now cleared away, and the even- 
 ing was falling ; so, gathering up our impedimenta, 
 we speedily made our way to the lock. After a cup 
 of tea, a yarn, and a pipe with the lock-keeper, we 
 betook ourselves to the railway siding, where our 
 friend's engine was waiting for us ; and so, with a 
 rush and a roar through the dark night, away on the 
 wings of the wind to the great Babylon once more,
 
 204 Hot Pot. 
 
 AN ANGLER'S REMINISCENCES. 
 
 ; A deed without a name." 
 
 SQUAEING THE KEEPEE. 
 
 TALKING of railway experiences in the angling line, 
 here is another of a different description. How I en- 
 joyed that day, to be sure ! Some old sportsmen 
 dearly love a little bit of poaching ; for my part, it 
 must be a very little bit to suit me. I never feel com- 
 fortable under it. In shooting, for example, I have 
 seen some fellows who would rather pot a brace of 
 birds off a neighbour's land than a dozen brace from 
 their own, the stolen sweets are so particularly 
 relishing. I never had any such feeling. If I ever 
 was induced to break bounds, I always felt ashamed 
 of myself from the first. My heart never was in the 
 work, and if I got a shot I was so disturbed by my 
 sense that I had no right to it, that the odds were two 
 to one against the gun, though on other occasions it 
 would be two to one on it ; and if a keeper did ap- 
 pear, I would always rather have sneaked off by the 
 shortest cut to my own territory than brazen it out by 
 a bribe of 5s. I don't think, if left to my decision, 
 I would ever willingly never deliberately have 
 poached ; but, on the occasion I am about to deal with
 
 An Angler's Reminiscences. 205 
 
 I did it without intent, and cheeked it out afterwards 
 in such a way that I often doubt in my own mind 
 whether it could have been I, and if so what possessed 
 me. 
 
 We had a line from the Three Bridges Station on 
 the Brighton line to Horsham under consideration ; 
 and I was engaged in surveying and levelling it. The 
 line has long since been constructed. Our party, 
 consisting of three, put up at the old-fashioned half- 
 way house at Crawley a queer little village, with a 
 very remarkable old elm tree in it, the root and bole 
 of which are hollowed out and form a small apart- 
 ment. Crawley was a wonderful place in the old 
 coaching days. The inn was a house of great 
 grandeur and pretension ; even then there were some 
 attenuated remnants of old plate that gave one the 
 idea of a lady-like old spinster very much reduced in 
 circumstances. Here, formerly, dozens of coaches 
 stopped daily, and it was rarely that they had not out 
 from thirty to forty pair of post horses. Now one 
 coach called during the summer at the end of the 
 village, and a pair of post horses three times a week 
 was good work ; a sad falling off ! Still the worthies 
 of the village assembled nightly in the common room 
 (greatly shorn of its glories) to have their smoke and 
 talk, and, being a gregarious animal, I preferred to 
 join them rather than to smoke alone. One evening 
 I was listening to the usual Babel of conversation 
 going on round me about pigs, beasts, and whuts, 
 when I heard the word " trout" close at hand. I 
 immediately pricked up my ears ; two men sitting by 
 me were talking :
 
 206 Hot Pot. 
 
 " Ah, I've had many a voine un out an it, surelye." 
 
 " Out of where ? " said I, breaking in upon the 
 talk without scruple. 
 
 " Whoy, out o' the stream down agin th' steation." 
 
 " Stream ! why, you don't mean that dead ditch 
 water that runs under the road just above the 
 public ? " 
 
 " Ah ! but I du tho ! There be some voine trout in't, 
 onlikely as't looks." 
 
 " The deuce there are ! and and may anyone 
 go and fish it ? " 
 
 " Ay, surelye. Whoy not ? " 
 
 " Then dash my wigs if I don't go and have a turn 
 at it to-morrow ! " and, as my tackle needed looking 
 up, I retired shortly. My stock was not extensive, 
 for, not expecting any fishing, I had come down with- 
 out any necessaries ; but it so happened that, being at 
 Horsham one day, and seeing in a small stream that 
 flowed or, as a Yankee would say, " flew " through 
 it in those days, some uncommonly fine roach, I went 
 to the only shop in the town (a barber's I think it 
 was) where any approach to fishing tackle could be 
 purchased, and bought the only rod I could get, a 
 small, trumpery, three-joint, walking-stick rod, a 
 dozen or so of strands of Indian grass gut he did not 
 possess a yard or so of silk line, and a few hooks ; 
 no reel, no running line, no anything else. With this 
 I was perforce content. The fishing at Horsham did 
 not result in much, and the place I was going to fish 
 on the next day was pretty much as I have described 
 it a dead, deep, ditchy-looking bit of water, appa- 
 rently with very little stream, which ran under the
 
 An Angler's Reminiscences. 207 
 
 road and past the end of the garden appertaining to a 
 public-house on the other side of the road. I rigged 
 up a line of a yard and a half or so of silk, and to it 
 fastened a strand of Indian grass some two feet long, 
 and on this tied a No. 6 or 7 hook. I had no shot, 
 because, the stream being almost still, the worm would 
 suffice to carry it to the bottom. I forgot to say that 
 worm fishing was my intent ; for, even had I had fly 
 tackle, the stream was so grown over and inclosed in 
 a thicket that it was not possible to use it. 
 
 The next morning I sallied out directly after break- 
 fast, and, having to get some bait, I stopped on the 
 road side just behind a gipsy's cart, where there was a 
 mound of old road scrapings and cuttings, and, to the 
 astonishment of sundry olive-coloured juveniles, I 
 commenced turning the stuff up with a pointed stick, 
 and soon got together a good stock of worms. Having 
 put in a bit of moss out of the hedge to scour them, I 
 again made tracks for the water, and soon reached it. 
 There was a stile opposite the public house, and I 
 stepped over it. A footpath ran alongside of a dense 
 sort of hedgerow thicket, which was some twenty or 
 thirty yards or more deep, and in the centre of this the 
 stream ran. Into this I at once plunged, and soon 
 got to the banks of the stream. It was sore work 
 scrambling along them, the tangle was so thick. It 
 did not look as if it was often fished. The first twenty 
 or thirty yards or so did not seem tempting. It was 
 straight, even, and dead, and the water looked black 
 and very ditch-like. Presently I came to a bend, 
 which made a sort of pool. It had a profound appear- 
 ance. There might have been a fish there, and if
 
 208 Hot Pot. 
 
 there was he would likely enough be a big one ; so r 
 rapidly jointing up my little poker of a rod for it was 
 not above 8ft. or 9ft. long I unwound the line, 
 stuck a worm on the hook, and dropped it into the 
 water. It slowly settled down out of sight to the 
 bottom. It was some four or five feet deep, and barely 
 had reached it when " spang " the line went, cutting 
 the water, out towards the opposite bank. I raised 
 the point sharply as it ran straight out, and struck. 
 I only got one tug, and that nearly pulled the rod out 
 of my hand and smashed everything, and, with a boil 
 which came up to the surface as if the rudder of a 
 boat had been rapidly turned below, a huge fish made 
 his escape. I collapsed. " Four or five pounds, if he 
 was an ounce, by the boil he made ! " I groaned. 
 " When when shall I ever have such another chance ? 
 When shall I ever hook such another ? " It was a 
 dreadful beginning. Of course the miserable grass 
 had broken ; but I doubt if even gut would have held 
 him without a little running line. Had I had but 
 three or four yards of that, so as to have allowed him 
 to reach the opposite side without breaking, no doubt 
 I might have got on terms with him in time ; but it 
 was no use crying over spilt milk. As an Irishman 
 would say, there might be " as good fish in the stream 
 as hadn't come out of it," and luck might be in store 
 yet ; so I set to work to repair damages, and, as 
 single-strand grass was not strong enough, I doubled 
 it and twisted it, and so tied another hook on. It was 
 clumsy work enough, but the water was dark and the 
 stream shaded, and the trout apparently very unsofishti- 
 cated, for I soon began picking them up, here one and
 
 An Angler's Reminiscences. 209 
 
 * 
 
 there one. They all ran from about fib. to lib., 
 and I got some three or four brace of them pretty 
 quickly 
 
 Presently I emerged from the thicket, and found 
 that the stream ran under an arch in the railway 
 embankment. Dropping the worm in, I let it glide 
 off under the arch, and got a heavy lug, and, after a 
 turn of pully-hauly, up bolted a fine trout into the open 
 stream above the arch. . He was a powerful fish, and 
 I had all my work to play him with my fourteen feet 
 of rod and line without letting him go down under the 
 arch again ; but I was up to my work, and by degrees 
 I coaxed him away from it into a little gut, and as 
 soon as he was exhausted I shelved him out with my 
 left hand. As I was doing so a train rattled by, and 
 a row of heads popped out to note my battle with the 
 trout. He was a capital fish, very handsome, and 
 weighed exactly two pounds. I then crossed the rail- 
 way and plunged once more into the thicket, which 
 was here denser and deeper than ever. It was rare 
 tearing and scrambling work, but the stream here was 
 livelier and shallower, and the fish more plentiful; 
 and, having now filled my pockets, I had to hang fish 
 on the twigs as I went along (having no basket), with 
 a view to retrieving them as I came back; and at 
 every place where I made my way into the stream I 
 left two or three good trout hanging gilled on a 
 branch. I fished on and on, and the afternoon began 
 to grow apace, the stream to get thin and shallow, and 
 the trout small ; so I thought I would turn back and 
 fish only a choice spot or two on my return, collecting 
 my fish as I went. Sport had been capital, and on 
 
 p
 
 210 Hot Pot. 
 
 
 
 my return journey, though I only caught another fish 
 or two, I filled my pockets, my hat, and my handker- 
 chief, until I left off fishing at last, having nowhere 
 else to stow a single fish more ; and I made my way 
 out into the footpath, having tackled up and tied up 
 my rod. By this time I was almost exhausted, for I 
 had had nothing to eat or drink all day ; and, crossing 
 the stile, I made for the public-house opposite to re- 
 cruit the inner man. As I did so, the host came to 
 the door. 
 
 " What ! bin a-fishin', sir," was his accost. 
 " Yes," I replied, " yes, and had some very nice sport 
 eighteen brace and a half, and one two-pounder." 
 " Why, where have you been then ? " 
 " Oh, up the ditch in the thicket yonder." 
 " What ! ! ! " in a tone of horror. " Ditch ! Why 
 that's the head of the Mole ! Don't you know that 
 I'm the keeper to it ? And master's so dreadful 
 particular that he won't give leave to no one, and 
 there hain't been a single rod in there this two 
 year " (I could well believe it) " and, by jingo, here 
 he comes ! Here, bring them fish in out of sight " 
 (I had been untying the handkerchief to show them) 
 " and give me that there rod. If he sees 'em, there'll 
 be a horful row." 
 
 In we bolted, and a stout, jolly gentleman, with a 
 white hat, drove up in a sulky, and stopped to dis- 
 course the landlord. I peeped at him from behind 
 the curtain of the parlour window, and, as he sat 
 flicking at a stone in the road, I thought he had a 
 very " see-you-hanged-before-I-give-you-leave " kind 
 of a face. They talked for a few minutes, and then he
 
 An Angler's Reminiscences. 211 
 
 drove on, when the host returned to me. I need not 
 say that my feelings were not the most cheerful in 
 the interval. 
 
 " Well, you air as nice a cool sort of young gent as 
 I've met with for some time ! To go an' poarch a 
 stream right an' left like this, and then to go and 
 walk slap into the keeper's 'ouse an' show'n the vish ! 
 What is to be done about it, danged if I knows. Ye 
 ought to be summoned, that you did ! " " Well," I 
 replied, " all right ; but first of all let's drink some- 
 thing, and then we'll consider about it. If you've got 
 to do anything professional, why we shan't either of 
 us be the worse of it for a pipe and a glass of brandy- 
 and-water. ' You can always take up a quarrel at 
 any time ; but a limited portion of spirits and water 
 you cannot,' " quoth I, quoting Dickens, " and, while 
 you're mixing it, give me a biscuit." At this he 
 shook his head ; but I could see that it was like the 
 shake of a pointer's tail when he is not certain 
 whether he has game before him or no. So I filled 
 up the two big rummers with a stiff dose of mahogany 
 myself, and chirruped invitingly through a fine church- 
 warden pipe, before filling it with the finest of birds- 
 eye, with which my pouch was well stocked. 
 
 " Well, I be dashed if I knows what I ought to do ! 
 'tis clear to me as ye did'n knaw ye was doin' wrong." 
 The pointer's tail was wagging, and unconsciously 
 his hand stole to the big rummer, and a third of the 
 mahogany vanished at a swig. 
 
 " Certainly not ; should I have come in here to 
 show you the fish if I had ? " 
 
 " Naw, naw, that be trew ; 't bent likely " and I 
 p2
 
 212 Hot Pot. 
 
 pushed the big pouch across to him, for I saw that 
 his eyes lightened at the sight of the birdseye, for 
 really good tobacco was by no means so general in 
 the country then as it is now. " That be true/* he 
 continued, filling his churchwarden in an absent kind 
 of way, as if the question was still one of uncertainty ; 
 and he repeated, slowly, "That be ver-ry " puff, 
 puff pause " 'mazin' foine backer this puff Lor t 
 puff, puff it dooes one good, sich a bit o' backer 
 as this." From that time not another word was said 
 about the poaching, but we branched off into general 
 sport. Mine host was a real enthusiastic sportsman at 
 heart. He enjoyed every kind of sport, and, beyond 
 all, loved a crack about it like the present. We went 
 the whole round of hunting, shooting, coursing, 
 fishing, with a touch of ratting and badger ' ' droring," 
 and we both enjoyed ourselves very thoroughly. 
 
 Three times were those big jorums of mahogany 
 refilled, and twice three times the contents of the 
 churchwardens came and went, and mine host and 
 myself grew more and more hail fellows, and more 
 pleased with our company. It evidently was an 
 unusual treat for Boniface, and he looked on me 
 as a sort of phenomenon. At length, however, it 
 began to get late, and I rose to go. I paid my score, 
 and left the remains of the prime birdseye for his 
 future pleasure a delicacy he much appreciated. 
 His last words to me as I left the house were : " Now 
 look here; if anybody 'ed a seed you as tha went 
 along that theer footpath and there was lots went 
 along it, 'cos I seed 'em " (this was true enough, and 
 I had heard them, too, but they did not see me), "I'd
 
 An Angler's Reminiscences. 213 
 
 5 a lost my place, vor sartin. Now, mind, you must 
 promise me you woan't never goo there no more" 
 (this I readily did, and duty was satisfied). "But, 
 lookee here " (catching hold of my arm just as I left 
 the door, and whispering in my ear), the next time 
 as you cooms, goo up droo my garden, and out at the 
 little gate at the back ; there ben't no footpath at all 
 there, and the vishin's a sight better nor 'tis down 
 thik way." I never did goo up droo the garden, 
 because we left the place next day ; but, all I can say 
 is, that, if the fishing was better there, it must have 
 been remarkably good perhaps about the best I ever 
 encountered, for I was tired enough of my load before 
 I got home ; and, if it is better now, and the present 
 owner will only give me the straight tip, I'll be 
 delighted to go there next week. This was " nearly 
 thirty years ago ; indeed, it may be longer." The 
 public-house has become an inn of some pretension, 
 the station an important junction (and I should much 
 doubt the existence of trout in the stream near the 
 railway), the thicket, I know, has been cut down, 
 and the stream thrown open to the daylight, but the 
 railway has been so widened and altered that one can- 
 not see it en passant. But, if the old proprietor sur- 
 vives still, I hope he'll accept my apologies for my 
 unconscious wrong- doing more than a quarter of a 
 century since.
 
 214 Sot Pot. 
 
 A WEEK ON THE BRATTLE, 
 
 " Let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, 
 Bright dreams of the past which she cannot destroy." 
 
 MOORE. 
 
 THE anticipation, the fulfilment, and the remembrance* 
 of a good day's fishing upon a new river make together 
 one of the greatest pleasures of an angler's life. 
 There may be in life matters of more important 
 interest. The momentous question as to whether the 
 seraphic Seraphina will consent to become Mrs. 
 Piscator, and the fulfilment, &c., only, on an average 
 perhaps, happens once in a lifetime. It is true a man 
 may be married twice or three times, or even many r 
 like Henry VIII. and Bluebeard, or " Jasper Packle- 
 merton of atrocious memory/' who, according to Mrs. 
 Jarley, " courted and married fourteen wives, and 
 destroyed them all by tickling the soles of their feet 
 when they were sleeping in the consciousness of inno- 
 cence and virtue," and who, " on being brought to- 
 the scaffold and asked if he was sorry for what he had 
 done, replied Yes, he was sorry for having let 'em off 
 so easy, and hoped all Christian husbands would 
 pardon the offence. Observe his fingers curved in the 
 act of tickling, and his face represented with a wink 
 as he appeared when committing his barbarious 
 murders." But even Jasper Packlemerton must have
 
 A Week on the Brattle. 215 
 
 admitted, when he was arranging his fourteenth 
 tickling match, that there was a sameness about the 
 ceremony which made it less interesting than his first 
 one. And even when that avuncular old man of 
 Tobago, who has lived upon gruel and sago for long 
 years in order to pile up that big heap of gold, discon- 
 tinues that diet, and, to re-make an old joke, becomes 
 himself a diet of worms, and we find ourselves down 
 for a large slice of his savings, like the witches in 
 " Macbeth " " we should rejoice when good kings/ 1 
 or even good uncles, " bleed," particularly if they 
 bleed freely and copiously. But the rejoicing dies 
 away and wears out with realisation, whereas a day's 
 fishing such as I have indicated never loses its interest, 
 and is as fresh and enjoyable on the fourteenth or the 
 fourteenth score or even hundredth time, as it was at 
 first ; and we rejoice quite as much over a good bit of 
 fishing neatly done at fifty as we did at fifteen, and 
 perhaps more, because we know all about it, and 
 are able to appreciate the skill and the difficulty 
 thoroughly. I feel conscious that there should be 
 a quotation of some sort here to show that someone 
 has had a somewhat similar feeling or idea on a like 
 position formerly, but as I don't know where to look 
 for it, I pass the opportunity over. So, to resume. 
 How very pleasant it is to look on and see a real artist 
 come over a fish that he wants badly. How neatly he 
 puts fly after fly over the doomed rascal, crouching 
 down on his hams as close as nature lets him, until, 
 vanquished at last by the angler's seductions, trouty 
 comes like a very woman and takes the lure. Trout 
 are very like women, you know please their eye and
 
 216 Hot Pot. 
 
 you can turn them round your finger " Ah, you 
 think you can do it/' do you, Mr. Tyro ? and " it 
 looks very easy/' does it ? ' ' Well, you'll know better 
 when you know more." I am sure that I can enjoy 
 a good day's fishing almost as keenly as I could thirty 
 years ago. Thank God, it is a pleasure that won't 
 wear out. The picture of the gouty enthusiast in his 
 easy chair bobbing for roach and dace in a tub is not 
 so very much of an exaggeration. It is a quaint 
 notion well worked out, but that is all ; and I can 
 quite understand how one might get no end of amuse- 
 ment by being wheeled in a Bath chair to the top 
 of the Brighton Aquarium tanks, for example, and 
 being allowed to bob for a porpoise, let us say : and if 
 he knocked out the side of the tank in his run, and 
 went down the fall into the aisle below, squattling 
 among the rocks of pillars, seats, and people, it would 
 be as much as you could do, I know, to prevent his 
 breaking you ; and if he got round a pile I mean 
 a pillar or sulked behind a seat, he'd be bound to. 
 
 Yes, the joys of angling last longer and more con- 
 tinuously than any other. After a certain age hunting 
 must become more or less of a reminiscence, and the 
 once deadly tubes, that were so unerring at grouse, 
 pheasant, or partridge at five-and-thirty yards or so, 
 become wavering and uncertain, while the toil over 
 and through heather, turnips, or beans becomes too 
 much for the weakened limbs ; but still, for years 
 after this haply, Piscator can sit in his punt and count 
 his roach and dace by the score, and manage a stout 
 tussle with an obstinate barbel nearly as well as ever, 
 and may even hobble along the bank of a trout stream
 
 A Week on the Brattle. 217 
 
 in fair weather, and cast the delicate feathers, with a 
 slender rod and a still straight line, for the spotted 
 trout or grayling, even though the mighty twenty feet 
 of greenheart is beyond his strength. And when the 
 weather is unkind, what treasures of memory rest in 
 turning over the stores of old tackle and well-thumbed 
 piscatory manuals, even though we have most of their 
 precepts by heart. And so I am well assured that 
 a man loses much pleasure, philosophy, and health by 
 not being a fisherman, no matter whatever other sport 
 he may be fond of. 
 
 Thus I pondered as I was trundling down to the 
 borders of Wales, to fish the Brattle for the first time 
 one of those lovely streams where the trout are not 
 dwarfed to the size of most of those which throng 
 the mountain brooks of the principality, but where 
 the scenery is a mixture of Welsh and English, half 
 mountain, half meadow and copsewood. I had read 
 all my papers ; criticised an article of my own in a 
 popular magazine which had appeared that morning, 
 and thought where I could have even improved it, if I 
 had had to write it over again ; and, light failing, had 
 declined on thought, and my cigar was out, when the 
 train began to slacken, and presently came to a stop 
 at a small roadside station. " Rington ! Rington ! 
 Rington ! Change here for Bashain and Boreham." 
 " At last." "Hallo, old fellow, here you are. How 
 are you, dear old boy/' said a cheery voice as my old 
 schoolmate and friend, Charley Blatherskite, looked 
 into the carriage in search of me. " William, get 
 Mr. F.'s luggage. Is this all ? All right then ! come 
 along ; the cart is at the gate, and Mrs. Wadlow will
 
 218 Sot Pot. 
 
 be in a fit if we keep dinner waiting ; it's five miles r 
 with a good bit of up and down hill between ; so come 
 along." And Charley, the best of companions and 
 oldest of friends, led the way to a dog- cart, into which 
 we all mounted, with my belongings inside, and the 
 rod case nursed behind by William. Charley was 
 some six or seven years my junior we had been at 
 school together, but he came for a quarter as I wa& 
 leaving. I used to thrash the fellows who bullied him, 
 and when, some eight or ten years after, we met by 
 accident, he was walking the hospitals or running' 
 them more properly while I had done a good turn of 
 six or seven years at engineering, and got tired of it, 
 and was living an idle, ne'er-do-well sort of existence. 
 Since then our friendship had remained unbroken. 
 We had planned this trip some time before, and he 
 had gone down a day or two previous to Mrs. 
 Wadlow's, who kept a little angling inn hight ' ' The 
 Rest," on the banks of the Brattle. A portion of the 
 stream, a mile or two in length, belonged to the inn ; 
 but I had obtained leave over some three or four 
 miles of fine preserved water from Colonel C., the 
 owner of the inn as well as of much of the property 
 thereabouts. The colonel was down at the Denn, as 
 his place was called at that time. He did not fish 
 much himself, but liked now and then to walk along 
 the banks with a rod, and perhaps, as Charley said, 
 we might meet him during our wanderings on the 
 morrow ; but, unless we had his special leave, while 
 he was there, it would hardly be polite to fish much of 
 his water. So for the first day or two we resolved to 
 confine ourselves nearly to the inn water.
 
 A Week on the Brattle. . 210 
 
 "There's the Rest that light yonder." Two 
 minutes after, we rumbled over an old one-arched 
 stone bridge, wheeled round a corner, and pulled up. 
 A pleasant glow came out from the old-fashioned honey- 
 suckle-covered porch. Mrs. Wadlow, a portly widow 
 with a pleasant smile, stood waiting to welcome us. 
 
 " John, gentleman's luggage up to No. 4. Mary, 
 bring a chamber candlestick, and show the gentleman 
 his room. One glass of sherry and bitters, sir, after 
 your ride, and dinner will be ready in a quarter of an 
 hour." There was a faint smell of fish frying some- 
 where, which had an appetising flavour. " Home-made- 
 bitters, sir my own receipt." " Thank you." Dainty 
 curtains as white as snow, a pleasant odour of lavender, 
 diamond-paned window with monthly roses and honey- 
 suckle all round it everything as neat, clean, com- 
 fortable, and old-fashioned as need be. Ten minutes 
 for a wash, and then down to crisp trout fried to a 
 marvel, and a leg of small Welsh mutton hung to per- 
 fection, with ale that sparkled like sherry, and a bottle 
 of sherry that the late Mr. Wadlow, a retired butler 
 of the Colonel's, had chosen many years before, and 
 which was not to be despised, being old, sound, and 
 nutty ; a noble cheese ; and then what the Irishman 
 so expressly calls the " materials," a fragrant pipe, 
 and a comprehensive chat de omnibus rebus. " Chap 
 here last week, name of Chafer; out-and-out good 
 fisherman," said Charley in course of conversation, 
 " but so jealous that he hates to see any fellow any- 
 where on the water. Catches baskets and baskets of 
 good fish, even in quite still quiet places, you know, 
 where I never could raise one."
 
 Sot Pot. 
 
 " What fly did he use ? " 
 
 " Ah, that's the point ! Nobody knew." 
 
 " But wouldn't he tell you ? " 
 
 " Not he. If you asked him, he'd say, with a sort 
 of confiding smile, a smile that was child-like and 
 bland, ' Oh ! a little dun, you know a little dun,' as 
 if there wasn't forty little duns ; and I knew he was 
 lying too, ever so far, because I was once reclining on 
 the bank, closer than he thought, on the other side 
 when he passed, and I saw his fly fall on the quiet 
 water, and it was a jolly big one I could see that 
 much." 
 
 " But couldn't you ever get a sight of his book ?" 
 
 " Not likely. He took it to bed with him, and 
 never parted with it on any pretence. He's worse 
 than Jock Grant of Kennaweell, who said to me 
 once, ' a loe ma brither verra, verra dearly ; oh, 
 verra dearly, inteet ; but 'd no trust him wi ma flee 
 buik on any pratance, d'ye ken.' ' 
 
 ' ' What an infernal skunk ! That's a sort of man I 
 would have no hesitation in lifting up the hatches on, 
 and sending any amount of weed down on him, on the 
 first day of the Mayfly. Well ? " 
 
 "Wait a bit. I had him at last." 
 
 " No ! How did you sarcumvent that weasel ? " 
 
 " Well, I'll tell yon. Just below Pwnwddel Wood 
 at the end, under a bush, there's a nice, smart little 
 run close under the bank. It's a rare place for good 
 fish, but you never hardly see them rise, because there's 
 an eddy there that sucks your line, as well as most 
 flies, and such light matters, under water. There's 
 always a rattling trout or two there, and it is a very
 
 A Week on the Brattle. 221 
 
 favourite cast of Chafer's. I was peeping in there 
 over the bank one day, when I saw a big root under 
 the bank, and an idea struck me I thought might be 
 worth trying. I went and got a nice little blackthorn 
 bush, got a bit of bell-wire, and fastened it to the 
 stump of the bush, then made it fast to the old root, 
 sinking the bush about two inches under water. The 
 next morning I went down the same side again, got 
 up into the wood about fifty yards or so from the 
 river, where I could sight the proceedings without 
 being seen, and waited. I had been there about 
 half an hour, when I saw Chafer coming down the 
 opposite bank, and I chuckled as he stopped over- 
 right my trap. ' Swish, swoop ! ' The fly went across, 
 just above the eddy; the line tightened. Chafer 
 thought he had a fish, and struck merrily, and then 
 I saw his rod bend. ' You're in it this time, old 
 chap ! ' said I ; and so he was, sure enough. ' What 
 the &c., &c., &c. is this? growled old Chafer; 
 'never knew anything settle there before. Some 
 beastly bramble hung up, I expect ; but it will come 
 presently ; ' and he tried a steady strain. But black- 
 thorn and bell-wire were too much for gut and horse- 
 hair, and, after trying all he knew (as it was too deep to 
 wade), he had at last to conclude for a break, which he 
 effected, losing half his casting line. ' Humph ! ' he 
 grunted, as he stumped off; 'come home up that 
 bank to-night, and get that fly back; never do to 
 leave it there.' ' Will you, my angel ? ' says I, as 
 soon as he was out of sight ; f not if this child knows 
 it. I went to the place, took off my coat, fisted the 
 bush, undid the wire, and there on the topmost branch
 
 222 Hot Pot. 
 
 of all was the coveted fly. This I featly removed, 
 chucked the bush away, carefully destroyed all trace 
 of' my intervention, and walked quietly home with my 
 prize and there it is." 
 
 It was a big sandy-red hackle, with a lemon-yellow 
 silk body. I have seen this fly on several rivers, and, 
 though it is used of double or treble the size of the 
 ordinary flies, somehow this fly kills most of the big 
 fish, and that even in bright weather and stillish water 
 at times, though best for afternoons and evenings. 
 What the trout take it for I can't conceive. 
 
 " Chafer came home that evening profoundly dis- 
 turbed. He was awfully sulky and puzzled, but 
 never opened on his loss, for fear someone should go 
 a-hunting for the fly. Ha, ha ! he little knew that it 
 was snug in my pocket. I always have a small stock 
 of feathers and silk, in cases of emergency, and the 
 next day I had the best bag I ever had ; and ha ! ha ! 
 I beat Chafer. Mrs. Wadlow told me, with a chuckle, 
 that Chafer saw my dish in the cellar, and glowered 
 like thunder at them ; and whether or no he thought 
 that I had had any hand in the fly job I don't know, 
 but the next day he went home quite suddenly, and I 
 sent at once to you. Here you are, and to-morrow 
 we'll try Chafer's pattern. And now one more glass, 
 one more pipe, and then to roost." 
 
 The birds, twittering in the creepers round my 
 window, awoke me, and I lay in a lazy half slumber 
 for some twenty minutes listening to them, and 
 trying to comprehend their language. Oh, for Jean 
 Jacques Rousseau. Let's see, half dreaming, half 
 musing, how is it it runs ? Ah !
 
 A Week on the Brattle. 223 
 
 " I shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau 
 If birds confabulate or no." 
 
 Hang it ! What's the rest ? Blessed if I haven't 
 clean forgotten. 
 
 "I've heard it said by ancient sages, 
 
 That love of life increased with years ; 
 So much that in our later stages, 
 When pains grow sharp and sickness rages, 
 The greatest love of life appears." 
 
 Bother ! What is all this ? Are they connected, 
 or did I learn 'em together in my youth, or is 
 it all dreaming nonsense this farrago of rubbish ? 
 " Tweetfe, tweet ! " now what does that mean ? Let's 
 see. Oh, I have it ! " Tweetle, tweet ! what did you 
 eat ? " " Teroo, tweet ! worms and wheat ! " " Chip, 
 chip, chip ! Give us a bit ! " It's breakfast they're 
 talking about, don't you see ; of course it is ! I 
 understand it all now, and I've a great mind to cry 
 " Tchoo, tchoo, tehee ! Coffee and tea ! " " Crroo, 
 crr-egs ! Bacon and eggs ! " Don't you see, it's all 
 as easy as as lying, as Hamlet says. Therefore, I 
 won't lye any longer ; but here goes for the tub ! 
 Ah ! cool, fresh, v-v-v-ery fresh ! The mornings are 
 coolish, and the water is fre-e-sh, v-v-very fresh. 
 Whoo, hoo ! that's better ; and now for a good rub 
 down, and a hearty glow, a walk in the garden, a 
 look round, and then for breakfast. 
 
 " Hallo, Charlie my lad, the top of the morning to 
 you ! " and we converse and look at the water till 
 summoned to breakfast. 
 
 What a breakfast ! ah ! the snug little parlour
 
 224 Hot Pot. 
 
 with open French windows ; the little grass plat, with 
 the birds hopping almost into the room, and keeping 
 up a chorus of pleasant chirruping; the snow-white 
 cloth, and the fragrant smell of coffee and sweetbriar 
 merged ; the delicate crisp toast and rashers of bacon, 
 the gold and silver eggs -poached to perfection, the 
 yellow butter, the brown loaf, the thick cream, the 
 home-made marmalade, and the noble collar of 
 brawn on the sideboard. " Another cup of coffee ?" 
 " Thanks." " Try a slice of this brawn." " Two if 
 you like." " Mrs. Wadlow, fill those flasks with 
 whisky, and put a slice or two of that brawn, with 
 a chunk of brown bread, into the basket, and let Peter 
 put those rods together, and give him a glass of cwrw, 
 and let him come to us at the bridge." And, lighting 
 our weeds, we strolled out to the bridge, as all anglers 
 do. It was a pretty stream as eye could wish to look 
 on, and was here about thirty or forty feet wide, with 
 a whirling eddying current going under the bridge 
 arch, over the most golden of gravel; a few weeds 
 swayed about some fifteen yards above the bridge, 
 and at the tail of these three or four nice half-pound 
 fish lay, rising from time to time. It was delightful 
 to watch them how, with no visible effort, they 
 sidled from under a tail of weed like a long tress 
 of maiden's hair, into a more open space, and then 
 you would note the fore part of the fish rise steadily 
 till the nose touched the surface, where the smallest 
 dimple showed some wee fly sucked down to Tophet. 
 As the trout resumed his horizontal five or six inches 
 below the surface, now a passing cloud or some other 
 irifle alarms him ; a flip of the tail, and he is up under
 
 A Week on the Brattle. 225 
 
 the shelter of the long weeds, whence ten minutes 
 after he emerges, and takes up another post some two 
 or three feet off, sending some smaller fish, who pre- 
 viously owned that happy hunting ground, away to 
 seek fresh fields and pastures new. 
 
 " There he is, an old rascal \" said Charley, pointing 
 to an overhanging bush on the right bank, under 
 which a big trout of a good 21b. lay, putting out his 
 neb from the dark shade, now and then sucking in 
 some floating treasure. " Ay, ay, and isn't he 
 cunning ? You can't get a fly easily to him except 
 off this bridge, and then he can see you, and won't 
 come ; a left-handed man with a very short rod might 
 get at him. Chafer nearly had him once ; he put on 
 trousers, waded up through the arch, and pitched left- 
 handed to him with an eight-foot rod of old Ogden's, 
 and the trout took ; but, just as Chafer was getting 
 him down below, he stepped on a round rolling stone, 
 and went a mucker, got soaked to his shoulders, and 
 of course lost the fish. I guess I snickered that time. 
 Well, Peter, how goes it? This is Mr. F., Peter; 
 you must show him some sport." " His honour's 
 felcome, and I'll show him the fish in plenty surely, if 
 his honour can catch them." I put up a Francis and 
 a coch-y-bonddu first. " It's a coot cast, a fery coot 
 cast. It'll be no easy to peat it," said Peter approv- 
 ingly. The coch-y-bonddu was a sacrifice to Peter. 
 The other I had tested truly and thoroughly years 
 ago] and never found anything to beat it in Welsh 
 waters. "And now, Peter, I'll go up to the cross- 
 road, and will leave this bit to you ; and when you get 
 to the cross-road cut over the brow, and drop in at 
 
 Q
 
 226 Hot Pot. 
 
 High-bank, and I'll do the same again, and so on, and 
 we'll meet to lunch at Barnedge." A few minutes 
 afterwards I saw the top of his rod disappear over the 
 next hedge. 
 
 The meadow before me was a charming bit of 
 dimply, streamy water, running over lovely gravel and 
 swaying weeds, with here and there a big lump of 
 a boulder, round which the water fretted and swirled 
 very prettily. On the far side was a hedge or a sort 
 of plantation, which grew right on to the river's bank, 
 with every here and there a big tree hanging its 
 branches over, or a sturdy bush stretching into the 
 stream. Indeed, the opposite bank was a rare place 
 for trout hides, and many a fine pound fish lay there 
 in fancied security, in the belief that he was safe from 
 anglers' wiles, sucking in fly after fly without hesita- 
 tion. On our side the bank had an odd bush or two 
 here and there, and was broken, rising up and down, 
 now high, now low ; but the fishing lay mostly beyond 
 mid-stream and toward the other side. I now began, 
 extending my line over the water pretty deftly. It 
 may be a vanity of mine, but I fancy I can fish an 
 opposite bank with overhanging stuff as well as 999 
 anglers out of a thousand, and I began searching 
 the opposite bank, pretty closely followed by Peter, 
 who never uttered a word, but looked on with a 
 critical twinkle, which rather put me on my mettle. I 
 had picked out a nice little fish or two, about three to 
 the pound, and had just basketed a half-pounder, and 
 I was sauntering leisurely on. There was a good fish, 
 of full three-quarters or more, under a bush on the 
 opposite side, rising regularly. I looked at him ; he
 
 A Week on the Brattle. 227 
 
 was in a perilous place, where a hang-up and a break 
 looked about three to one if you tried for him, and 
 I was nearly passing on, when I saw Peter glance 
 across at the fish and then at me, as if he was taking 
 my measure. So I took another look at the position. 
 Under the tutelage of one of the best trout fishers 
 I ever met, I had killed many such a fish on the Arrow, 
 and I determined to essay the fish. He was in a 
 hollow sort of bay, with a nice bit of bramble above 
 and below, and black-thorn overhead. Apparently you 
 could not put a fly within between two or three feet 
 of him ; but I noticed that the eddy curled into the 
 bay, and took things closer than seemed likely on the 
 surface. I therefore got down the bank to the edge 
 of the water, the bank being high there, and waited 
 to see the effect of the movement, as I was now right 
 opposite the fish, and not above ten yards from him. 
 The bank did my business, however, and he kept on 
 rising. Then with a preliminary flick or two up 
 stream, to measure distance, &c., I sent the fly across 
 and above the upper horn of the bay, leaving a slack 
 line. The eddy caught the fly, wheeled it round the 
 point to the inside, and carried it down further and 
 further under the bush, until it rolled past within ten 
 inches of Master Trout ; that is, it would have rolled 
 past if he hadn't sheered out a little and opened his 
 mouth to the Francis. I never saw a fish so astonished. 
 He bolted out with prodigious indignation, and flounced 
 hither and thither; but when he found the game 
 was bitter earnest ; he tried his hardest for his holt 
 again. But I had worked him down a dozen yards 
 or so, and was not long in slinging him round 
 
 Q2
 
 228 Hot Pot. 
 
 into a bit of ' ' quiet " below, where Peter ladled him 
 out a pretty fish, an ounce or two short of a pound, 
 and very well made up (for a Welsh trout). From 
 that time Peter began to talk, and ceased to be 
 critical; I had clearly satisfied his standard, and I 
 was told afterwards that his report of me at home was- 
 decidedly favourable. 
 
 The next meadow we got into a rocky ravine, and 
 where the water foamed and broke in slaty ridges, 
 and made black pools, and the tall ferns hung over 
 the river in lush profusion ; the trout here were not so 
 large, though they were very active. The river in 
 places was quite overgrown some fifteeen feet above, 
 and it was not easy fishing ; but the peep as one 
 looked up the river in the green and golden light, 
 through an umbrageous tunnel of rock work and leaves, 
 with the foaming river for a bottom, was lovely in the 
 extreme. As we went on wading and scrambling 
 upwards, we came to another bend, and there at the 
 far end was a little fall, which broke from rock ta 
 rock with a subdued, rushing noise, which came down 
 through the rustling wood with a pleasant murmur. 
 
 Splashing, wading, crushing the fragrant water- 
 parsley, we went on getting a whip-in here and a hang- 
 up there, and now and then a little trout, till we came 
 at last to the fall a deep, black pool, with heavy 
 eddies at the sides and behind the fall, between it 
 and the rock ; a broken and desperate-looking pool 
 enough to get hold of a big fish in. As it spread out 
 away from the fall it made a pretty basin, shallowing 
 away into nice lying places, and a bar, over which the 
 river poured down a rapid for twenty yards or so.
 
 A Week on the Brattle. 229 
 
 " A nice-looking pool that, Peter ! " " Yes, sorr," 
 aid Peter; "it is called Rattle-rumble-ruggleum." 
 I stared in amazement. ' ' The fall of the talking 
 trout/' translated Peter. I made a mem. of that as I 
 said, " There should be some big ones in that pool, 
 Peter." "Big ones, sorr, yes, yes; but they're not 
 easy to get out of it," as I soon found to my cost, for 
 at the very second cast over the shallow, just where it 
 deepened off to a dark amber, a big fish of 21b. or 
 31b. shot out of the profound, took my fly in a rush, 
 and, as soon as he felt the hook, made one bolt round 
 behind the fall, the whole weight of falling water 
 coming down like a watery sledge-hammer on the line* 
 What happened I don't know. There was a stramash, 
 and the line came floating up on the eddy at the side 
 with nothmg on it, not even a fly. I'm afraid I let go 
 
 a large-sized d n. " I have seen that, sorr, fifty 
 
 times," said Peter. And then we left the pool, and 
 climbed up the fall to the top, where was a pretty 
 stretch of water, and a short distance above a low 
 wooden bridge. 
 
 "That is where Mister Charrels began; we shall 
 have to take over yon brow before we can begin 
 again ; " and, gathering up the net and the basket, 
 Peter stepped out boldly over a high, well-timbered 
 bank or spur of a higher hill away on the left. The 
 river made a circle round the base, and the bank shot 
 down a rocky but wooded ravine, here some two or 
 three hundred feet in depth, and as we worked along 
 the edge we got peeps of the river purling and 
 fretting round the base, and making very pretty fishy- 
 looking pools. Anon we began to descend, and as we
 
 230 Hot Pot. 
 
 did so we caught a glimpse of Charley flailing away 
 up a very nice and rapid stream ; with a shout to 
 warn him of our presence, we hastened on, and 
 finally reached the flat beyond, where ' the river 
 grew more peaceful again, about one hundred yards 
 above where he was fishing. 
 
 " Mr. Charrels is fond of that bit, sorr ; Mr. Chafer 
 is fond of it too, sorr ; he was broken there a fort- 
 night ago." " Broken," said I, very innocently ; 
 " what, in a big fish ? " <l I'm not sure, sorr, but I 
 think not ; I think not. He lost his fly, sorr, and a 
 very favourite fly, and I have a suspicion, sorr, that 
 somebody found it." 
 
 " Do you think they expected to find it ? " I asked 
 slyly. 
 
 Peter looked at me with a twinkle in his eye, 
 and saw that I knew all about it, and all he 
 said was : " Mr. Chafer, sorr, is a secretive jontle- 
 man, a very secretive jontleman. But Mr. Charrels 
 is clever, sorr; he's very clever, sorr; and he has 
 hooked a fish in the very spot, sorr, I see ; " and off 
 went Peter to lend a hand, as the fish was a tidy 
 one. 
 
 When Charley came up, and we compared baskets, 
 there was not much difference ; he had 11 brace 
 and I had 9, and there might have been perhaps 
 a pound or two difference in the weight. I had two 
 of lib. or close on it, four of fib., eight or nine half- 
 pounders, and the rest three to the pound or a bittock 
 less. It was a very pretty basket, and one of the- 
 best days of the year, so Peter said. 
 
 " Half a mile higher, and our water ends, and
 
 A Week on the Brattle. 231 
 
 the Colonel's begins ; indeed, this belongs to the 
 Colonel, only he always makes me free of it. I will 
 go on to that pine tree, which is about half-way up, 
 and you fish up to it, and when we get to the top we'l 
 lunch under the hay-rick, and then turn down and 
 fish home, I taking the water you fished, and you 
 taking that which I fished." This direction we 
 followed out, picking up another brace or two of 
 moderate fish en route. Arrived at the hay-rick, 
 which was not far from the river, and handy to 
 some shady trees, we were tolerably glad to sit 
 and rest, and take toll of that brawn we collected 
 at breakfast ; and after lunch we sat and chatted. 
 
 " By the way, Peter, what is the meaning of the 
 Fall of the Talking Trout? There must be a 
 reason for the name." 
 
 " Yes, sorr," said Peter, taking out the shortest and 
 blackest pipe extant thereabouts. f ' Yes, sorr ; it's a 
 story or legend, sorr, of the days of the fairies, sorr." 
 
 " Let us hear it," and I passed him the flask. This 
 was the yarn : 
 
 Long ago, long before the days of Llewellyn, there 
 were two great chiefs Prince C, with two 1's, an m, 
 a g, and a y ; and Prince LI with three w's, one 
 h, two y's, and ad. I can't go much nearer to the 
 names, having a bad bronchial attack at present, and 
 fearing for the consequence if I tried. Chiefs always 
 fought in those days, for they had no Dr. Watts to tell 
 them better. He with the three w's had had all the 
 worst of it, and was forced to roam the land in dis- 
 guise. He sought this spot in the disguise of a miller , 
 and, seeing a likely spot for a mill, set to work to
 
 232 Hot Pot. 
 
 build one ; but somehow, build lie never so skilfully, 
 the stream rose in the night and washed his work 
 away. He could not make it out. He sat near the 
 edge of the pool one hot noontide, and there he fell 
 asleep ; and no sooner had slumber sealed his eyes 
 than a lovely maiden form appeared to him in his 
 sleep, rising above the water with a comb and a 
 looking-glass in her hand, and thus spoke to him in 
 accents like the whispering of the breezes of Araby 
 over the rose gardens of Irem. " O beauteous Prince 
 Three Ws, you lose your labour here ; for know that 
 this fall is under the dominion of a mighty magician, 
 who holds me, the lovely Princess R, one h, two I'a, 
 an m, and a y, under enchantment beneath its waters, 
 in the form of a handsome spotted trout. If you can 
 hook and pull me out safely on the land you will break 
 the enchantment, and with it the power of the 
 magician, and all his power will pass to me, and with 
 it vast territory shall be thine. But there are two 
 things to remember. The first is to slacken line as 
 soon as I am hooked; and if you see the line get 
 under the fall, be careful not to say ' dam/ Many 
 have tried to catch me ; but they held tight the line, 
 and all said ' dam/ and so the magician had power 
 over them, and the line was broken;" and Peter 
 nodded gravely towards me, as if he were a mermaid 
 and I a prince with three w's. " Farewell," said she, 
 and she dove into the pool and disappeared, turning 
 up a tail very like that of a 401b. salmon as she did so. 
 Then Prince Three Ws woke, and, searching in his 
 pockets, he pulled out a fishing line which he always 
 carried to provide his needs, and, fixing a bait upon it,
 
 A Week on the Brattle. 233 
 
 he cast it into the waters. No sooner had it sunk 
 from sight than there was a great tug, and, as was his 
 wont, Prince Three W's tugged again ; but the line 
 went under the fall. "D " began the prince, and 
 the line gave a great spang; but, fortunately, he 
 remembered himself in time, and only said, " D ear 
 to cootness pless us/' and slackened off all the line he 
 could. Then it floated clear of the fall, and coming 
 in, with a willing hand he hauled flopping up the 
 sloping bank a lovely trout ; and no sooner had he got 
 it safe upon the shore than it at once changed into 
 the most beautiful princess that ever was seen ; and, 
 there being a chapel close by a fortuitous circum- 
 stance which always happened on these occasions, no 
 matter how deserted of all else, or how much one 
 might wonder where the presiding priest got his con- 
 gregation from. Prince Three W's went there and 
 married her at once, and became lord over all this 
 country. " Yes, sorr," concluded Peter, " you may 
 tepend upon it you must not say ' tarn/ sorr, if you 
 want to catch the fish/' I believe Peter was an 
 tnfernal old hypocrite; for I heard him cursing a 
 fellow-countryman a few days after in the choicest 
 Cymry at least, if they weren't curses, they sounded 
 dreadfully like it, and rattled most confoundedly. 
 However, to satisfy Peter, I declared like Caliban 
 that 
 
 "No more dams I'll make for fish." 
 
 and so we finished our pipes in peace and tran- 
 quillity. 
 
 After this we once more got afoot, and fished our
 
 234 Hot Pot. 
 
 way back to the inn, first mounting what Charley called 
 the " cockchafer ; " and certainly it was a capital fly. 
 It did better in the afternoon and evening than in 
 the morning. With me it took the biggest fish, for 
 I got seven brace of very pretty fish not a small one, 
 or one under half a pound, among them ; and Charley 
 did nearly as well, and when we got home there was 
 only a brace between us. I got sixteen brace and a 
 half, which weighed 191b., he having seventeen brace 
 and a half, which weighed half a pound less. 
 
 After dinner, while we were smoking a cigar, the 
 Colonel, who chanced to pull up en passant, hearing I 
 was there, came in and sat and smoked a cigar 
 with us. Quite an old gentleman of the old school, 
 with all the manners and courtesy of a by-gone age a 
 model which, alas ! we have lost in the rush for wealth 
 which vulgarises and degrades everything. He made 
 us promise that we would fish his water, at any rate 
 for two days, dining with him after our sport, which 
 we did. I won't recount the sport we had. The water 
 was very lovely, running under high hollow banks ; 
 many of the reaches could only be fished by wading 
 up the middle and casting on either side with a short 
 rod. But what lovely trout they were ! from |lb. to 
 lib., and now and then a fish of l|lb.; and what 
 sport these big ones would show ! I don't know 
 when I have enjoyed a couple of days so much. The- 
 slaughter was prodigious, and the Colonel's hospitality 
 was most remarkable, for he sent us down a recherche 
 little hot lunch each day, with a bottle of rare old 
 Cliquot dry with age, and came down to share it him- 
 self. As we had plenty of fish of our own, and didn't
 
 A Week on the Brattle. 235 
 
 want the Colonel's, we just distributed our take among 
 his tenants and cottars as we went, and nothing we 
 could have done would have pleased the old gentle- 
 man so much. The fact is, I got the tip quietly off 
 Peter with a view to ulterior proceedings, and it 
 answered nobly. The old gentleman had a very proper 
 notion that those who tilled the soil had a right to 
 share the proceeds, and he always was most liberal 
 with his game among the tenants and labourers ; but, 
 as he didn't fish, he couldn't extend it to the fish, and 
 when anyone else thought of it, it pleased the Colonel 
 hugely. The last day we spent on our own water to 
 get a dish of fish to take home, and we contrived to 
 get close on thirty brace, and, to my everlasting repu- 
 tation with Peter, that two-pounder to top them up 
 with. I laid myself down to him as we do in Hamp- 
 shire, keeping well down out of sight, and he came at 
 last, after looking many times. Of course he went 
 under the bridge ; but, as it was handy home, and I 
 didn't mind a wetting, I followed him, and got him 
 fifty yards below, and Peter talks of it to this day. I 
 studied that fish, though, two or three times before I 
 fished for him. 
 
 And that is how you should always do with a big 
 one, my dear young friend and scholar. Find out 
 his habits, tricks, and ways, and then make yourself 
 as unobtrusive as possible, and do your level 
 darnedest.
 
 236 Hot Pot. 
 
 A STORM ON THE BRAWLE. 
 
 " Blow winds and crack your cheeks." 
 
 " I FANCY we are going to have a storm, Charley," I 
 exclaimed, as we sat looking on a charming pool on 
 the Brawle, overshadowed by gigantic hornbeams 
 hard by, and overhanging alders close at hand. Half- 
 buried- in bracken, at our feet flowed the calm, still 
 stream. The pool was now glassy and without a ruffle, 
 every tree and leaf reflected in it. as in a mirror ; on 
 the other side a perfect thicket of rank vegetation, 
 with huge burdock leaves and a plant-like wild rhu- 
 barb, rose waist high ; and so still was the air that the 
 faintest rustle could be heard under the broad green 
 leaves, and that friend of our boyhood, the viridis 
 lacertus of the Delectus, could not wag his tail with- 
 out being heard perhaps I should have said could not 
 have done so had he been found there, about which I 
 have a doubt. No rustle of leaf, no plash of fish. The 
 wild bee cunningly hid himself in the deepest foxglove 
 bell, and ceased his humming for a time. No twitter 
 of bird nor creak of cricket. Nature was getting 
 under shelter, and suggesting to us the desirability of 
 getting under shelter too. Now I don't mind saying 
 that I have a constitutional objection to being under
 
 A Storm on the Brawle. 237 
 
 trees in a thunderstorm, and that my friend Charley B. 
 has another constitutional objection to be out in the 
 middle of an open meadow under like circumstances ; 
 and we have both constitutional objections to wet 
 jackets when we have no change handy; so, after 
 taking a squint to windward and another to leeward, 
 one aloft and one all round, we concluded that shelter 
 would be as well till the storm had passed. 
 
 "The Goat" was only about half a mile off, just 
 over the brow yonder ; so, shouldering our rods and 
 settling our creels, which were not untenanted by our 
 morning's labours (for sport had been good until the 
 storm began to gather, and we had each about three 
 brace of nice half-pounders or thereaway to the good), 
 we stepped out lustily. We had not got half-way to 
 " The Goat," however, when the clouds, which had 
 been slowly rising over the point of the hill on our 
 right, gave an ominous growl, and commenced rising 
 and forming quicker and quicker. In three minutes 
 the sun was blotted out, and down came the rain in a 
 deluge, and for the last two hundred yards or so, 
 which we took at racing speed, the rain drenched us, 
 and the wind battered us, while lightning and thunder 
 hissed and roared above our heads incessantly; and 
 we plunged into " The Goat " streaming. Placing 
 our rods on the hooks in the long stone passage, we 
 divested ourselves of our creels and entered the large 
 kitchen, where a fire on the hearth and a couple of 
 vacant ingle nooks wore the most inviting aspect pos- 
 sible. We were pretty well drenched, and got into 
 the most favourable position for drying. Having 
 kindled up the fire afresh, and concocted a pot of
 
 238 Sot Pot. 
 
 foaming hot purl, we then lighted our pipes and en- 
 joyed ourselves. The storm roared without, but we 
 were pretty snug, and did not regard it. Presently 
 two or three other brothers of the angle came in, and 
 one or two labouring men driven from their work, and 
 conversation ensued. Among the anglers was an old 
 chap known as " Owld Johnny " I never heard that 
 he had any other name a genial, cheery old chap. 
 His father left him some ten or a dozen acres of land, 
 the remnant of a good property, which he as well as 
 his fathers before him had done their best to dissipate ; 
 and on this, with the fruits of his rod, the old chap 
 contrived to make out a living. He was a very good 
 old fellow, wonderfully liberal to his brother anglers 
 in the matter of hints or information often very valu- 
 able to a stranger. I have known him give up a good 
 stream where he was pulling out the spotted-beauties 
 just to let some poorer or less fortunate brother try his 
 hand; and I have known him even take the very fly 
 off his line for you. Such kindly feeling of course 
 made him many friends, and no one who knew him 
 would have done a shabby thing by Owld John on any 
 consideration. Many a dozen of fine gut or hooks, or 
 other such necessaries, did one or the other bestow on 
 Owld John, with packets of tobacco, pipes, and such 
 trifles. 
 
 Owld John smoked his pipe in front of the fire, 
 
 Charley and I on either side, and the others scattered. 
 
 " How did the fish die to-day, John ? " 
 
 " I've know'd 'm die better, Mesr Cha's ; but still 
 
 there wur no gurt cause to grizzle till the thunner
 
 A Storm on the Brawle. 239 
 
 " Did you ever catch 'em in a thunder storm, John?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " Many's and many's a time, sir ; but then 'm riz 
 bad afower it, an' it aim like to stir 'm up." 
 
 "I mind," said another sage, "hooking a turble 
 big fish in a thunner starm once." 
 
 "Ay, ay, Beenjamine, we'en heerd o' that. Tell 
 the genelmen the story, Beenjamine." 
 
 " A don't mind tellin' of the story, Johnny, if Vll 
 zing us ' Vish Vair ' first." 
 
 ' ' Thee be sharp on a chap, Beenjamine ; not as I 
 minds singin' a mite or mossel only Mesr Cha'a a 
 moutn't keer for my singin' ; an' as vor Mesr Vrank, 
 a've eerd 'n a duzun times, a wot." 
 
 " Not quite so many, old friend, and certainly not 
 so often but I'd like to hear it again," said I. " Mrs. 
 Calliper, fill up the brown jug; the storm is passing 
 away, but the river will be thick for a couple of hours ; 
 so we can spare the time." 
 
 "Mesr Vrank," whispered Owld John, "'ee'l hev 
 such a even's vishin' if 'ee'l coom wi' I." 
 
 I nodded shortly, knowing well what the old man's 
 offer meant; and, the jug being by this time re- 
 plenished, Owld John took a swig, blew up his pipe to 
 full furnace heat, put himself in an attitude, skewered 
 a fly on the ceiling with one eye as he rolled the other 
 to the tune, and, sawing the air with the hand that 
 held the pipe, commenced. The song evidently had 
 been suggested by an old nautical chorus, which 
 runs in the same strain, and was well-known in years 
 gone by, when nautical choruses were oftener heard 
 than they are now, and the wooden walls of old
 
 240 Hot Pot. 
 
 England were real walls. But let us listen to Owld 
 John. 
 
 VISH VAIR. 
 
 When veather he first teached I vor to fish, 
 He says to me, Johnny, this here be my wish 
 Do 'ee always vish vair, my lad, ne'er goo astray, 
 For who follys sich practices, I pities they. 
 
 I pities they, I pities they, who follys such practices, &c. 
 
 Says I, veather, I 'ont, I says, darned if I do, 
 But I'll go'n pull a zingle hair from the red coo ; 
 And I'll pluck a red heckle from th' owld cock so gay, 
 And them as vish totherwise, I pities they. 
 
 I pities they, &c. 
 
 Then I pulls the red coo out zum two or dree thick, 
 She says, " Goo easy, John, or I'll lend thee a kick ;" 
 And I plucks the owld cock, as he to me did zay, 
 Curck-a-too, curck-a-too, I pities they. 
 
 I pities they, &c. 
 
 Then I ties up a heckle, an catches a trout, 
 
 An he says, likewise, as I pulled 'n out, 
 
 " Why, John, what be'st oop to to sarve me thik way? 
 
 Who follys sich practices, I pities they. 
 
 I pities they, &c. 
 
 So I sets down and thenks a bit what I'd 'a done, 
 Vor, though they dwon't zeem to, yet I likes the fun ; 
 And though I gets the spoort, ye see they gets the play 
 And them as down't like it, whoy, I pities they. 
 
 I pities they, &c. 
 
 Then here's to the lads of the horsehair and hackle, 
 Confusion to them as use other like tackle, 
 Your worms and your minneys, loikwise .salmon pay ; 
 Who follys such practices, I pities they. 
 
 I pities they, &c.
 
 A Storm on the Brawle. 241 
 
 Owld John's singing was perfectly indescribable. 
 In the high notes his voice cracked in the most laugh- 
 able manner, and he indulged in all sorts of twists and 
 twiddles, which among his countrymen were regarded 
 as very high art. On this occasion he excelled him- 
 self, and frequently got so involved in these cadences 
 that there seemed no possible channel by which he 
 could extricate himself ; but John, with a total 
 ignorance of music or harmony, somehow contrived, 
 through the assistance of the minor key, always to 
 alight on his feet again. When the last pity for 
 benighted bait fishers died away, great was the 
 applause, and John puffed up his pipe again, took 
 another swig, and nodded to Beenjamine, who accord- 
 ingly took up the running. 
 
 " Talking o' thunner starms, mates, ye mind talk o* 
 Philip Gorm ? Well, it was before your time, maybe. 
 Phil had been wildish when a young man, and had 
 picked up some bad companions ; but arter he married 
 Ellen Tucker, he settled down like to steadier way^. 
 Phil was whipper-in to Lord Maltimore's hounds, and a 
 good rider and a keen sportsman, and was in high 
 favour with the lord, so that there was every prospec', 
 when old Abel Harkaway died or superanywated, that 
 Phil would take his place. Phil was happy as a king 
 at this time, and but that Ellen was a bit flirty in her 
 ways not meanin* nothin* wrong, ye know, but 
 lightish -mannered like Phil had never a trouble. Un- 
 fortunately, he had still an acquaintance with one of 
 his old wild companions, Dan'l Hopper, and a darned 
 bad 'un was Dan'l Hopper. He come between Phil 
 and Ellen, and made mischief. It's too long a yarn, 
 
 B
 
 242 Hot Pot. 
 
 mates, to tell how it rose and how it went on. From 
 bein' pleasant and confident with one another, the two 
 young creeturs grew distant and suspicious, and Dan'l 
 was always by to make things worse, and worse they 
 was accordin'. Phil at last took up to drink agin, 
 which he'd throwed over when he married, and Dan'l 
 was always the one to put it on him. Fact was I 
 may as well tell the truth at once Dan'l had paid 
 'tentions to Ellen hisself, but the owld volk, knowin' 
 him for what he wor, would not have it at no price, and 
 Ellen besides was fond ov Phil. So Dan'l resolved 
 to show 'm all arterwards that they got no such great 
 catch wi' Phil, and that's 'ow he did it, and poor 
 Phil was often landed by Dan'l quite teetosticated at 
 the end of the lane to his cottage. Well, old Abe 
 died one day, and, 'stead ov Phil havin' his place, as 
 he'd expected at one time, he had become so onregler- 
 like that the lord got a fresh man altogether ; and, as 
 Phil on'y got wuss arter this, he ended by being 
 turned out of his place altogether. This here busted 
 of him, mates, and one evening, when half drunk he 
 overheard a talk 'twixt Ellen and Dan'l, in which 
 Dan'l was a-recountin' all Phil's faults, and a tryin' to 
 persuade her to go off to Merrikay 'long of him. He 
 didn't stop for no change, you med be sure at that, 
 but he went right in at him, an' gev that there Dan'l 
 sich a darnation caterwollopin' as he never see nor 
 hear on sin' he was raised. He knocked 'n down, and 
 pulled 'n up, and he knocked un down agin, till there 
 worn't no two feayturs of his face as knowed one 
 another. Lor', how he did mash un, to be sure ! and 
 he warned un agin comin' wi'in 'alf a mile of his
 
 A Storm on the Brawle. 243 
 
 cottage agin, on promise of another dose of the like. 
 Dan'l was the laffin poast of the whole neighbourhood 
 for weeks arter ; for he wor painted lovely, and that's 
 a fact. 
 
 " Well, it was talked on, you may be sure, all about, 
 and the lord come to hear on it. Arter this, as Dan'l 
 didn't dare come anighst the place, Phil and Ellen got 
 on a mort better, and Phil left off drinkin' again, and 
 got steadier-like ; and one day the lord, who'd always 
 a-liked him, come down to his cottage and had a 
 long talk with 'em both, and took poor Phil on again, 
 and Phil and Ellen got on again like two turkey 
 doves. But that 'ere Dan'l was a white-livered feller 
 as bottled his feelin's. He didn't say nothin' to no 
 
 one, but he thought the more, and the d 1 got 
 
 him in his meshes surely. One day there'd bin 
 thunder all about, and a storm was a- bio win' up ; but 
 I wanted a dish of fish, and was out a-spinnin' a 
 minney in Basham Weir." At this Owld John shook 
 his head deprecatingly. " Well, I knows, I knows, 
 John, but I wanted 'em 'tickler an', as I said, I was 
 spinnin' the minney there when the storm come on, 
 and it got so awsome dark I left my rod planted by 
 the weir, and got under the old weir shed for shelter. 
 I 'adn't bin there not ten minutes, the thunder roar- 
 ing, and the lightnin' a-flashin' over head and all 
 round, when I see a big lump o' something come 
 rowling over the weir. I thort 'twus the root o' a 
 tree, and run out to get my tackle out ; but 'twas too 
 late, for in a second I'd hooked it, my rod bent 
 double, and the next moment away the tree went and 
 I lost my minney. Arter a time the storm cleared off, 
 
 B2
 
 244 Hot Pot. 
 
 and I made up my bag and strattled up the bank. As 
 I was goin' I sees Ellen a-comin' down. 
 
 " ' Oh, Ben ! ' says she, ' 'ave you see my Phil ? " 
 " ( No, Nell, I ain't/ I says, ' not this ways/ 
 " ' Where ever can he be, then ? ' says she, a-lookin r 
 f rightened-like . 
 
 " He's all right," I says ; " he towld me this marn 
 as he wor goin' up to kennel to worm some puppies, 
 and like he's there now." 
 
 " ' No,' says she, ' no ; I've been there, and he'd 
 left ; and, Ben,' she says, a-sinkin' her woice to a 
 terrifying whisper, ' little Billy Shorter tell me. 'as he 
 seen him an' Dan'l a-'avin' words just below Clapstone 
 Mill ; and the lad said he run away 'cos he was 
 frightened, and Dan'l had that big stick as he carries 
 o' late, and was flourishing it round and talkin' very 
 loud and angry." 
 
 " ' The Lord be good to us ! ' I says ; for my 'art 
 gev a bound as I thought of that tree stump as come 
 over the weir ; for, ye see, it was so dark I couldn't 
 see rightly at the time. Anyhow, I determined to go 
 down to the next mill, and see if it wor really a stump, 
 or or anythin' else ; so I persuaded Ellen to go home, 
 and promised to go and look for Phil up at the house, 
 or here at the Goat, where he likely took shelter from 
 the weather. Then I takes my way down to Jailer's 
 Mill, and my heart fell lower and lower as I see the 
 miller and his man on the rack a clearin' it of some- 
 thin' wi' poles ; and before I got up to 'm, they hauled 
 it ashore ; and as I come up I saw it was poor Phil, 
 sure enough, stark dead, with a big welt on the top of 
 his head ; and, as they turned him over, there was my
 
 A Storm on the Brawle. 245 
 
 minney a-sticking on his jacket. ' Wot's this clenched 
 in his 'and?' saya the miller; ' a big white bone 
 button ! ' That 'ere button, mates, hanged Dan'l 
 Hopper, an' I went to see it. Ellen keeps the lodge 
 at the lord's, and her son, as you know, is first whip 
 to the young lord, and '11 be huntsman in time. But 
 the weather has cleared up beautiful, mates, and now 
 for the river. There'll be trouts i' the pan to-night." 
 We went with Owld John, who put on for us a 
 special persuader a great medicine of his own con- 
 trivance. The water was clearing already, and I never 
 shall forget that evening's fishing. Between us we 
 mustered forty-four brace of splendid trout, many of 
 them up to a pound, and some over. Having taken half 
 a dozen brace each of the best for our own use, we made 
 Owld John a present of the rest, and vastly pleased 
 he was, you may be sure. " And that," he said, as we 
 left him at a weir which we had not seen before, " is 
 Basham Weir, where Beenjamine lost his minney." 
 Confound Basham Weir ! the place looked horribly 
 gloomy -and eirie in the shadows, and it was not till 
 we got home to lights, supper, and our own easy chairs 
 that we managed to shake off the creepy feeling we 
 then contracted.
 
 246 Hot Pot. 
 
 WHITE TROUT AND SALMON 
 FISHING IN GALWAY. 
 
 1 With debts galore and fun far more, 
 Oh ! that's the man for Galway." 
 
 I FANCY that my first insinsement, as an Irishman would 
 call it, of Galway, was derived from the excellent 
 ballad of which the above forms the chorus. How 
 many years ago is it that Mr. Miles Bodkin first 
 chaunted that redoubtable stave for our delectation, 
 and Charles O'Malley hove the tumbler at his head 
 first and shot him after ? and a great performance, too, 
 allowing weight for age. How we boys revelled in 
 Galway and his wild absurdities in those days. No one 
 could ride to our ideas like a Galway Blazer ; no one 
 could shoot like a gentleman from Galway. In fact, 
 the gentleman from Galway was all that was brave, 
 accomplished, humourous, chivalrous, and half a 
 hundred other things besides. " Distance " truly 
 " lends enchantment to the view ; " a nearer acquaint- 
 ance has, of course, dispelled all these illusions and 
 the gentleman from Galway retains but a faint hold 
 on our maturer susceptibilities ; we know him better 
 and are less infatuated. But the white trout and 
 salmon of Galway are indeed objects in which we
 
 Trout and Salmon Fishing in Galway. 247 
 
 truly rejoice, and the more we meet them the more 
 highly we appreciate them. Their company is never 
 objected to. They are never de trop or in the way, 
 no matter how many of them may be anxious to 
 cast themselves upon our hospitality, and we have 
 seen them pretty thick in Galway, too, at times. Who 
 has not stood in former years on Galway Bridge and 
 looked down upon the huge tumultuous shoal of salmon 
 which tenanted the stream below the weir when the 
 water was low. Hundreds on hundreds of salmon, 
 of from 201b. to 51b., rolling about over each other as 
 thick as peas on a shovel or gudgeon on a shallow a 
 wondrous sight seen at one time when the river was 
 prosperous by reason of the wise system pursued 
 towards it, but seen no longer, alas, for netting and 
 snatching, and gaffing, and all manner of bedevil- 
 ments have changed all this, and the gay and festive- 
 salmon is not the fish for Galway for the time being. 
 Let us hope for better times and a better system once 
 more. There is a deal of water in Galway, very much 
 of it very fishy water ; and between great lakes and 
 rivers in all directions, Galway may be considered as 
 pretty considerably of a wet country ; and as a friend 
 once described it " where it ain't stone walls or 
 mountains it's rivers and lakes or else bogs," and 
 allowing for a vivid imagination, he was not so very 
 far out, particularly at all near the coast. 
 
 Take the map of Galway, and look along the north 
 coast of Galway Bay. Starting from Galway, right 
 round the coast as far as Westport, every inlet has its 
 salmon river or white-trout stream, which is more or 
 less connected with a lake or chains of lakes. What
 
 248 Hot Pot. 
 
 a paradise it is for a fisherman ! What lovely scenery \ 
 what bold, striking mountains in every variety of 
 mountain architecture those Twelve Pins present, and 
 how lovely some of the lakes are. What can exceed 
 the beauty of Kylemore ? It is a slice out of Killarney. 
 What more striking than the rugged, seamed crests of 
 the mountains that dominate Lough Inagh? what 
 more sombre and stern than the gloomy scenery of the 
 Killeries ? It is a beautiful trip, even for the tourist, 
 from Galway to Westport ; but to the angler, who can 
 get well on the various waters, it is a considerable 
 task to achieve, and in all probability he would find 
 from Galway to Clifden enough for one season. The 
 8piddle, the far-famed Costello, the Inver, Ballina- 
 hinch, Doohullah, and Clifden will make a very big 
 hole in a season if all the lakes and streams are fairly 
 fished. Many of these waters can be got at now by 
 subscription, or by tickets for shorter periods. At 
 Ballinahinch the angler has the choice of three big 
 lakes and a river to fish upon; and he can have a 
 ticket for a single day if he desires it, and the sport is 
 often excellent. What they do on the Costello, and 
 have done formerly, sounds almost fabulous, so con- 
 siderable are the takes of white trout. On Doohullah 
 years ago, when the lakes were in the occupation of 
 Mr. Young, I had a real good day. I don't quite 
 recollect the number, but I fancy it was seventy or 
 eighty white trout, weighing over a hundredweight, 
 which we took between us. The largest fish was a 
 big one of 71b. ; the run of them l|lb., some bigger, 
 some smaller ; but the sport was beautiful. They are 
 such sporting fish, leaping out of the water, dancing,
 
 Trout and Salmon Fishing in Galway. 249 
 
 twisting, darting here, there, and everywhere. You 
 never had your fish landed till he was in the net, and 
 then he'd do his best to jump out of it if you were 
 careless. The number of false rises we got was pro- 
 digious. Every minute some silvery fellow came 
 flopping up at the fly, spanking it with his tail 
 perhaps, or rolling over it, and now and then getting 
 nailed in one of his fins, and showing tremendous 
 sport thereupon. It is the prettiest fishing I know 
 far more lively than salmon. Every now and then, 
 too, a brown trout would diversify the fun. These 
 were not large, but they were not at all contemptible 
 half and three-quarters of a pound now and then, 
 and sporting little blades they were. There were no 
 salmon. The experiment of introducing salmon failed, 
 the head waters not being equal to carrying salmon, 
 so that after their first return they never came again, 
 that is to say, in any considerable number, though 
 a few constantly stray into the lakes even yet, and one 
 is taken now and then. Our take made a rare show 
 at night, and covered the stone floor of the larder with 
 silvery forms in a most gorgeous way. In those days, 
 or soon after, I fancy one could get on Doohullah by 
 paying. Mr. Young, I believe, still retains the lakes 
 in his own hands, but whether he lets them or takes 
 rods on them, or what his arrangements are, I do not 
 know. I only know that they are the best white 
 trout lakes in Galway, and not even second to 
 Costello. 
 
 I have visited Ballinahinch two or three times. 
 The first time was many years since, in the early days 
 of the Field, when I went over a large extent of
 
 250 Hot Pot. 
 
 country as the Field commissioner, inspecting and 
 reporting upon fisheries and moors. One of my 
 objects was to report on any infringements of the 
 fishery regulations, and I raked out a good many, 
 where gaps were tampered with by means of boards, 
 and Sunday fence times made of no avail by sham 
 rails. This was a very artful dodge. A salmon cage, 
 as all who may care to know, is a square box of 
 upright rails, through which the water flows, but 
 between which the salmon cannot force his way. In 
 order to give the salmon a free passage, one had only 
 to pull up two or three of the middle rails in the back 
 row, and the salmon could easily get through. Even 
 if these rails were pulled up a foot or two, it answered 
 the purpose, and this was the plan pursued occa- 
 sionally ; but there was a very artful dodge practised 
 in some places to make the casual passer-by believe 
 that the rails were raised, when in reality they were 
 not. Suppose these rails to be from top to bottom 
 each six feet long, they used to get three or four 
 spare ones eight or nine feet long, and, pulling out 
 the six-footers, push in the nine ; so that from the 
 shore it looked as if these rails had been lifted three 
 feet, thus giving a free pass to the fish, when nothing 
 of the kind existed. Of course the entrance to the 
 weir in which the boxes were was always locked on 
 such occasions, and the man with the key was always 
 mislaid on a Sunday, which was the case when I got 
 to this weir; and finding that I could not get to the 
 boxes, I determined not to be done, but whipped off 
 my clothes, plunged in and swam to the weir, saw all 
 I wanted to, and swam back to my clothes. The fly-
 
 Trout and Salmon Fishing in Galway. 251 
 
 fishing for salmon in those days was not perhaps as 
 good as it might be, nor so good as it is now ; of 
 course it made no difference to the sea trout, which 
 could get between the rails up to 21b. or 31b. weight, 
 aud great takes of them were often made. But time 
 passed on, the law was amended and looked after 
 better, and the fishery improved ; and for the last year 
 or two, during which even the nets have been ofi> 
 great sport was at times obtained. I happened to be 
 passing Ballinahinch some years since at the time 
 of our oyster commission, with my three brother com- 
 missioners. We had stuck pretty well to our business, 
 and, having had a close turn of work, which one 
 wasn't to be paid for, I thought I would take a day's 
 play ; so I stopped behind and took a day on Lough 
 Inagh, the upper lake of the series which discharges 
 through the river into Rounds tone Bay. It was a 
 lovely drive to the lake, which we reached at length; 
 the boat was soon prepared, and my boatmen (Pat 
 and Mick all boatmen were supposed to rejoice in 
 those cognomens) embarked ; my rod was put together 
 and strung, and off we went. " And now about flies, 
 let me see." I had put up a beautiful selection of 
 about six or seven dozen of Connemara white trout 
 and salmon flies of the choicest make, which I had by 
 me when I left home. " Let me see ; a black, a blue, 
 and a hullo ! what's this ? why, where are they ? 
 Confound it ! why, they're gone ! Clean gone ; three 
 packets of the best absent without leave ; but how 
 could it be ?" I searched pocket after pocket franti- 
 cally. Absit ! omen and it is an omen surely. A 
 thought flashed on me ; it must be that malingering
 
 252 Hot Pot. 
 
 miscreant at Kilrush. We had gone out a-fishing at 
 Kilrush, and taken with us over to the river the most 
 abominable thief and atrocious scoundrel in Ireland. 
 The villain was given my basket and other things to 
 carry ; my book was in it. After we had got home we 
 found that he had emptied a large whisky flask 
 belonging to one of my friends. That didn't so much 
 surprise us ; but he had emptied a big cigar case full 
 of choice Cabanas belonging to another. Well, that 
 surprised us a little, as beans to a Jackass would be 
 equivalent to choice cigars to him. As for me, I did 
 not at the time discover any loss, and I hadn't as 
 much sympathy for my fellows as I might have had, 
 and, indeed, ought to have had. I was heavily pun- 
 ished for it, for here I was, launched on Lough Inagh, 
 ten miles from home, with only an odd casting line or 
 two which was wound round my hat. All my new 
 spare ones he had frisked as well, and not a fly to fit 
 the occasion, save one or two spare salmon killers. It 
 was a deuced funny position, wasn't it ? ha, ha ! 
 humorous rather, eh ? I regret, however, that I 
 didn't appreciate it ; but if anathemas could effect 
 that scoundrel's salvation, he'd need a full-sized 
 dispensation from his Holiness himself to be quit 
 of them. 
 
 " O turpissime, 
 Vir nequissime, 
 
 Sceleratissime quissime issime, 
 Never I trow have the Servi Servorum 
 Had before 'em 
 Such a breach of decorum, 
 Such a gross violation of morum honorum, 
 And won't have again saecula sseculoruni.
 
 Trout and Salmon Fishing in Galway. 253 
 
 Come hither to me, my commissioners three, 
 
 Whole or in partibus, 
 
 In car or in cartibus. 
 
 Hither to me Mr. Secretary, 
 
 Board clerk or chairman of every degree, 
 
 Go fetch me a book, go fetch me a bell 
 
 As big as a dustman's, and a candle as well, 
 
 And I'll send him where good manners won't let me tell." 
 
 The unheard of, illimitable, prodigious scoundrel ! 
 The unsanctified, interminable, abandoned thief ! 
 " I rage, I melt, I burn ! " - like Polyphemus. 
 Polyphemus ! Ha ! Monstrum horrendnm informe in- 
 gens. Inguns ! to be sure like Mark Twain " he 
 stole my horse, likewise my blanket, also my rifle, 
 and then said, ' Good bye, brudder ; I shall meet you 
 in the happy hunting grounds/ If he does, I guess 
 there'll be a fite ! " And, if I meet Paddy from 
 Kilrush on the banks of Styx, I guess there'll be 
 another. Therefore, avoid thee, aroint thee, Paddy 
 of Kilrush ! That, sir, is a man, sir, who, by George, 
 sir, I would would almost yes, I would present 
 Home Rule to, and there' d be not the least occasion 
 for him to visit the Styx ! Poor Paddy ! poor Paddy ! 
 But no ! that would be too altogether don't you 
 know 
 
 There was corn in Egypt, however, yet ; for a keeper 
 lived on the banks, and we managed to interview him, 
 and got a cast or two from him ; so we went to work. 
 Salmon had been very scarce at that time ; I think 
 there had not been one killed for a fortnight at the 
 Inn, and not for a month on Lough Inagh. But, I am 
 more lucky, as a rule, in my salmon weather than in 
 trout, and there was a fine rough breeze on to-day,
 
 254 Hot Pot. 
 
 which made a bit of rough-aud-tumble. My object 
 had been white trout, not salmon ; however, after 
 catching half a dozen trout, the boatmen lured me on 
 to try for a salmon, and I put up a size larger fly, and 
 had not been long at it, when a boil under water was 
 followed by a screech and a bending rod, and, after a 
 dull turn of pully-hauly, which had not much excite- 
 ment in it, I got within gaffing distance a red fish of 
 about 71b. or 81b. After this I had one or two rises 
 and refusals ; but, some distance further up, I stuck in 
 another. He fought rather better, and gave a little 
 trouble ; but he came out at last, about lib. heavier 
 than the other. By this time I had to land ; for, to 
 add to our other misfortunes, in embarking our traps 
 one of the men spilt the whiskey bottle on a stone, 
 and all our stock went to invigorate the heather. 
 I never saw an accident so earnestly and truly 
 deplored. But a day's fishing without whiskey in 
 Ireland was a thing utterly unheard of ; so I had got 
 the keeper to go across the hill to the nearest pub and 
 fetch us a bottle, and we now landed to get it. My 
 men were greatly excited with my sport, and the 
 keeper opined that we had caught a salmon ; but, 
 when he was told " two," he was so incredulous that 
 he walked down to the boat to see for himself, and 
 expressed his amazement ; and he said, as we shoved 
 off, in a very sneering sort of way, " Perhaps ye'll 
 catch another." " Sure we will," said Mick, " and 
 another to the back of it ; for the Lough's just paved 
 wid 'em, and his banner knows how to cometha 
 thim ; " and, before the keeper was well out of sight, 
 I was fast in another, and tha biggest yet. This fish
 
 Trout and Salmon Fishing in Galway. 255 
 
 towed us a long 1 way, the tackle and rod being- light ; 
 but, in the end, he gave way too, and came into the 
 boat, weighing 11 lb. If the others were ugly brutes, 
 this was a worser lean, discoloured, and with an 
 incipient gib. The creatures must have been months 
 in the lake. They were so ugly, I was fairly ashamed 
 of them. Clean they certainly were, and no doubt 
 would eat well ; but they were decidedly unlovely to 
 look at. " Here, hang it ! I can't stand these beasts ; 
 shove off after the sea trout, I won't have any more 
 of these creatures ; I'm fairly ashamed of them." At 
 this the men were dumbfoundered. " Sure, any of 
 the gintelmen at the inn would give their ears to 
 have the sport my honour was having, and mayhap 
 I'd catch as many more ; and it would be something 
 to talk of the day of the year intirely and alto- 
 gether." But I would not listen to the voice of 
 the charmer, took off my salmon fly, and went away 
 after the sea trout, of which I collected a dozen 
 or so. 
 
 We had a very jolly day, lunching on one of the 
 islands; and three salmon are three salmon, and 
 count for something in point of sport ; so I enjoyed 
 the day greatly. And, as for my two companions, 
 when I landed, and handed either of them one of 
 the smaller fish, bidding them cut the other in two 
 and share it, for I wouldn't show them at the inn, 
 their delight knew no bounds. For me, I got my 
 sea trout, and that was all I wanted ! and I don't 
 know a pleasanter day, when the fish are plenty and 
 in the humour, than a day on Lough Inagh. Some 
 prefer Ballinahinch lake, or Derryclere, and, no doubt,
 
 256 Hot Pot. 
 
 you kill more fish on them ; but Inagh is good enough 
 for me, and prettier sport or more enjoyable is hardly 
 to be had. But, if any of my friends want to go 
 to Ballinahinch, if they'll take my advice, they won't 
 go via Kilrush, unless they can see their way to 
 conferring penal servitude on that unmitigated villain. 
 Moreover, beyond all, if they have a bottle of choice 
 whisky with them, if they'll be advised by me, they 
 won't water the ferns with it.
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 257 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF AN ANGLER. 
 
 11 Pati necesse est multa mortalem mala." NJEVIUS. 
 
 ANGLER'S MISERIES. 
 
 ANGLERS have to put up with all sorts of miseries yes, 
 miseries ; don't let the general reader imagine that 
 the word is a bit too strong. Sheep-washing, weed- 
 cutting, mill-drawing, &c., are often the cause of an 
 amount of disappointment and vexation that the un- 
 initiated would by no means credit. Suppose you 
 have been looking forward for weeks or months to 
 that day at Sir Jabez Jawley's since, for some polite 
 attention which you had the luck to be able to bestow 
 on him at the Bank, that haughty aristocrat gives you 
 yearly a day's fishing at Beddlington End Park a 
 privilege rarely granted to anyone who has not "a, 
 position," which as a Bank clerk of course you have 
 not ; for the joint-stock " Bart." is nearly as big a 
 toady and curmudgeon since he was Bart'ed as before. 
 Never mind ; the fishing when you do get it is real, 
 and is equal to from seven or eight to fifteen or 
 twenty brace of good trout, running from fib. to l^lb., 
 with perhaps a whopper to make up the tale, accord- 
 ing to the weather, the day, and the skill of the pis- 
 cator yours of course being labelled " A 1, first class, 
 teak-built, and copper-fastened" (greenheart-built and
 
 258 Hot Pot. 
 
 bronze-fastened, perhaps, would better express the im- 
 plement on which your skill greatly depends. What hope, 
 what anticipation, are involved in that day's fly-fishing ! 
 that day of pleasant rest and enjoyment out in the 
 green fields and pastures, with gurgling streams and 
 rustling trees, and free birds singing high up in the 
 sky, and trees around you all day long. Ah, to a 
 country-bred, town-imprisoned fellow, who has seen 
 nothing but bricks and mud for five or six months, 
 that is a day ! How you hope and fear about the 
 weather ! how you rejoice when you wake up and find 
 that the day is brisk but cloudy, with the wind S.W., 
 and weather settled. Rush off to the early train 
 helter-skelter, down thirty miles to Beddlington. 
 What joy, what delight, what filling of the lungs with 
 only semi-adulterated air ! what recognition of familiar 
 objects ! How you snatch a hearty breakfast at the 
 Jawley Arms, and then hunt up old Vargiss (qu. cor- 
 ruption of Verjuice), the keeper, whose usual dour, 
 sour face actually has a grim smile on it to-day as he 
 takes your net and basket and follows you down to the 
 river. Yes, and hurrah, here is the river ! Good 
 heavens ! what is this ? Blueish-white like milk and 
 water, and as thick as pea soup ! Why, they're never 
 sheep-washing ! But " eess, tha be," says Vargiss, 
 with another half -covert grin, for which you feel in- 
 clined to strangle him on the spot. " Eess, tha be. 
 Tha begun yisterday, and wunt 'a dun till to-morrer. 
 Thought as you'd sartain to 'a knowed it." " Knowed 
 it ! how should you 'a knowed it ? " Vargiss is 
 " wery sorry," but he doesn't look it, for he can't bear 
 you ever since you killed those four good trout below
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 259 
 
 the bridge which Vargiss made show trout of; but 
 " m'hap they'll 'a left off by six o'clock or so, and then 
 the water '11 get clearer/' This is adding insult to 
 injury, and you feel tempted to throw Vargiss neck 
 and heels into the mill-head. What use will the 
 clearing of the water be to you, with the fish sickened 
 and half-poisoned by tar, grease, dirty wool, and all 
 manner of abominations ? And this is the end of all 
 your anticipations ! If anyone had told you that you 
 had lost 500Z. in the Dodgeryquita mine, you would 
 not have felt half so inclined to sit down and fret. 
 Such a thing as this is enough at the moment to break 
 a man in two. 
 
 Well, then, there are weeds. What I have suffered 
 from weeds in my time no one can tell. I can't, for I 
 cannot remember a twentieth of it now, fortunately. I 
 have previously related how " the O. B/" used to tar 
 out Sam and me with his weeds, and finally got us 
 turned us out of our fishing ; but I think the worst 
 spell I ever had was at Fordingbridge. I once stopped 
 at the Star there for a whole fortnight, to have the 
 very first day of the Mayfly. There were six large 
 trout in a special pool which I had daily]watched the 
 smallest was hard on 41b., and I wanted to have the 
 first chance of them with the Mayfly, everything else 
 being hopeless. At length the day came. The fly got 
 up well. I went to the pool. The fish were just 
 beginning to notice it. I put up my tackle. I saw 
 one or two flies taken by the big fellows, when down 
 came the weeds thick and strong, and the water was 
 covered for hours. Some wretch of a miller had saved 
 them up solely to spoil his neighbours' sport on the 
 
 s2
 
 260 Hot Pot. 
 
 first rise of the fly, and lie thoroughly succeeded. 
 That miller's dam was not half as comprehensive as 
 some of mine. Will any jury of fly-fishers tell me what 
 that iniquitous miller deserved ? 
 
 What can be more aggravating, for instance, than 
 to have a day on a first-rate water given to you 
 a water which you have coveted a day on for years, 
 and to go on a good day with wind and weather 
 favourable, and to find when you are fishing it that 
 the fish are very restless and don't take the fly well 
 at all, although you always thought it a first-rate 
 taking water, and have heard of grand takes from it, 
 and then to hear as you are going home with an 
 empty creel that the keeper was seen walloping the 
 water all down with a brace of salmon flies or a 
 minnow half-an-hour before you got there. How 
 you bless that keeper and love that proprietor. Or 
 to find in a similar case, as I did last year, the water 
 suddenly sinking and running away, the weeds rising, 
 and all the fish migrating upwards. The water being 
 run off into the meadows, for the nonce, quite by 
 accident, of course ; or to go for a day on a good 
 water a day which turns out blazing hot and 
 sunny, and utterly hopeless. ' ' Never mind," yon 
 think, " at this time of year the fish rise best in the 
 cool of the evening, and if they won't take in the hot 
 sun, they will be sure to do so then, and two or 
 three brace of good ones will reward you, and then 
 as you have watched the sun sink down, and 
 vanish behind the distant hills, and marked with 
 delight the dimples beginning to grow upon, the 
 stream, suddenly to observe a profound cessation of
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 261 
 
 them, and looking up to perceive a light blue mist 
 rising off the stream, herald of an evening fog, 
 during which, as all good fishermen know, no fish 
 will rise. Or to come down below the mill after a 
 similar day, elate with hope, with a lovely evening 
 before you, and find all the water shut off, and the 
 river empty, and the fish cutting about with their 
 backs above water. Or to get the day of the year 
 when the May-fly is at its best on your best water, 
 and to find a sharp north wind blowing slap on 
 your face, and driving every dry floating-drake 
 back into your waistcoat-pocket. To toil on and on 
 and on, baulking and blundering, and spoiling fish 
 after fish, straining your rod to pieces, and hearing 
 ferrule after ferrule squeak like mice in a trap ; and 
 finally, when you do get a real, true, and unexpected 
 rise, hitting him such a pelt, that your top goes in the 
 brazing, and being wet with the drizzle, refuses to be 
 removed, even though you smash one of your only 
 remaining grinders in trying to screw it out with your 
 teeth ; or in the midst of your best day of the season, 
 when the sport is at its best, and you expect to do some- 
 thing to talk of for your life, and to astonish the 
 Browns, likewise the Smiths and Joneses, dropping by 
 accident into some beastly water-hole up to your 
 waist, and having to go home five miles to change. 
 How often have all these things, particularly the 
 latter, happened to me ! Then there are all the 
 miseries connected with bad gut or hooks, which 
 all give way at the supreme moment. The fly 
 with the old loop which you hook that 201b. salmon 
 with, and which carefully dissevers itself at the first
 
 262 Hot Pot. 
 
 run, and all that range of difficulties, baiting a swim 
 on the Thames, secretly, for three nights, and then 
 coming to it early on the fourth morning to fish for 
 the great club prize, and finding some other fellow 
 stuck in it and hauling the big barbel out rapidly. 
 Don't you enjoy it ? Eh ! And now for a wind up, 
 here is a veracious history for your consideration. 
 
 Some fifteen or twenty years ago, my friend T. 
 and I had usually one day's fishing given us in the 
 season on a prime part of the Chess. In those days 
 the Chess contained a fine stock of fish. The only 
 fault of this bit of fishing was, tha,t it was rather 
 short and restricted, and it was very soon fished over, 
 when we had to give it a rest before we could go at it 
 again. Still we usually did pretty well with it, as it 
 swarmed with fish, and we always looked forward to 
 our day there as one of exceeding enjoyment. It was 
 a long turn for us, as we had eighteen miles across 
 country to drive to it, and the same distance back, of 
 course, in the evening. It was a remarkably fine 
 day when we, on one occasion, set up our rods in the 
 pretty little summer house beside the water. T. took 
 one side of the river ; I took the other. " There's a 
 good fish rising." " Ay, and there's another." 
 " I've got him." " So have I ; " and we were each 
 engaged in playing our fish simultaneously on 
 opposite sides of the stream. Then T. got another, 
 and then I got one, and so we pulled up four or five 
 brace of nice fish very quickly. It threatened 
 seriously to be a good day, and we were in high 
 spirits. Presently I stopped to light a pipe, and a few 
 pieces of weed came floating by.
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 263 
 
 " I say, T., doesn't it look to you as if the water 
 was not quite so bright as it was ? " 
 
 "I was just thinking the same thing/' was the 
 answer. 
 
 At this moment a considerable scattering of weed 
 came along. 
 
 " Never can be weed cutting. They did that a 
 fortnight ago. I took care to ask about that/' said T. 
 
 " Looks deuced like it, though," grumbled I ; 
 " and if so " I couldn't conclude ; the consequence 
 was too awful to contemplate ; but T. did. 
 
 " If so, it's all U P, up, adjective, not down, as 
 the worthy Mr. Squeers said/' 
 
 " Oh, but it never can be ; it would be too much. 
 We shall have had over thirty-six miles' drive for no- 
 thing; " and that seems an impossibility. But the weeds 
 came down thicker and thicker, the water got dirty, 
 and the fish left off rising. 
 
 " Well, now, this is jolly hard luck." Nowadays 
 we should say " awfully " hard luck, but " jolly " was 
 the word then. We had taken it from Mark Tapley. 
 The situation was Tapleyian too. " What's to be 
 done ? " 
 
 " Done ! well, there's nothing for it but to wait till 
 they leave off, which they will do at four or five/' 
 
 " And then it will be half -past six or seven before 
 the weeds will have done." 
 
 " Yes, that's true ; it is a horrible bore. Let's walk 
 up stream and see whether we can beer the men 
 off till to-morrow. It isn't likely, I allow; but I'd 
 rather pay a sovereign or two than lose the day. At 
 any rate, we may get them to slip off, promiscuously
 
 264 Hot Pot. 
 
 like, an hour earlier, and that's something." Accord- 
 ingly, with our rods over our shoulders, we stalked 
 grimly up stream. About a mile up, we came upon a 
 solitary fisher- an Alexander Selkirk, who was 
 monarch of all he surveyed, but who could not make 
 any use of it, and didn't appear to like the prospect 
 leaning over a foot-bridge across the stream. His 
 rod reposed gracefully against the hand-rail, and 
 dejection the most profound clouded his expressive 
 visage. 
 
 " I should like his face now as a pattern for a good 
 pike-fishing day/' said T., as we approached him \ 
 " cloudy and squally, eh ! " We addressed the dis- 
 consolate piscator, and asked him if he knew who 
 was cutting weeds, and where. 
 
 "It's that fellow C.," he growled "the biggest 
 blackguard in in in in the county. He's always at 
 it. He devotes himself to it, sir, for nothing else but 
 to spoil people's sport, sir," turning to us alternately. 
 " He's cut by everybody, sir, and this is his revenge, 
 I suppose." (" Cuts in return, only weeds, whispered 
 T.) " A low fellow, sir a very low fellow indeed 
 quite a parvenoo, quite smokes a long clay pipe, and 
 has dreadful low habits." 
 
 " But where is his water ? " 
 
 " Oh, just up above this about half a mile up or so." 
 
 " Let's go up and discourse him, T." 
 
 " Not a bit of use, sir," said the knight of the rue- 
 ful countenance ; " he'll only treat you in some low, 
 scurvy sort of way. Better not go near him." 
 
 But T. had great belief in what he called " putting 
 it to a fellow " in the right sort of way. So we
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 265 
 
 decided to proceed and encounter the troubler of the 
 waters, and half a mile up we came upon four men 
 up to their hips in the river, with hoes, &c., hacking 
 away at the mud and weed and shoving it into the 
 stream, while a gentleman, as we walked up, came 
 out of a nice little fishing-house on the banks, 
 with a long clay in his hand, and advanced to 
 meet us. 
 
 " He can't be such a rank bad one, T., or he'd never 
 sport his clay in that calm, self-possessed way," I 
 whispered. " However, here goes," and I went up to 
 the gentleman and " put it to him : " " Thirty-six 
 miles' drive sport utterly destroyed couldn't he let 
 the men finish the job to-morrow ? " &c., &c. 
 
 " Now look here, gentlemen," said he ; " I'll just 
 tell you how this case stands. I am exceedingly 
 sorry to spoil any gentleman's sport ; but you saw that 
 fellow down on the bridge below ? Well, now, that 
 fellow, who's a cursed insolent upstart, behaved in the 
 most brutal way to a swan and some decoy ducks of 
 mine. He shot the ducks because they came on 
 his water, without giving me any notice that they 
 annoyed him. The ducks cost me a lot of money 
 too ; and then he and his man hammered my swan 
 with sticks, broke his wing, and nearly killed him. 
 If he had complained to me about them, I'd have 
 managed to keep them away ; but, confound him, it 
 was too bad altogether. And the messages he sent 
 me when I complained were not fit to send a coster- 
 monger, by Jove, sir. He rents that water, and pays 
 a stiffish rent for it too ; but, you mark me, he shall 
 never have a day's fishing on it as long as he rents it,
 
 266 Hot Pot. 
 
 for his brutality. I always find out when he is down, 
 and I always cut my weeds then, d'ye see, and he 
 stands on the bridge all day and swears. It's quite 
 refreshing to hear him, I am told." 
 
 " Well, but you not only spoil his sport, but ours as 
 well ; and it's hard lines on us, you'll allow, to drive 
 thirty-six miles for nothing, and to be punished for 
 other folks' quarrels." 
 
 " Don't be uneasy about that," quoth the " biggest 
 blackguard in the county." " You see my water from 
 here up through the next two fields, above where 
 the men are weeding. Well, now you just go and 
 fish that as much as you like. There are three fish in 
 my waters for one in B.'s, where you have come from; 
 and when you are tired, go into my little fishing box 
 there, and in the locker you'll find some capital Bass 
 and a bottle of old sherry, with clean pipes and the 
 best of bird's-eye. In the evening, after the cutting 
 is done, you can, if you grow tired of this, go down 
 again and finish off on B.'s water, and in that way 
 you'll get double the sport you otherwise would. And 
 look here, I'm no fishermen myself don't care about 
 it ; but whenever you come over to the Chess to fish, 
 you are both as welcome as the flowers in May to 
 come and take a turn over my water for a change. I 
 must leave you now, but you'll find everything you 
 require in' the locker when you want 'em ; only lock 
 the place up and give one of the men the key before 
 you go." 
 
 "'Pon my honour, I think this man's the most 
 astonishing and unheard-of ' blackguard ' I have come 
 across in the whole course of my life ! " quoth T. We
 
 Reminiscences of an Angler. 267 
 
 laughed over his plan of paying off his foe below 
 it was so unique and so effective and we voted him a 
 capital friend, but a deuced bad enemy. 
 
 His fishing was excellent, and so were his Bass and 
 his sherry, for we made a big hole in both, as the 
 weather was warm. The Mayfly happened just to be 
 coming up ; if not for the first time, still the fish were 
 hardly up to it ; but as the day went on they took it 
 nobly. We had some fair imitations, and they took 
 them well, and when we finished the last glass of 
 sherry and locked up the fishing box, our baskets, 
 though no small ones, were packed so that we could 
 hardly squeeze the lids down. When we got down to 
 B/s we had a fine evening before us; we emptied our 
 creels, and the fish were in grand humour after their 
 enforced fast all day, so that we pretty nearly filled 
 our creels again before we left off. I never knew how 
 many we scored by braces we failed to count them 
 but I know that T., the keeper, and myself had as much 
 as we could comfortably carry back to our inn at 
 night, and that was over lOOlb. weight. 
 
 I am sorry to say that our friend died some two or 
 three years after, and the water passed into other 
 hands, and still again into others. All the owners 
 have been very liberal to me in giving leave, and I 
 have fished the water many times since, but never 
 dittoed the day I then had by a long, long way. 
 What pleasant hours I have spent under the broad 
 sycamore by the keeper's house, or musing over the 
 very bridge where we saw our disconsolate friend 
 wearing weeds for his misdoing, wondering how I 
 could best circumvent that old two-pounder who
 
 268 Hot Pot. 
 
 always kept rising in the nick in the bush just below, 
 but who always ceased the moment an artificial fly 
 came within sight, no matter how neatly put over him. 
 But ah, that was a day ! I wish all my weed-cutting 
 days turned out as satisfactorily.
 
 Sam Coventry. 269- 
 
 SAM COVENTRY. 
 
 " Not so black as he's painted." Old Proverb. 
 
 NEXT to Will Whistle, even if lie did not to some 
 extent take precedence of him in point of being 
 generally known in our district, was Sam Coventry 
 " Slippery Sam " some of his intimates called him, 
 and not quite without reason. He lived at a little 
 four-roomed cottage near the bridge, called " The 
 Bunk," and, though small, it was one of the most snug 
 and comfortable little cribs in the place. For Sam 
 was a genius at contrivance, and liked comfort when 
 he could get it. A very accomplished fellow was Sam. 
 There was hardly anything he could not do. He was 
 a very skilful artist his father was an artist and I 
 am sure, if he had stuck to it, he would have made a 
 very good living at working in terra cotta. I have 
 seen him take a bit of chalk or a lump of clay, and, 
 with only a penknife, he would in ten minutes carve 
 out a caricature of some mutual friend's face, which 
 was inimitable in its humorous grotesqueness. As a 
 musician, though almost entirely self-taught, he could 
 make the violin do anything ; and as for the piano, I 
 have heard him sit down and play an air he had just 
 picked up, modulating it from key into key, twisting
 
 270 Hot Pot. 
 
 it and turning it about in all manner of strange and 
 original variations, until one could hardly believe he 
 had ever been used to do anything else. He had a 
 fine baritone voice and an endless repertoire of songs, 
 many of them old, quaint, and curious ; and in those 
 days, when the institution called a "free and easy" 
 was far more general than it is now, there was not 
 one, far or near, that Sam was not besought to take 
 the chair at. And with all this he was a first-rate 
 actor. A story is told that he once found himself in 
 Brussels in a state of complete impecuniosity a by no 
 means unusual occurrence with Sam, but he never 
 seemed to mind it ; and, after turning over in his 
 thoughts various methods of financing which occurred 
 to him in rotation, he brushed up his hat, pulled on 
 a pair of light-coloured kids, got himself up generally 
 within an inch of his life, and betook him to the 
 theatre. " Putting on no end of side," as he described 
 it, he made his way to the manager. 
 
 "What should you say, sir, if a foreigner of dis- 
 tinction ah ! of distinction, yes, were willing to 
 play Shakespeare to your audience for a few nights ? " 
 At first the manager did not seem inclined to say 
 much, but Sam was not to be denied. " I was hard 
 up, you know, my dear boy, and I was bound to hole 
 him, and I did; doubled him in off the spot before 
 he knew where he was. Played Shylock the first 
 night ; brought the house down. Took half the re- 
 ceipts for a week ; house crammed, sir ; and left for 
 home with a clear two hundred in my pocket. Met 
 a fellow aboard the boat deuced clever chap too. 
 Thought I knew a thing or two ; played him at piquet
 
 Sam Coventry. 271 
 
 all the way across. Landed at Southampton with 
 three half-crowns in my pocket. Looked in at Stock- 
 bridge on the way, and backed Sealskin for a place 
 with dear Alfred ; and here I am, home again, with 
 just the sum that Soapy Sponge dropped at cribbage, 
 viz., ' sivin pun' ten.' ' That was Sam all over. 
 
 Sam once received the honour of being asked to 
 play lago to the Hon. De Courcy's Othello at Minever 
 Castle, and, as his young friend Lord Arthur Minever 
 said, " Othello wasn't in it." He subsequently played 
 Romeo to Lady Vi Minever's Juliet, and the only 
 fault in the performance, as Lord Arthur put it to 
 Sam, was that "it was a doosed deal too real; and 
 look here, Sam, you're a good fellow and a clever 
 fellow, but there ain't room for Vi at the Bunk you 
 know. I put it to you now, is there ? " a fact which 
 Sam frankly admitted, though I always fancied there 
 was a change in Sam after that. 
 
 Sam was a first-rate shot too, either in the field or 
 at the trap. He shot many matches, and, though he 
 did not invariably win his match, he rarely failed to 
 win his money somehow. He was, without exception, 
 the biggest poacher in the county ; he had not an acre 
 of shooting of his own, but he managed to shoot some- 
 where every day in the season, with or without the 
 owner's permission. Yet somehow he rarely got 
 caught. For one thing, like the poacher in the song, 
 
 He could run and jump, my boys, 
 Ay, over anywhere, 
 
 and keepers did not always care to see him, and more 
 than one or two would look another way if they had
 
 272 Hot Pot. 
 
 the faintest suspicion that Sam Coventry was taking" 
 a walk anywhere near their bounds ; for Sam not un- 
 frequently knew more of their private affairs than they 
 would have cared for the public to know. It is not 
 every keeper that is immaculate, and Sam had a large 
 acquaintance among the class who made no brag of 
 their immaculateness. Here is an instance. 
 
 There was a Mr. Sankey, a well-known man in 
 the City, who had a very nice shooting at a place 
 we will call Popshot. He had a keeper named 
 Whiffles, an acquaintance of Sam's. When Sankey 
 was not expected down, Whiffles and Sam used to 
 have a very nice little performance there. It so 
 happened that one day Sankey went into a game 
 dealer's in the City, where he was well known, to 
 buy a couple of rabbits, rabbits being somehow un- 
 usually scarce at his place. 
 
 "I am afraid, Mr. S., I haven't got any just at 
 this moment to suit you," said the dealer ; " but, 
 if you'll wait a minute or two, there's a hamper just 
 come in which I haven't unpacked yet, and there 
 may be some in that." The hamper was opened ; it 
 was full of miscellaneous game pheasants, hares, 
 rabbits and partridges. " Ah, yes, these will just 
 do," quoth the dealer, hauling out three or four 
 couple. 
 
 " If it's a fair question, now, where do those come 
 from ? " asked S., half carelessly. 
 
 " Oh, let's see ! place called ' Popshot ; ' sent] by 
 ' J. Whiffles.' " 
 
 "Really," said Sankey, in the most calm, uncon- 
 cerned way. " Get much from that quarter ? "
 
 Sam Coventry. 273 
 
 " Well, pretty well. Get a hamper most weeks." 
 The delighted Sankey ran down unexpectedly to 
 Popshot, dropped upon Whiffles, and prosecuted, and 
 got him three months. As for Sam, "he always 
 thought that Whiffles would make a mess of it some 
 day ; told him so often ; but he wouldn't listen to 
 reason. Obstinate chap, Whiffles." 
 
 Sam himself was neatly caught once. He had a 
 yery pretty little cottage, with a right of fishing 
 attached to it on the " Reedy." He let the cottage 
 and fishing to a Mr. Gammon, a gentleman fond of 
 sport, but not much of a fisherman, though partial 
 to watching the trout as he walked the banks, and 
 mused on distances, weights, handicaps, and such 
 things. One day, while he was walking along the 
 bank, he fancied that he missed two or three excep- 
 tionally fine fish which he had been wont to notice 
 rising in a certain rapid. What had become of them ? 
 He could see nothing of them above or below. The 
 next day he seemed to think there were other fish 
 missing, and the stock apparently decreased rapidly. 
 He could not make it out. How could it be ? It 
 puzzled him. He thought it over. That evening, 
 just before bedtime, it being a brilliant moonliglit 
 night, he walked out of the front door, and so stood 
 smoking the last of a capital cigar over the wicket 
 gate, just for a breath of air before turning into bed, 
 and he took a glance up and down the river, which 
 lay about eighty yards or so off down through the 
 middle of the field, and the edge of the near bank 
 was somewhat clearly defined in the moonlight, the 
 bank being some four or five feet above the stream 
 
 T
 
 274 Hot Pot. 
 
 just there. While looking across the field, Mr. G. 
 saw something about the size of a rabbit or hare 
 bob up above the bank, and down again. " Rabbit ! 
 Nonsense ; no rabbits there. There it is again ! 
 What the dickens can it be ? " Throwing away the 
 stump of his cigar, Mr. G. advanced very cautiously 
 towards the spot, under shadow of a low cross fence, 
 to satisfy his curiosity ; and, as he got within about 
 ten yards or so of the bank, he heard a voice, in 
 a loud whisper, say, " What's the matter ? " and 
 another voice answer similarly, " D her ! she's 
 hung up ; " and, advancing quickly to the spot, he 
 found his friend Sam and Whiffles up to their waists 
 in the stream, with a net fixed in a stump, and a 
 bag, with sundry fine trout in it, which they left behind 
 in their sudden departure. Gammon was a man of 
 resource, and he notified to Sam that, if he ventured 
 to call for his quarter's rent, he would serve him with 
 a summons for poaching. " Egad, sir/' said Sam, 
 who used to tell the story himself, with great glee ; 
 " he scored off me, did Gammy. Fifteen pound for 
 a dish of trout, you know it was dear, very ! I had 
 him afterwards, though, to rights, in that pigeon 
 match with Alfred. Put him on nothing to a score, 
 and won. It didn't pay, though, in the long run. 
 Gam's a bad one to peg with ; for he's so all over 
 the shop that you never know what drawer you'll find 
 him in." 
 
 I suppose in the whole county you would not find 
 anyone endowed with a tenth of the cheek which Sam 
 was gifted with. Talk of what the pig was killed for ! 
 as Will used to say, " It was lucky for Sam his parients
 
 Sam Coventry. 275 
 
 were not of the pig-headed persuasion ; " and the 
 cool way in which he would work himself out of a 
 difficulty, which most men would flounder in, was 
 perfectly marvellous. I have heard him, when caught 
 trespassing on another man's ground, talk to the 
 proprietor, or shooting tenant, in such a way that he 
 hardly knew whether the land was his or Sam's. I 
 have known him warn a man off his own ground. He 
 walked straight up to him (the gentleman had only 
 lately taken the shooting), and said, most politely, 
 " Of course, sir, you are not aware that you are 
 trespassing. I am quite willing to suppose, sir, that, 
 as a new-comer, you don't really know the bounds ; 
 and, though I must ask you not to trespass in future, 
 yet, of course, as you are here now, pray finish the 
 beat out, by all means pray do ; and, if you will come 
 and take a shot at this covey here " (the stranger's 
 dog was pointing) "with me, I shall be delighted." 
 And Sam led the stranger gaily down to his own birds, 
 killed a brace, and bagged them. The stranger killed 
 one, and was about offering it to Sam. " No, pray 
 keep it, pray do ; " and so Sam walked him over four 
 or five good fields of his own shooting, bagged three 
 or four brace of birds, pointed out his bounds, as 
 they weren't, in the most cheerful, condescending 
 way, asked him to drop in at his cottage, and take 
 liquor, &c., and left him delighted with his (Sam's) 
 kindness and agreeable manner. " Can't summons , 
 me," said Sam, in the billiard room in the evening ; 
 " went along with me, don't you know never warned 
 me off, but showed the way, for I made him go first 
 particeps criminis condoned the offence, d'ye see ? 
 
 T2
 
 276 Hot Pot. 
 
 not a bad fellow, either. I think I shall cultivate 
 him." And Sam did, and had more than birds out of 
 him in the future. The first time he saw him, he 
 explained it all away as a mistake, owing to a differ- 
 ence of opinion between two unfriendly proprietors, 
 &c., and Sam had such a way with him that he 
 managed to solder the thing up, and actually " sold 
 him Carlo " before the evening was out. This was a 
 standing joke. 
 
 There was a dog which came about the place some- 
 how and took up his quarters with Sam ; he was a 
 very good-looking pointer, but awfully belied his looks, 
 for a more infamous, abandoned quadruped than 
 Carlo was not to be found this side of Whitechapel. 
 It is a bad thing to say of a human being that he would 
 rob a church; but you might truthfully say of Carlo, if 
 it would deepen his criminality, that he would much 
 prefer to rob a church to any other place. In the 
 village he was the chief of the dangerous classes ; in 
 the field, to say he was not worth a rap was to say 
 nothing, for he was a deal worse than that. Of 
 course, no one who knew him would have owned Carlo 
 for a moment, but strangers very often owned him for 
 a day or two, As sure as one came into the place, the 
 farce of "selling him Carlo" would, sooner or later, 
 be gone through ; and it was a smartish fellow, mind, 
 who avoided becoming the owner of Carlo. We had 
 all had him, more or less, and Sam owned to having 
 sold him twenty-nine times for various sums, from 31. 
 to 10?. No one ever kept him a week. Even Sam 
 was obliged to sell him, or lend him, or get him into 
 the next county and lose him for a time, every now
 
 Sam Coventry. 277 
 
 and theu. It used to be quite a field day with us, 
 and conversations of this sort would take place, when 
 a new man came : " Who's that ? " " Oh, a Mr. Smith ; 
 he's staying at the White Hart for the hunting." 
 " Sam sold him Carlo yet ?" " No, no ; but I should 
 say that it will be coming off about to-morrow 
 night." " All right; I'll look in." And when Sam 
 paused in his game of billiards and said to the stranger, 
 " Talking of dogs," we were all prepared to assist in 
 the performance, and to help the sale of Carlo to our 
 utmost; and when that trial came off next day, in 
 Giles's turnips, there was always a good muster to see 
 it; for this canter to find a covey in the turnips was 
 about the only thing Carlo would do in the way of 
 sport for anyone; he would do it for Sam alone, 
 and only just once for him. He knew that it heralded 
 a new place, with improved grub, and any amount of 
 chances for thieving and general fiendishness; and, 
 in fact, he seemed to know the whole box of tricks, 
 and to enjoy it as much as anyone. Accordingly, the 
 new man bought Carlo, who, on the very first day, ran 
 up no end of coveys for him, chased a wounded hare, 
 caught it, ran away and hid it, stole half a cold goose 
 and buried it, killed three valuable young ducks, 
 howled unceasingly when not otherwise occupied, bit 
 the man who tried to stop him, and finally was shot 
 at by the infuriated proprietor, being detected in 
 killing the missus's old favourite poodle, having pre- 
 viously mangled the Persian kitten. This indignity he 
 resented by running away and careering the country in 
 a promiscuous tour of spoliation and plunder; and 
 stories of what " that ere Carlo did," and what tf this
 
 278 Hot Pot. 
 
 here Carlo goes and does," while on his travels, were 
 the talk of all the farmers round, he being far better 
 known than trusted in the district. But Carlo was 
 not a dog to lose, and at the end of three days Sam 
 found him in his own kennel. Sam sent up to say he 
 had returned, and should his man bring him up ? The 
 answer was that he had better not, because the big bull- 
 dog was loose, and he did not take kindly to strangers. 
 
 But I am leaving Sam and his qualities sadly 
 behind. Instances of his assurance were by no 
 means rare or wanting. Another time, in another 
 county, where he was not known, he walked on to a 
 gentleman's fishery and fished away freely, as if it 
 was all his own. The keeper came up and ordered him 
 off. Sam threatened to throw him into the river if 
 he was not off himself. The keeper got wroth, and 
 began to talk loud and use " prave 'orts," and big 
 ones too. In the middle of it, when the keeper's 
 chance of a ducking was getting imminent, down 
 came the master. Coming from behind the keeper, 
 the keeper did not see him. Sam did, and as he 
 came in earshot, Sam especially exasperated the man 
 by some allusion to his dress or person, and the keeper 
 let out a " big D " or two. Sam stepped up to the 
 master, now not a dozen yards off, and took off his hat 
 with profuse politeness. 
 
 "Mr. G. G., I believe? Stand on one side, my 
 friend " (as the keeper was pushing forward to prefer 
 his complaint) : " as I have already told you, you are 
 too impetuous, and much too abusive and coarse. 
 Sir, I regret to find that I have trespassed most 
 unwittingly on your stream. I am the last person in
 
 Sam Coventry. 279 
 
 the world who would take such a liberty if I knew it. 
 Pray accept my most earnest apology. I should, 
 indeed, have written to you to that effect. Now, 
 sir, this person your keeper I presume you wish to 
 do his duty properly and decently firmly, of 
 course, but temperately. But I am sure, sir, that it 
 is not your wish that gentlemen accidentally stepping 
 over a gap, as it were, should be treated as though 
 they were criminals of the lowest class, and abused 
 in language such as no costermonger, sir, in the lowest 
 London slum, would adopt. You heard the man's 
 language as you came up." Here the unfortunate 
 keeper bounced forward, and began disputing in a 
 very loud voice. " You see for yourself," said Sam, 
 " the state he is in." 
 
 " Yes, certainly," said the proprietor, " very 
 excited, very. Tomkins, hold your tongue, sir ! stand 
 back ! " 
 
 tf Personally," said Sam, " I don't really mind such 
 things ; but I think for your own credit, my dear sir, 
 that you should recommend your man to adopt a more 
 fit and proper mode of address to gentlemen, whereas 
 his language has been frightful frightful ! " 
 
 "Certainly, most certainly," said the proprietor. 
 "It is most improper, most disgraceful. I'll I'll 
 discharge him, most certainly I will." Here Tomkins 
 burst out again. " Hold your tongue, sir ! " said his 
 master ; " how dare you ? " Then Sam, in the most 
 high-falutin style, apologised for trespassing, and said 
 he would leave instantly " if Mr. G. would be so very 
 kind as to point out his boundary." Mr. G. begged 
 he wouldn't think of doing so ; hoped he would
 
 280 Hot Pot. 
 
 excuse the rough way he had been treated, and 
 would finish his sport; and with many compliments 
 they parted. 
 
 " There, you son of a sea cook, now, what d'ye 
 think of that ? " said Sam to the extinguished 
 keeper, who clearly knew not what to make of it. 
 " Now, if you don't come and show me where all the 
 best fish are, I won't ask the governor to keep you 
 on." "Nothing like bounce," as Sam remarked; 
 never let anyone begin at you." 
 
 Somehow, however, scamp as he undoubtedly was, 
 and loose fish to the last degree, almost everybody 
 liked Sam. He would pick you up at any moment ; 
 you were not safe with him for an hour, unless you 
 had come badly to grief, and then there was not a soul 
 in the place who would do for you what Sam would. 
 " Sit up and nurse a sick friend ! " Why, I have 
 known him sit up and nurse a sick child, and be as 
 tender as a woman over it ! and to a hard-up friend 
 his purse was as free as air. There was not a 
 woman in the parish but would have trusted Sam, 
 High or low, it made no difference ; and more than 
 one ladye of high degree would have " come " had 
 Sam but whistled, in spite of " father and mither and 
 a'," once upon a time, in days not long past. 
 
 It was a curious thing how Sam lived ; he had a 
 small patrimony, and he managed somehow to keep it, 
 although constantly hard up. As to swopping and 
 dealing like Will Whistle, to deal with Sam was to be 
 done as brown as mahogany; he could not help it, 
 and what is more, he would not try to ; as he said, 
 " he couldn't see the immorality of robbery." That
 
 Sam Coventry. 281 
 
 "those should take who had the power and those 
 should keep who can " was eminently his doctrine, and 
 he supported it once to me, during a long Trichi- 
 nopoly cheroot, by very able arguments. He didn't 
 quite convert me, but he borrowed 5Z. of me, which I 
 still live in hopes of seeing some day. For, oddly 
 enough, I have faith in Sam. Yes, in spite of every- 
 thing, rogue as he is, I have faith in Sam. And 
 what's more, Sam knows it. 
 
 There must have been Arab blood somewhere in 
 Sam. His ancestor must have been the Scheik who 
 wept because his guest had eaten his salt, and there- 
 fore he could not rob him. Had he lived five hundred 
 years or so ago, he would certainly have been a popular 
 outlaw a sort of Robin Hood. Certainly, for one 
 thing, if there was any fighting to be done, Sam never 
 would have been found at all backward not a bit of 
 it. He was a biggish, square, well-put-together 
 fellow ; very muscular, and always at work, and a very 
 favourite pupil of Johnny Walker's. Indeed, that 
 great professor always said he was too good for an 
 amateur. I remember a row at Stockbridge races 
 once which little Lord Arthur Minever got into. He 
 was rather small and weakly, though as brave as a 
 little lion, grit to the backbone. He won a bet of 
 some welshing scamp, and tackled him for the money. 
 The fellow repudiated and tried bounce, and, having a 
 lot of his friends around, they began hustling and 
 bonneting " the swell," and they were proceeding to 
 rougher treatment. Indeed, a large scoundrel called 
 " Big Burdon," the bully of his class, had just doubled 
 his fist, and was making at the little lord who was
 
 282 Hot Pot. 
 
 defending himself like a Trojan, and had left a nasty 
 print on one or two eyes when Sam came through 
 the crowd " like a thousand of bricks/' as his lordship 
 described it, and down went Burdon like a ninepin, 
 with a smack on the jaw that made eating sore travail 
 to him for weeks after. Over went the welsher, "with 
 a nose like a fritter/' to which blowing would be a 
 complicated and circumvolvular operation for some 
 time. The crowd was thick and large, but they fought 
 their way through it like catapults. " How did you 
 manage it, my lord ? " asked a friend. " Well," said 
 his lively lordship, " we'd only one rule, Sam and 
 I wherever we saw an eye, we hit it. Sam, old 
 fella, you'd do it for a stranger," said his lordship, 
 squeezing his fist ; " and as for me site saw it. 
 Why the doose haven't you five thousand a year, 
 Sam ?" 
 
 I think it was about six weeks after Stockbridge 
 that Sam, of all men in the world, had a sale ; sold off 
 everything, and realised more hundreds than he at all 
 expected, and left the country. I heard that he went 
 straight out to 'Frisco, and after that I heard that 
 he had made up a party, of which he was captain, and 
 gone to Colorado silver mining that is about five 
 years ago. I saw Lord Arthur the other day, and, 
 as he was the only person who seemed ever to know 
 anything of Sam, I asked if he knew what he was 
 about. 
 
 " Well/' said his lordship, te he's gone on a rum 
 errand gone to earn 5000/. a year ; means to pile up 
 a couple of hundred monkeys or so, and then he means 
 to come home."
 
 Sam Coventry. 283 
 
 "To earn 100,OOOZ. ! " said I, in surprise. 
 
 " Ay, and what's more, I'm told he's winning fast. 
 I always said there was the right stuff in Sam." 
 
 " Well, well ; but what is he doing it for ? " 
 
 " Ah, that's the question. What is he doing it for ? 
 Getting avaricious in his old age, I s'pose," said his 
 lordship, reflectively. " And the rummest thing is the 
 way he's changed his opinions. You know what an 
 out-and-out Had he was in point of morals. Well, 
 he's become the most topping, high-dried old Tory 
 imaginable. Man with a couple of hundred monks 
 can't well be anything else, I s'pose." 
 
 Lady Vi Minever is still Lady Vi Minever, having 
 refused several very advantageous offers of marriage 
 of late years, preferring, as she said, "to stop at 
 home and keep house for Arthur." A little bird 
 whispered to me the other day, however, that she 
 is going to be married at last, and to my question 
 " When ? " the reply was " When Sam comes 
 home." 
 
 Who would have thought it ? But, as the world 
 looks on it, 'Sam with a couple of hundred monks or 
 so and Conservative principles would be a very different 
 person from Sam with three half-crowns and a rough 
 name in the parish. The fact, however, was that 
 Lady Vi, who has a will of her own, told her brother 
 plainly and decisively that she meant to marry Sam, 
 whether he liked it or no, as soon as he could keep 
 her. 
 
 " Done with you, baby," said his lordship. " Sam 
 ain't a Plantagenet perhaps, but he's a doosed good 
 fellow in grain ; only he wants a little more ballast.
 
 284 Hot Pot. 
 
 He must carry another stone or two, and then he'll 
 come in with his hands down ; you see if he 
 don't," 
 
 As for me, I won't take four pound nineteen and 
 sixpence for that fiver.
 
 Piscatory Prosings. 285 
 
 PISCATORY PROSINGS. 
 
 ' Therefore my age is a lusty winter, frosty but kindly." 
 As You Like It. 
 
 DE OMNIBUS REBUS ET HOMINIBUS. 
 
 WHEN I look back to the fishermen I have met, and 
 the odd contretemps and pleasant fore-gatherings, dear 
 ine ! what a memory it makes ! One day lunching 
 with a nobleman, perhaps, amidst quiet simplicity and 
 good taste, with everything perfect of its kind, but 
 nothing pretentious and nothing bumptious. On 
 another dining on cold bacon or bread and cheese 
 and beer, under a hedge with a tinker ; and here, too, 
 there is neither pretention nor bumptiousness ; the 
 bread and cheese are excellent, and the beer is the 
 best for miles round, and our dining hall is one which 
 human architects cannot parallel. Between these two 
 extremes there is every gradation, and I have tested 
 and plumbed them all. I prefer the extremes, I must 
 say, being a man of extreme views. And amongst 
 the parties at whom smug respectability would " look 
 asklent and unco' skeigh," I will call up one or two. 
 
 There was my old gossip Shallows. Respectable 
 people would have turned up their noses at Shallows. 
 There never was a man so clean out of society as 
 Shallows. I don't suppose that the Thompson- Browns
 
 Hot Pot. 
 
 or the Johnson- Smiths, or even the Jones-Robinsons, 
 would have dined at the same table with Shallows to 
 save their lives. Yet Shallow's heart was as true as 
 steel, and in feeling he was a gentleman to the back- 
 bone j and some day, if he isn't there now, Shallows, 
 I'm thinking, will find his way to Abraham's bosom, 
 and Society then in Malebolge will be greatly scanda- 
 lised, and wonder at Abraham for keeping such com- 
 pany. Shallows was full of faith ; he was the most 
 hopeful creature I ever knew ; and as for charity, it 
 was born and bred in him. When I first knew him 
 he was first comedian, besides general utility man 
 when wanted, at the Theatre Royal, Langport. He 
 was a sort of universal genius, and by no means an 
 indifferent scene painter, with a keen eye for the 
 beauties of nature, and great facility for transferring 
 them to canvas ; and wasn't he fond of fishing ? In 
 his strolling life, he had many a time and oft to rely 
 on his old walking-stick rod and such cunning devices 
 as he was aware of for a dinner or supper, and many 
 a poor comrade, less gifted than himself, would have 
 fared slimly at times but for his foresight ; and now, 
 when better off, he never lost a chance of going fish- 
 ing if he could help it. I remember one Christmas 
 Eve, when there was nothing doing at the theatre 
 Shallows had wrought for weeks at the pantomime 
 which was to take the town by storm on Boxing 
 Night he had an hour or two to spare, and we sat 
 down to a jorum of egg-hot and two long church- 
 wardens, and Shallows meandered off into the ex 
 periences of his old strolling lif e, which he never tired 
 of. " I always had a night line or two, sir, and half
 
 Piscatory Prosings. 287 
 
 a dozen hooks for eels in my bundle, and a sniggling 
 needle and string in my old omnium- gatherum book, 
 and many a time have I, when passing a pond as we 
 went into a village, dug up a worm or two from an 
 adjacent dirt-heap and pitched in my ' breakfast 
 winner ; ' and, my word ! wasn't it a triumph, Master 
 Brooke, to haul out a two-pound eel at four o'clock 
 next morning ! How one enjoyed it ! ah ! And, mind 
 you, a pipe of tobacco in the clear morning air at that 
 time isn't half bad neither, when you know you've got 
 your breakfast in your pocket, look you. And some- 
 times, you know, you'd tumble across some kind soul 
 just milking the cows ; and, my faith, didn't a beaker 
 of foaming fresh milk, warm from the cow, go down 
 with a relish, eh ! A stroller's life, though it was a 
 hard one and sometimes a right down hard one a 
 twister, mind you yet what a lot one sees of life, and 
 what a heap one remembers ! And, hard up as one 
 often was when there was no treasury, sir, and no tick 
 at the butcher's, yet, somehow, with a little mother 
 wit to know how to come at the best side of it, there's 
 a lot of good in human nature, and a lot of kind folks 
 iii the world. And then the Sundays, too, when there 
 was a good stream or pond handy where one could 
 iish ; if the weather was fine and warm, and coppers 
 would run to a chunk of bread and cheese and a 
 bottle of beer, what more did you want ? And as to 
 wicked don't tell me, sir ! " continued Shallows, " I 
 don't believe that Jacob ever prayed more heartily or 
 thoroughly in the fields than I did. I doubt if he 
 was half as thankful for having turned his potage to 
 so good account as I was for having turned mine to
 
 288 Hot Pot. 
 
 next to no account at all. And then, too, what rum 
 folks one used to meet, and what sport one had some- 
 times ! I remember one Sunday morning I got, by 
 pure accident I never meant to go there, for I'm no 
 poacher; I scorn it, sir; no but I got, by pure 
 accident, on the land of an old squire down at S. 
 Squire W. He was a most eccentric man, lived a 
 very solitary, melancholy life ; a crusty, obnoxious, 
 unsympathetic old Pagan so the world said ; and of 
 course the world is always right. Well, I got on his 
 land by accident, quite by accident. There was a bit 
 of open water below ; but, not knowing the bounds, I 
 went over 'em, and, finding a very snug berth under 
 a pollard, I came to anchor, put out the tools, and 
 began to pull them out. Such roach ! regular labbers, 
 pounders, every one of 'em ! ' Shallows, my friend,' 
 says I, ' you've nicked it for once ; and if you ain't in 
 about the tallest and lushest clover you've been in this 
 some time, I'm a Dutchman.' 
 
 " I hadn't been there half an hour, sir, when a growl 
 from behind me startled me. ' Hallo, you sir ! Who 
 are you ? what do you do here ? ' 
 
 " I looked round I was playing a pounder at that 
 moment ' the rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian 
 beast ' stood before, or rather behind, me ; and there 
 was a tall, fierce-eyed, wild-haired old gent, of sixty 
 or thereaway, with a portentous cudgel in fisto, sir, 
 frowning at me like a wicked .baron, as who should 
 say, ' Away with him to the deepest dungeon beneath 
 the castel moat a ! there let r-r-rats gun-naw his 
 bones ! ' He was a tartar to look at. By Jove, sir, 
 he'd have made his fortune at the Coburg as the
 
 Piscatory Prosings. 289 
 
 Tyrant of Taganrog, without a touch of paint. Though 
 alarmed of course, I never lost my presence of mind, 
 sir, for ' A fish is a fish, be it never so scaly ; We get 
 'em at times and we long for 'em daily.' Hem ! Dr. 
 Watts, I think. Here's Watts's health on suspicion. 
 Accordingly I ah ! I landed my fish carefully, and 
 then got up. 
 
 "'Sir,' I said, 'if I am trespassing, I beseech you 
 pardon me I was not aware of it. I would not intrude 
 sir, on another's rights, not for an instant, to save me 
 from starvation. I am a poor actor, sir, fishing for his 
 dinner, which is like to be scant enough if the stream 
 here does not furnish it.' I then paused. 
 
 " ' And aren't you ashamed, sir, to be fishing on a 
 Sunday ? ' 
 
 " ' Sir/ said I, " I am ashamed very much ashamed 
 of that society which, not recognising my merits, 
 nor the needs begot by Nature in this corpora vilo, 
 leaves me no choice in the matter.' That fetched him, 
 d'ye see. 
 
 " ' What's your name, eh ? ' 
 
 " I told him, thinking to myself, ' That's a summons 
 for poor me to-morrow.' Well Heaven help us all ! 
 it's a hard world at times; but I never was more 
 deceived in my life. ' Ah, that deceit should steal 
 such gentle shapes ! ' I offered him the fish ; he 
 never even so much as looked at 'em. I offered to 
 leave the spot at once ; but he only repeated to him- 
 self, ' A poor actor, eh ? fishing for his dinner. Hah ! ' 
 I couldn't catch clearly what he said, but I made it out 
 afterwards : ' There was One once who didn't forbid 
 poor fishermen to pluck the ears of corn on a Sabbath 
 
 u
 
 290 Hot Pot. 
 
 why should I ? ' And he turned away gently, and 
 slowly walked off. 
 
 " I didn't know what to make of it ; but shortly 
 afterwards a servant came along the bank with a 
 basket in his hand, nodded to me, pointed to the 
 basket, put it down, said nothing, and walked away. 
 I took it up, and removed the napkin that covered the 
 contents. By George, sir, there was about the finest and 
 plumpest roast fowl you ever saw in your life, and a 
 bottle of such sherry as the Lord Mayor, sir, couldn't 
 equal ; and at the bottom of the basket Mr. W.'s card, 
 and written on it, ' Mr. Shallows has permission to fish 
 in my water whenever he comes into this neighbour- 
 hood/ I give you my word, sir, that the kindly deli- 
 cacy and Christian charity of the action had that effect 
 that I couldn't see the top of my float for half an hour 
 after it was always under water, so to speak. Swells 
 of high degree would have given their ears for that 
 privilege ; but they never got it, sir, never got it. He 
 was a good soul, a kind soul ; suffered a grief in early 
 life. The old story, sir the old, old story fair and 
 false, friendship and fallacy, and then misanthropy ; 
 to wit, a kindly nature soured, but still with secret 
 drops of honey at the bottom. Heaven help him, poor 
 
 fellow ! 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter's wind, 
 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 As man's ingratitude 
 
 Or woman's, mayhap, which is worse which is worse 
 since 'tis closer to your bosom. Ay, ay ! Your 
 health, sir ! That's fine tobacco ; it's very fine 
 tobacco, but pungent when it gets betwixt the eyelids.
 
 Pincatory Prosings. 291 
 
 By the way, did you come across Phil Barber when 
 you were on the Nottingham circuit ? A keen hand, 
 Phil, a very keen hand, but a bit of a poacher too, sir. 
 Ay ? Won't do, won't do, sir it'll never do not if 
 you mean it/' he added as a saving commentary on 
 the tale he had told. 
 
 Shallows afterwards came to London, where he 
 made a hit, left the stage for a scene painter's studio, 
 and that in turn for an artist's. Many a chat and 
 glass and pipe I had with him in the cosy old pub 
 hard by the T. R. Langport. A wide and keen know- 
 ledge of life had left him simple, kindly, and full of 
 faith in his fellow-men. Would we could all say as 
 much ! 
 
 Then there was Charley Costigan. Good gracious ! 
 What would Society have said of him ? He I 
 mention it in a whisper, mind he played the piano at 
 the Cave of Harmony, Popolorum Piazza, Green- 
 street; and what a strange, ungainly, good, simple 
 creature it was ! How he would enjoy that long, long 
 Sunday (all too short for him, though) banking it 
 along the Thames or Lea; and with what glee he 
 would display to me between the calls when the 
 favourite old glee of " Down in a flowery vale " had 
 been performed, and we were waiting until "Mr. 
 Fastman, gentlemen, would oblige the company with 
 an improvisatorial extravaganza," or " Herr von 
 Shoful would give his imitation of pigs in a pound and 
 other living creatures " how he would lug out the 
 old flag basket and display the ten roach, headed by 
 the noble half-pounder which formed the pride of his 
 take, and saying with a slight stutter " W- wasn't the
 
 292 Hot Pot. 
 
 old lady gu-lad, my boy ! " He kept his mother, 
 and like a good son loved and honoured her. 
 " She can cook 'em too, make no error. Come and 
 have a cup of tea with me out at Camberwell one 
 Sunday, and you shall see. The place is humble, sir, 
 but it's clean, and so far as a cup of tea and 
 watercresses and a dish of fried fish goes, and a glass 
 of grog and a clean pipe after, you're welcome. Now 
 do come, and I'll show you my tackle, and we'll 
 have such a talk a long talk of fishing ! " 
 
 " Your attention, gentlemen, to Mr. Flat, if you 
 please. Mr. Flat for the Lively Flea gentlemen ; " and 
 whack went the hammer, And Charley had to 
 return to his duties. I need hardly say I went, and 
 spent a very pleasant evening. The " old lady " 
 was worthy of his love, for she adored Charley, and 
 their intercourse was inexpressibly touching. A day 
 on a preserved water was the height of Charley's 
 ambition; and I once got him one at Asterly Park, 
 where he caught roach and perch by the dozen, 
 and one carp of four pounds weight an achieve- 
 ment equivalent to the storming of Porto Bello in 
 Charley's eyes. It was the greatest day of his 
 existence, I verily believe, and he never ceased 
 to talk of it. The carp was stuffed, of course, by 
 a friendly barber, and it graces Charley's parlour, 
 hideously distorted, but I wouldn't say so for the 
 world. 
 
 " Wot I like about 'untin', my lord, is, as it brings 
 people together as wouldn't otherwise meet," the 
 little snob said to the earl by his own covert-side ; 
 and what I like about fishing is the common bond of
 
 Piscatory Prosings. 293 
 
 union which, properly appreciated, it extends among 
 all classes ; and one meets with anglers and makes 
 friends with them in all sorts of odd ways and what 
 cheery, kindly fellows many of them are ! On the 
 other hand, there are men who go fishing whom 
 one would rather not meet more than once. Many 
 times, I regret to say, I have met with the jealous 
 angler the man who can't bear to be beaten, who 
 likes always to be at the head of the poll, and who 
 suffers agonies if he thinks his companion has a 
 bigger salmon or a brace more of trout than he has. 
 If he is fishing a stream or pool, and sees you 
 coming up along the bank to some favourite cast 
 between you, how he will scurry over the cast he is 
 fishing, to hurry on to the next before you can get 
 to it ! I remember a man of this kind, Sir Charles 
 
 , whom I sold a bargain once. I caught him 
 
 doing a tricky thing in flies a few days previously. I 
 
 was then on the D . I went out one morning 
 
 to fish a pool called " the Flat," on the tail of which 
 I had raised a good fish two days before. As we 
 walked along the road, said Sandy Grant, my gillie, 
 " Yen's Sir Charles fishin' the Flat, your honour. I'm 
 thinking our chance is joost oot," said Sandy. I said 
 a naughty word, and was going to retreat, when a 
 thought occurred. " Is he fishing the upper or lower 
 part ? " " Just the upper as yet." " Then we have 
 a chance. We'll go back down below and come up 
 along the bank, as if we were making for Pool Gorven" 
 (the next pool to it), " which is rather a favourite cast 
 of Sir Charles's. As soon as he sees us making for 
 Gorven, it's an even bet he scampers to tail of the
 
 294 Hot Pot, 
 
 Flat, and cuts on to collar Gorven before we can reach 
 it and then " 
 
 Sandy opened his mouth in one of those quiet 
 laughs that the northern Celt often affects, "Weel, 
 I'm no sayin' that that's verra unlikely, too." We 
 did so, and as I said, as soon as we hove in sight down 
 below, Sir Charles, who was fishing the cast leisurely 
 step by step, began to take two steps, and then three, 
 between each cast, and (as we made great apparent 
 exertion to get up) at last Sir Charles, after a few 
 more hasty, hurried whips, put his rod over his 
 shoulder and hastened down to Pool Gorven, which he 
 reached, of course, two minutes before us. I " smole 
 sarkasticully " as I asked " What sport ? " to which 
 he only vouchsafed a sulky monosyllable in reply. I 
 passed on to the Flats, gave it ten minutes' rest, and 
 then fished it down carefully, and by the time Sir 
 Charles was half-way down Pool Gorven I was fast in 
 my old friend ; he showed splendid sport, and scaled 
 19lb. Sir Charles was so disgusted that he cut away 
 from Gorven before he had half fished it, and on the 
 tail of it, after a rest, I killed another eleven-pounder. 
 I believe after that the noble B. used to call me to his 
 
 intimates he hadn't many " that newspaper 
 
 fella, by gad;" and if it pleased him, it didn't hurt me. 
 
 I hate an envious or jealous fisherman. I met a 
 fellow once, who, because I beat him rather badly 
 with a certain fly, stole all my stock of them out of my 
 book after I went to bed. No doubt he thought 
 he would use them next day, and turn the tables ; but 
 I stuck to him so closely that he hadn't a chance, and 
 they were of no use to him. He read me a lesson, and
 
 Piscatory Prosing*. 295 
 
 I have always had a lock on my basket ever since. I 
 have known men, who would give you a day's fishing, 
 and who would send a keeper to whip over the whole 
 of the water you were to fish before you got there, 
 keeping for themselves the best of the water, and, of 
 course, quite undisturbed. I once came on such a 
 one, and I am happy to say, that, though he did all he 
 coild to disturb the water, and fished his own with fly, 
 minnow, and worm, I beat him consumedly. The 
 litile iron blue happened to come up about eleven. 
 Th? keeper's visit did no harm at all, for the fish had 
 not been on the move previously. The iron blue is 
 a favourite fly of mine, and when the trout are well at 
 the iron blue they mostly decline other favours. I 
 had some choice iron blues ; my friend hadn't ; and I 
 made a slaughter of leviathans, at which my friend 
 appeared delighted. Had he condescended to ask for 
 a fly or two, he would have been as welcome as the 
 flowers in May, but he was too proud. He quarrelled 
 with the man he rented the water of when he left, and, 
 year* afterwards, I happened to go there, and heard 
 how he had served me or rather, tried to. I needn't 
 say I sniggered a bit. 
 
 One meets wonderfully knowing chaps, too, some- 
 times fellows who know all about everything and 
 
 everybody. I met an individual once at B who 
 
 v^as very disputatious. Friend S. and myself were 
 having our tea in the coffee-room ; this gentleman 
 laid down the law like a judge. I very seldom dispute 
 with strangers on fishing topics, knowing little about 
 them ; I like to listen one often hears something to 
 advantage. I ventured, however, very gently on this
 
 296 Hot Pot. 
 
 occasion to insinuate a doubt of his premiss. But, 
 bless you, he knew all about it ; his friend Buckland 
 and Francis Francis both said, &c. Why, Francis 
 had told him only the last time he met him, " My dear 
 boy/' says he, and so on. 
 
 " Oh, you know Mr. Francis Francis," said I, rather 
 amused. 
 
 " Know him ! should think I did, rather ! " 
 
 " Indeed, ha ! I think I met him once man about 
 my height, and same-coloured hair, isn't he ! " 
 
 " Well, no ; he's a taller man than you, and his lair 
 is lighter." 
 
 " Really, indeed ; I shouldn't have thought it." 
 
 After this, conversation languished; for I was 
 floored feeling rather like Hodge, who didn't inow 
 whether he had lost a team of horses or found a cart, 
 doubtful of my own identity. I got up to go cut of 
 the room, just as the landlord entered, leaving S. 
 behind. " Who's that gentleman just gone out, land- 
 lord ? " asked our controversial friend. " That> sir, 
 that's Mr. Francis Francis, of the Field." There was 
 a little titter, after which he got up and went out too, 
 and he didn't come back again ; and when he sees 
 this in print, as no doubt he will, if he is living yet, 
 he will forgive me for not asking the landlord his name, 
 as I might have done had I been ill-natured. 
 
 " Angler's weight " is, unfortunately, a received 
 phrase, and is supposed to express the x y z in the pisca- 
 torial algebra, and I really am afraid that ' 'guess weighi " 
 has a drachm or two the advantage of avoirdupois. I 
 have seen " a pounder " reduced to nine ounces toy 
 the inexorable scales, and, similarly, " one-and-twenty
 
 Placatory Prosing*. 297 
 
 pounds have sunk to twelve/' This kind of exaggera- 
 tion sometimes has its inconveniences. A friend of 
 mine once, in Wales, was sitting in a smoke room, 
 when one of the party, talking of his take at some 
 place, said, " I got three-and-twenty fish there that 
 averaged 21b. each." " Now," said my friend, when 
 telling the story, with a profoundly injured and depre- 
 catory air, " you know what Welsh trout are at the 
 very best. It was too bad, you know. So I looked 
 across the table to him, and I said, ' It's a lie, Sir ! ' 
 Of course there was a row ; that is, there was a noise. 
 He was mighty indignant. ' Now stop a bit,' says I ; 
 ' If I'm wrong, I'll apologise humbly but look here. 
 You say you caught twenty-three fish that weighed 
 21b. Did you weigh them carefully in the scales ? 
 If so, where, and who was present ? ' ' No, he didn't 
 weigh 'em ; he judged the weight.' ' Very well, 
 then ; how long were they ? No, no ; don't do it in 
 the air in an anything-from-one-foot-to-three way, but 
 mark it on the table.' And I put down my fingers on 
 the table about 15in. or 16in. apart. ' Were they as 
 long as that ? ' says I. ' Well, hardly so long as that,' 
 says he. ' Then,' says I, ' they didn't average 21b. 
 each; so I'm right so far. Were they as long as 
 that ? ' and I shortened it a couple of inches. ' Well, 
 that's a big trout still, and, though some of 'em were 
 biggish trout, the others weren't quite so long,' says 
 he. To shorten the story, I worked him down to 
 about 9in. to lOin. ' Ah ! ' says I, herring size; that's 
 just what I expected ; and a very good take, too, for 
 Wales, if they did run that. Now,' says I, ' the fact 
 is this ; since I've been in Wales, I dare say, first and
 
 298 Hot Pot. 
 
 last, Fve been sent some 200 miles or so, here, and 
 there, and everywhere, by the lies and exaggerations 
 which fellows have told me about their fishing, and I 
 was determined that the very next time I heard a 
 fellow lying like that I'd. tell him so ; for it's no joke 
 to be sent fifty miles to catch trout of a pound apiece, 
 and to find that it takes ten of 'em to do it." My 
 friend was a very big, square fellow, a bit over 6ft., 
 with a very stern face, and certainly did not look 
 good to eat. So he of the large take took his correc- 
 tion humbly. 
 
 "I saw a big fish rising on Cool-na-crack, but 
 I hadn't time to wait for him for the post this 
 morning," says Capt. Corrigan to me as he was 
 coming in to breakfast, and I was going out. " And 
 what did ye kill the 15-pounder on ? " I asked. " Oh, 
 just a green paason." 
 
 " Mick/' says I, with a wink to my attendant, as we 
 went out, " the captain saw a big fish on Cool-na- 
 crack, but he couldn't stop to fish him, for the post, 
 and he killed his fish on a green parson. See, there's 
 one on his rod now." 
 
 " Sure the captain's a cliver man, sir, and a great 
 fisher wid the rake hooks intirely ; but I'll be my oath 
 on the vestments that fly hasn't seen wather, lave 
 alone fishkey at a crissnen' for a week. It's as dry as 
 meself is this mortal momint." Mick came of a dry 
 family, and on all proper occasions I relieved his pain, 
 as I did now, with a nip from the flask. " And sure," 
 continued Mick, wiping his mouth, with a faint cough, 
 "if the captain seen that big fish on Cool-na-crack, 
 he'll have arnt him, and it wouldn't be fair nor dacent
 
 Piscatory Prosings. 299 
 
 of us to be interferin' wid him, an' him obliged to 
 be runnin* away, too, to de post to write de big bank 
 in Dublin where all de money does be, for lashins of 
 de same ; an' Mrs. Cassidy, dacent woman, where he's 
 lodgin', id like to see the colour ov id, she would. So 
 we'll just go down to the Three Stones and Pan- 
 dhreen's Hole for politeness, and fish 'em wid a 
 butcher." The captain was allowed to be the biggest 
 
 liar from (a locality indicated by Pope Gregory 
 
 in the Ingoldsby penance as " where good manners 
 won't let me tell ") to Connaught, which, after all, is 
 not so wide a neutral ground (if it is neutral) as some 
 would think ; and when he said a thing you knew that, 
 whatever else might be, that was not. 
 
 Cool-na-crack lay above the town, Pandhreen's 
 Hole, &c., below; consequently, when the captain 
 came suddenly over the high bank upon us later on, as 
 we were playing our second fish, he looked surprised. 
 We didn't, and his man a lame tailor with an evil 
 eye, who used to get drunk with the captain when they 
 could neither worm, shrimp, snatch, nor gaff a salmon 
 or any other " baste " audibly cursed us as he 
 retreated over the bank again. The captain was 
 kicked ignominiously out of the Impayrial by the 
 landlord's son for insulting his sister that evening, 
 and the tailor got into the cells, and was fined five 
 shillings in the morning; and we didn't see either 
 of them on the river again for the rest of the month. 
 
 Then there is the poaching fisherman, who would 
 always rather catch one fish unfairly than two fairly. 
 If there is one particular apparatus worse and more 
 diabolical than another, be sure that he has it in
 
 300 Hot Pot. 
 
 a little tin box somewhere on his person. As for 
 bounds, he regards them rather as objects which it is 
 desirable to get over than otherwise. A friend of 
 mine had some trouble with a parson who would tres- 
 pass, though his own water was quite as good as my 
 friend's. Four times did he find him whipping a 
 hundred yards and more beyond his limit in one 
 season ; and it was always the same excuse. He was 
 very polite, awfully polite. " Wasn't aware he was 
 trespassing." " Well, you have got cheek," said my 
 friend at last, " If I catch you here again, I'll apply to 
 the bishop, to know if poaching's a part of the Rubric. 
 Good day." 
 
 " Au revoir !" said the parson ; but he thought 
 better of it, and kept in bounds for the rest of the 
 season. 
 
 And so one meets all sorts of persons on the river 
 of life.
 
 Chewton Pike. 301 
 
 CHEWTON PIKE. 
 
 " AH, Master Harry, ye may say what ye wull ; but 
 the big pike never showed in Hartop's Dyke, but what 
 somethin* serious was a-goin' to happen. It's no use, 
 Master Harry not a mite or mossel. When that 36- 
 pounder was caught there in 1739, that verry day, as 
 chronicles tell us, your hancestor was killed at the 
 stormin' o' Porto Bello." 
 
 " My good Peter," said I, " I don't believe in 
 chronicles." 
 
 "Not believe in chronicles?" said Peter in pious 
 horror and amazement. When Betsy Prig expressed 
 her disbelief in Mrs. Harris, it did not cause greater 
 astonishment to Sairey Gamp than did my disbelief in 
 chronicles occasion to old Peter. The foundations of 
 the earth were shaken nature seemed to be disrupting 
 around him and he gasped, " Not believe in hactually 
 what took place, and was wrote down at the identical 
 moment by a reverend gent of the period ? " And old 
 Peter's face at my incredulity in the family writings 
 was a sight to see. Why were not the walls of Hartop 
 as the walls of Jericho ? 
 
 " No," I replied, " I don't believe in them as quoted. 
 I believe that a big fish was caught in that year, and 
 was noted by the reverend chaplain, Master Jeruiah 
 Turntext; and I believe that Captain Hartop was
 
 302 Hot Pot. 
 
 slain at Porto Bello in the same year, which is not re- 
 markable ; but that they had any connection I don't 
 believe. There is an undoubted haziness in the fixture 
 of the exact date, too, and I don't believe that they 
 happened on the same day at all." 
 
 Old Peter shook his head, more in sorrow at my 
 wilfulness than in anger. " And wasn't there a huge 
 pike caught in 1777, when Sir Tiptop Hartop married 
 the Lady of Wootton, and brought all that land into 
 the family ? And that, you will allow, was on the 
 very day, for the fish was cooked at the wedding 
 feast. 
 
 " Why, you old goose," I replied, " wasn't the dyke 
 dragged on purpose to furnish a big pike for the 
 occasion ? " Peter looked disconcerted for a moment 
 only. 
 
 " Still, Master Harry, he was there he was there ; 
 that you can't deny. 
 
 " Well, and so he is always there, more or less, off and 
 on. It's a place for a big pike, if there's ever one in 
 the river, though you don't perhaps always see him ; " 
 and, as my case was a little weak here, I judiciously, 
 with forensic cleverness, dropped it. 
 
 " Then, when the great 39-pounder was caught and 
 Sir Firebrass was attainted, and the great forfeitures 
 befelus?" 
 
 " It is all nonsense, Peter. There have been fifty 
 big pike taken there when nothing happened at all ; 
 and I don't believe that anything is going to happen 
 now. And the big pike may be all a fancy of 
 Tom's after all, and it may be only a middling fish 
 exaggerated by the water or a weed and Tom's
 
 CheiotoH Pike. 303 
 
 eyesight ; and, even if he is a big one, he isn't caught 
 yet." 
 
 " Ah well, Master Harry," said Peter as I turned 
 
 away, 
 
 Hartop Dyke and Fenwick's Wyke 
 Shall meet and join o'er Chewton pike, 
 
 though it's three miles away. And it '11 come true yet 
 somehow, you'll see. We'll get our own again, though 
 neither you nor I can see how. We've had the bad 
 luck, and it's our turn to have the good. Fate has 
 
 planned it, and " But by the time his maunder 
 
 was over I was out of hearing. 
 
 The fact is, I wasn't much imbued with that im- 
 plicit faith in the old Hartop legends, oracles, and 
 proverbs perhaps because I was not brought up in 
 the full flavour of them. For, though as a lad I often 
 visited it, I was not born to the estate, being only a 
 poor cousin of the family. My father was a captain 
 in the navy, and most of my family had been navy 
 men, many of them falling in the battles of their 
 country with honour and reputation ; but if there was 
 any interest among the Hartops, it was monopolised 
 by the elder branch, and our side of the family had 
 reaped honour, but emphatically " barren honour." I 
 had determined on carving out a different career 
 when I had my choice, and I went to the Bar. I had 
 barely eaten my first Term, however, when I had news 
 of the sudden death by drowning of my cousin, young 
 Sidney Hartop, a lad at Eton, and the only son of the 
 Squire of Hartop ; and so affected was the squire at 
 the sad event, that in less than a twelvemonth he 
 followed him, and I most unexpectedly became squire
 
 304 Hot Pot. 
 
 of Hartop. Now, the Hartops at one time owned 
 large possessions ; all the Fenwick and Chewton lands 
 had belonged to them. But attainders, fines, and a 
 too free system of living had sorely dissipated the 
 property ; when it came to me it was vastly shorn of 
 its fair proportions; and the burthens on the estate 
 still remaining, necessitated the nursing of the pro- 
 perty for at least the next dozen or fifteen years, the 
 income to be derived from it in the meantime being 
 of the smallest. I therefore did not think it worth 
 my while to abandon my profession; but, with old 
 Peter as major domo to look after the old manor 
 house a fine old building in the early Elizabethan 
 style with old Tom Bedell to look after the woods 
 and park, and Lawyer Lipson to act as head nurse, I 
 felt I was in good and trustworthy hands. With an 
 occasional look-up of the old-place, I might follow my 
 own present bent, and live in town and hopes the 
 shooting and fishing, with about 250Z. a year, being 
 about all I realised from the property at present. The 
 coverts were good, but, as I could not afford to pre- 
 serve highly, what game there was was wild ; and if 
 we did not slaughter our pheasants by the hundred, 
 the few we did bag took a very decent amount of 
 slaying, and the sport perhaps was better than it often 
 is in better-stocked places. As for the fishing, there 
 were a few good trout and grayling in the river; and 
 in the dyke a wide, deep backwater that led out of it 
 the pike fishing was usually pretty good, and now 
 and then it held very large fish, which were regarded 
 with veneration and superstition, as noted. The 
 stream into and out of the dyke was narrow and rapid,
 
 Chetcton Pike. 305 
 
 and joined the river again about sixty or seventy 
 yards outside the park bounds, and of course beyond 
 my domain. The park paling here ran along the side 
 of the road, and the narrow stream ran under a bridge 
 over which the road ran ; and, fifty or sixty yards off, 
 the river itself ran under another bridge. The pro- 
 perty on the other side of the road belonged to the 
 Fenwick family, and it was in one of their fields that 
 the dyke stream and the river reunited. I knew 
 nothing of the Fenwicks, except that they had partly, 
 by purchase or other means, come in for the lands 
 which the Hartops had formerly lost or sold ; indeed, 
 I knew little or nothing of any of the families round 
 about, and, until I was in a position to mix with them 
 on equal terms, I did not want to. The Chewton 
 family was a third family, now reduced to one old 
 lady with few relatives, who lived in a doleful old 
 tower on the hillside some three miles up the valley, 
 in front of which stood a tall upright black stone, 
 known as Chewton Pike to which old Peter's jingle 
 referred, no doubt, though it was far from any point 
 where the Hartop and Fenwick properties could be 
 made to join. 
 
 For myself I lived the usual life of a young gentle- 
 man reading for the Bar in London. I belonged to a 
 decent club, and went here and there, and, though I 
 worked pretty hard and earned some very useful crumbs 
 by the employment of a tolerably facile pen, I by no 
 means shut myself up. One of my favourite indul- 
 gences a common one to many of my class was a 
 run down to Brighton from Saturday to Monday. I 
 was well known and well treated at that snug hostelry, 
 
 x
 
 306 Hot Pot. 
 
 The Pier. It was very handy to the Aquarium, one 
 of the pleasantest lounges I know of. There I used 
 to read the papers, loaf round, and never grow tired 
 of watching and noting the different habits of the 
 various fish, or enjoying the pleasantest and most 
 natural of promenade concerts. 
 
 One Saturday I was coming down the steps, when I 
 noticed two ladies standing in front of Bob the bear, 
 who % is an institution at the Aquarium, and holds his 
 levees daily. Bob is a great pet of mine, and I 
 generally stop to give him a knob or two of sugar. I 
 had just procured some, when the younger of the two 
 ladies, in throwing him a piece of cake, dropped her 
 glove inside, and Bob, with the curiosity natural to 
 bears, hitched it towards him. 
 
 <f Oh ! my new glove, auntie ! What a pity ! " ex- 
 claimed the young lady. 
 
 "I will get it/' I said, "if you will allow me." 
 And I stepped over the wall, holding the sugar to 
 Bob. 
 
 " Oh, pray don't run such a dreadful risk ! " she 
 exclaimed, as Bob reared himself up on his hind legs 
 and pawed for the delicacy. 
 
 " No risk whatever, I assure you." And as I 
 handed Bob the sugar with one hand I stooped down 
 and picked up the glove with the other, and, leaving 
 Bob to enjoy his coveted sweety, I turned to restore 
 the glove whew, what a face ! I was a "gone coon," 
 a lost barrister, from that hour. The bluest of eyes, 
 but with a somewhat frightened look at present ! the 
 most rippling of golden hair, surmounted by a purple 
 velvet hat, with a jungle-cock plume set in a cairngorm
 
 Chewton Pike. 307 
 
 in it ! If I had been an artist, I would have spread 
 my soul on canvas to depict that head. Once only 
 again did I see her. That evening I went to the con- 
 cert, and, coming in between the rows of seats, I 
 happened to seat myself just behind a purple velvet 
 hat, and, as I did so, I heard the sweetest voice my 
 ears had ever taken in, evidently still talking of the 
 adventure. " But wasn't it dreadful, auntie, to see 
 that savage beast rear up at him like that ? I shall 
 never forget it." " I sincerely hope you will not," I 
 thought, and I moved away softly, and took up an en- 
 filading position, where I could gaze my fill. They 
 went out with the crowd, and I never saw them after, 
 nor could I find out who they were or where they lived, 
 and I lost them. 
 
 Time passed on ; winter was coming. I determined 
 to go down to Harfcop Manor for a day or two's 
 shooting before Christmas. Bob Chatteris was to 
 accompany me, and Lipson promised to come over with 
 his son and join the shoot. I had been engaged in 
 arranging my hospitalities with old Peter when the 
 conversation which opened this story occurred. The 
 next day we had our shoot, and, though we only 
 mustered four guns, yet we managed to put together 
 between seventy and eighty head of all sorts, as also 
 on the day succeeding. The rabbits went to the 
 tenants, as they always did and always will with me ; 
 I consider that they are theirs by right of maintenance. 
 The rest of the game, after due regard to house- 
 keeping, I distributed to friends. The next day, 
 which was that before Christmas Day, Bob went over 
 to shoot with Lipson, but returned to dinner, and I
 
 308 Hot Pot. 
 
 determined to look up that big pike, about which Tom 
 had been to the full as eloquent as Peter. " He be 
 the biggest poike 's ever I see in Hartop Dyke, and 
 I'll stake my affidavy he's as long as that," holding up 
 a spud-handle some four feet and a half long. 
 
 " If he is, Tom, then all I can say is that he's a real 
 whopper, and ordinary gimp won't hold him." For- 
 tunately, I happened to have my big salmon rod and 
 reel with me, and, anticipating a big thing if I got 
 hold of this fish, I substituted them for the more 
 delicate pike weapons I usually employed, using two 
 joints of the rod and eschewing the top ; and it was as 
 well I did. I then rigged up a live-bait tackle made 
 of mackerel hooks, the only ones I had large or strong 
 enough to suit my notions, and, sliding on a float that 
 would carry a half-pound fish without winking, I set 
 out, followed by Tom with the largest watering-pot 
 full of pretty big baits, dace and roach of nigh on 
 half a pound, and some over. 
 
 It was a strange, weird, solitary bit of water, that 
 " dyke." There was not a tree near it, nothing but a 
 straight row of park paling. It had all been a marsh 
 thereabout formerly centuries since perhaps ; peats 
 had been cut there in days when coal was not ; 
 possibly this and drainage were the origin of it. The 
 water was dark and gloomy, as the bottom was peat, 
 and towards the dusk of evening, when the fog 
 wreaths settled down on the skeleton reeds, which 
 rattled against the huge spectral bullrushes like empty 
 bones, they often took strange fanciful shapes, and 
 the ghost of Mary Wily, with the infant in her arms, 
 was often supposed to be seen floating among them,
 
 Cheiotou Pike. 309 
 
 while her screams were heard in the cry of the divers. 
 Mary Wily was a poor, witless creature, who was 
 drowned, or drowned herself and her infant rather, in 
 the dyke some sixty years ago, nnder very distressing 
 circumstances; and none of the peasants would go 
 within half a mile of the dyke at even-fall on any 
 account. It was tolerably cheerful, however, on a 
 bright day like the present ; and, as I did not believe 
 in chronicles, I wasn't much affected by ghosts. I 
 had seen plenty of peat lochs and reeds, knew the cry 
 of a " hawk from a hernshaw," and both from any 
 expressions from the spirit world; and as for fog 
 wreaths, I had been lost in them before now, and 
 hated them much too fervently to view them from any 
 supernatural point of view. So I set about my task 
 cheerfully. 
 
 The dyke was in places fringed with flags and reeds, 
 but it was pretty clear, as to the surface, from weeds. 
 I commenced near the top, pitching over towards the 
 other side, and working my bait and float slowly in 
 foot by foot towards me. At the third cast the float 
 went down plumb, and in four minutes a ten-pounder 
 was walloping on the green. Then I lost two or three, 
 the baits being too large ; then I got a 121b. fish ; 
 then some more losses, and a nine-pounder, which had 
 been worried by some " real big one," and had slits in 
 him an inch deep and two or three long. 
 
 " That's the gurt 'un for a suffering," said Tom, 
 sententiously ; and I allowed that it must have been a 
 " gurt 'un " indeed that did it. And so, with varying 
 sport, I worked my way down for three or four 
 hundred yards, which brought me to the middle of
 
 310 Hot Pol. 
 
 the dyke or a little beyond. " Now, sir, it was jist 
 beyond that pen-stock as I see the gurt 'un," indi- 
 cated Tom. I took off the bait I had on, put on 
 the largest I could find, and walked at once down to 
 the place. There was some deep water about this 
 pen-stock, and I pitched my apparatus right into the 
 middle of it, with a considerable splash. As I did so 
 there was a huge swirl in a big bunch of dead flags, 
 close to the bank on my right, as if a hippopotamus 
 had made tracks from it, and a great cloud of mud 
 welled up all around. The next moment I never 
 knew how it happened my float was tearing away, 
 forty miles an hour, down the very middle of the dyke, 
 my big salmon rod bending double, and the reel 
 screeching like a frightened jay. After the first rush 
 of sixty or seventy yards he stopped for a moment and 
 sulked, then gave a huge flounder and flounce on the 
 surface, shaking his great head vigorously, and dis- 
 playing a pair of jaws and a gape which would be 
 a nightmare to most jack fishers. But the rush and 
 the pulling had done me the good service of burying 
 two or three of the big hooks safely ; so he set off 
 again for another sixty or seventy yards, and repeated 
 the manoeuvre. Then he tried a little bit of round- 
 about tactics, looking everywhere for weed beds or 
 stakes ; but fortunately there were none at hand, so he 
 set off again, always in the same direction towards the 
 lower end of the dyke. I did my best to turn him ; 
 but a big obstinate pike is very hard-headed, and 
 won't be turned easily, and this resulted in his making 
 another long run, which took him within fifty or sixty 
 yards of the end of the dyke, do all I would. Tom
 
 Chewfon Pike. 311 
 
 meanwhile followed me with the big gaff in hand, 
 watching the fight breathlessly; for to him, as to 
 Peter, there was something more than a mere piking 
 bout in the capture of one of the monsters of the dyke. 
 
 Towards the lower end of the dyke, the water, which 
 was about sixty or seventy yards wide at the most, 
 narrowed a good deal and shallowed considerably, there 
 not being more than three feet of water where the 
 stream went out under the road bridge. Thinking he 
 might get me into difficulty in this shallow, I deter- 
 mined to try conclusions and turn him at all risks ; so 
 I put the pot on most powerfully. This seemed only 
 to infuriate him the more, and taking the bit between 
 his teeth, he set off as straight as an arrow for the 
 stream, evidently bent on getting back to the 
 river, out of which no doubt he had strayed. " Why, 
 durn his wig, he's a-goin' under the bridge ! " cried 
 Tom ; " stop a bit ! I'll run round and stop 'n." But 
 Tom was too late; for before he could get to the 
 bridge the fish was under it, and I after him for I 
 had to take to the water to avoid being cut. Under 
 the bridge he went, and under 1 went, doubled up, 
 stumbling and splashing, out at the other side, but 
 still fast in my fish. There was but some sixty yards 
 of stream now to the river, and down the stream, 
 nearly up to my waist, I trundled, when suddenly I 
 heard a boyish voice on the opposite bank exclaim : 
 " Hullo, what a lark ! Here's a mermaid ! I say, 
 Rose, here's a mermaid ! " And the next moment the 
 fish ran into the open river, and I floundered up on to 
 the bank. As I did so I saw a lad in a boat lying in a 
 little creek on the other side of the river, and it
 
 312 Hot Pot. 
 
 was from him the exclamation of astonishment at my 
 unwonted appearance came. The fish no sooner 
 entered the river than, as if his only object was to go 
 straight ahead, he shot right across it to the opposite 
 bank, under the very boat, and into the little creek at 
 the mouth of which the boat lay. There was a pro- 
 digious splash, for the water was shallow there. 
 " Hullo ! what's that ? " and, snatching up the 
 stretcher, the young gentleman aimed a blow at the 
 fish as he was floundering back into deeper water 
 again ; as luck would have it, he happened to catch 
 him on the back of the head and half- stunned him, 
 and before he could recover, a repetition of the dose 
 completed the victory. Just then Tom came running 
 down the bank to him, and between them they 
 managed to haul the fish ashore. The boat was sculled 
 across for me, and I went to see my fish. 
 
 " Oh ! I say, isn't he a whopper ? as big as me, 
 nearly ! " said my young friend ; and there lay the 
 fish, certainly the biggest that ever came out of 
 Hartop Dyke. When we did get him to scale, he 
 plumbed 42|lb. 
 
 " Oh, isn't he just big ! and oh, I say, what's your 
 name ? What, Hartop ! Why, Rose, I say, here's 
 the Master of Ravenswood, as you call him ; and this 
 is my cousin Rose, and my name's Fenwick. So's 
 hers ! " 
 
 I had seen a young lady coming down the bank out 
 of the road, into which there was a gate. She now 
 drew near. I looked up, and my eye was arrested by 
 a jungle-cock plume, set in a cairngorm which I had 
 seen before, and under it was a golden head of rippling
 
 Chewton Pike. 313 
 
 hair, laughing blue eyes, cherry lips, and cheeks suf- 
 fused with blushes at the revelations conveyed in the 
 brusque remarks of her young cousin. 
 
 "Not the first time we have met, Mr. Hartop, I 
 think, though our names were unknown to each 
 other ? " said the sweet girl frankly. " But here's 
 papa," as an elderly gentleman came down the bank 
 from the road j " and I am sure he will be pleased to 
 know that the hero of ' that dreadful bear adventure ' 
 as Aunt Chewton persists in calling it to this day 
 was our near neighbour." 
 
 At this juncture Fen wick pere came up, a jovial old 
 boy, delighted to make my acquaintance ; and, being 
 desperately fond of all kinds of sport, he was immensely 
 impressed with the big fish. 
 
 " But, bless my soul ! why, Mr. Hartop is dripping 
 wet wet through and through ! " And so I was; but 
 in the excitement I had forgotten it. 
 
 " Jump into the boat, my dear sir, pray; George 
 will row you down to the Wyke in ten minutes. We 
 will walk down the path, and shan't be long behind. 
 Not a word you must ; you couldn't get home under 
 half an hour, and would catch your death. Go on, in 
 with you ! We can give you dry things while your 
 man goes back and fetches your bag. Tom do you go 
 home and tell Peter that Mr. Hartop won't be back to 
 dinner, and ask him to send his clothes along, for, 
 now we have got him, we mean to keep him. What, 
 ' friend ? ' All right ; the more the merrier. Lots of 
 girls want some beaux quite a godsend. My com- 
 pliments to Mr. Hartop' s friend eh, ' Chatteris is his 
 name ? ' Not the son of old Bob Chatteris, of Lin-
 
 314 Hot Pot. 
 
 eoln's-inn ? God bless me, what a coincidence ! boys 
 together ! Welcome as flowers in May or coal at 
 Christmas ! What a day of fortunate accidents, to be 
 sure ! Say dinner at seven o'clock sharp, Tom ; and 
 Tom " And there was an aside, <( Christmas- 
 time, Tom. How's the old woman, Tom ? " " Hearty." 
 " That's right." And I saw Tom convey something 
 that looked like a golden medallion with her gracious 
 Majesty's face thereon, into his fob, with a larger grin 
 than common as he turned away. 
 
 ' ' But what are we to do with the fish ? Tom can't 
 carry it. Shall we send it up for you ? " 
 
 " If you will accept it, and care to have it ; " and I 
 half turned towards the fair Rose. 
 
 " But, you know, there's always a sort of a belief 
 or a mystery a saying a something about these 
 big Hartop pike," said the old gentleman, hesi- 
 tatingly. 
 
 " But this is not a Hartop pike, papa. It was 
 landed here, and this is part of Chewton Manor, and, 
 therefore, it is a Chewton pike ; and, as I am to be 
 the Lady of Chewton Manor, I stand up for my rights, 
 and accept the offer, and I'll have it put into a case as 
 big as a watch-box, and Mr. Hartop can come and see 
 it whenever he likes, and when he likes." 
 
 " Chewton pike ! " I said, thoughtfully ; " what 
 is that I've heard about Chewton pike ? " Then 
 suddenly I remembered old Peter's prophecy. It was 
 like a revelation ; and, looking up, I saw that she had 
 heard of it, and suddenly remembered it too, and also 
 regarded it as a revelation. 
 
 I rowed myself down to the Wyke; Bob joined
 
 Ghewton Pike. 315 
 
 us as soon as he returned, and was made very much of 
 by his sire's old friend; and a glorious evening we had. 
 There was a bunch of misletoe as big as a gooseberry 
 bush, and even a Druid couldn't complain that any 
 want of proper attention was paid to it. There was 
 present a cousin, a sister of Master George's, to whom 
 Bob paid frightful attention a skittish, sprightly 
 little witch she was so that we were well matched. 
 All the good old games were played to distraction, 
 even to forfeits. Laugh ! we shook the roof with 
 laughter; and a pretty conspiracy was got up by 
 Master Bob, that young George, and the cousin. The 
 cousin was blinded, and was crying the forfeits ; Bob 
 and George brought in the big fish on a tray for a 
 forfeit, and the usual " What shall the owner of this 
 pretty thing be done to?" was asked. 'The answer 
 was that " Hartop's Dyke should kiss Fen wick's 
 Wyke o'er the head and tail of a Chewton pike " 
 at which the company laughed consumedly, though 
 we didn't exactly, the joke was too serious. Well, 
 well, we did it with a laughing chorus, and we laughed 
 ourselves to cover our confusion. The company 
 shrieked, and I thought old Fenwick would have 
 guffawed himself into an apoplexy. It was the first 
 kiss, but, I am bound to say, by no means the 
 last ; for I did my best to realise the prophecy by 
 " leading to the hymeneal altar," as the newspapers 
 say, the heiress of Fenwick and Chewton in about a 
 twelvemonth thereafter. The big pike now grins 
 a welcome to strangers in the great hall of Hartop in 
 a six-foot glass coffin, and under him is writ the 
 prophecy, of course in letters of gold. Rely upon it,
 
 316 Sot Pot. 
 
 that great reverence is paid to that amazing prepara- 
 tion by every one of the name of Hartop, while 
 Peter now Mr. Peter, in a silver chain of office 
 regards him as the totem or great medicine of the 
 Hartops.
 
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