Prose Idylls, New and Old. Charles Kingsley

work than mountain angling, as a gallop over a stiffly enclosed country is harder than one over an open moor.  You can do it or not, as you like: but if you wish to catch large trout on a bright day, I should advise you to employ the only method yet discovered.

      There—you are through; and the keeper shall hand you your rod.  You have torn your trousers, and got a couple of thorns in your shins.  The one can be mended, the other pulled out.  Now, jump the feeder.  There is no run to it, so—you have jumped in.  Never mind: but keep the point of your rod up.  You are at least saved the lingering torture of getting wet inch by inch; and as for cold water hurting any one—Credat Judæus.

      Now make a circuit through the meadow forty yards away.  Stoop down when you are on the ridge of each table.  A trout may be basking at the lower end of the pool, who will see you, rush up, and tell all his neighbours.  Take off that absurd black chimney-pot, which you are wearing, I suppose, for the same reason as Homer’s heroes wore their koruthous and phalerous, to make yourself look taller and more terrible to your foes.  Crawl up on three legs; and when you are in position, kneel down.  So.

      Shorten your line all you can—you cannot fish with too short a line up-stream; and throw, not into the oil-basin near you, but right up into the darkest corner.  Make your fly strike the brickwork and drop in.—So?  No rise?  Then don’t work or draw it, or your deceit is discovered instantly.  Lift it out, and repeat the throw.

      What?  You have hooked your fly in the hatches?  Very good.  Pull at it till the casting-line breaks; put on a fresh one, and to work again.  There! you have him.  Don’t rise! fight him kneeling; hold him hard, and give him no line, but shorten up anyhow.  Tear and haul him down to you before he can make to his home, while the keeper runs round with the net . . . There, he is on shore.  Two pounds, good weight.  Creep back more cautiously than ever, and try again. . . . There.  A second fish, over a pound weight.  Now we will go and recover the flies off the hatches; and you will agree that there is more cunning, more science, and therefore more pleasant excitement, in ‘foxing’ a great fish out of a stop-hole, than in whipping far and wide over an open stream, where a half-pounder is a wonder and a triumph.  As for physical exertion, you will be able to compute for yourself how much your back, knees, and fore-arm will ache by nine o’clock to-night, after some ten hours of this scrambling, splashing, leaping, and kneeling upon a hot June day.  This item in the day’s work will of course be put to the side of loss or of gain, according to your temperament: but it will cure you of an inclination to laugh at us Wessex chalk-fishers as Cockneys.

      So we will wander up the streams, taking a fish here and a fish there, till—Really it is very hot.  We have the whole day before us; the fly will not be up till five o’clock at least; and then the real fishing will begin.  Why tire ourselves beforehand?  The squire will send us luncheon in the afternoon, and after that expect us to fish as long as we can see, and come up to the hall to sleep, regardless of the ceremony of dressing.  For is not the green drake on?  And while he reigns, all hours, meals, decencies, and respectabilities must yield to his caprice.  See, here he sits, or rather tens of thousands of him, one on each stalk of grass—green drake, yellow drake, brown drake, white drake, each with his gauzy wings folded over his back, waiting for some unknown change of temperature, or something else, in the afternoon, to wake him from his sleep, and send him fluttering over the stream; while overhead the black drake, who has changed his skin and reproduced his species, dances in the sunshine, empty, hard, and happy, like Festus Bailey’s Great Black Crow, who all his life sings ‘Ho, ho, ho,’

      ‘For no one will eat him,’ he well doth know.

      However, as we have insides, and he has actually none, and what is more strange, not even a mouth wherewith to fill the said insides, we had better copy his brothers and sisters below whose insides are still left, and settle with them upon the grass awhile beneath you goodly elm.

      Comfort yourself with a glass of sherry and a biscuit, and give the keeper one, and likewise a cigar.  He will value it at five times its worth, not merely for the pleasure of it, but because it raises him in the social scale.  ‘Any cad,’ so he holds, ‘smokes pipes; but a good cigar is the mark of the quality,’ and of them who ‘keep company with the quality,’ as keepers do.  He puts it in his hat-crown, to smoke this evening in presence of his compeers at the public-house, retires modestly ten yards, lies down on his back in a dry feeder, under the shade of the long grass, and instantly falls fast asleep.  Poor fellow! he was up all last night in the covers, and will be again to-night.  Let him sleep while he may, and we will chat over chalk-fishing.

      The first thing, probably, on which you will be inclined to ask questions, is the size of the fish in these streams.  We have killed this morning four fish averaging a pound weight each.  All below that weight we throw in, as is our rule here; but you may have remarked that none of them exceeded half a pound; that they were almost all about herring size.  The smaller ones I believe to be year-old fish, hatched last spring twelvemonth; the pound fish two-year-olds.  At what rate these last would have increased depends very much, I suspect, on their chance of food.  The limit of life and growth in cold-blooded animals seems to depend very much on their amount of food.  The boa, alligator, shark, pike, and I suppose the trout also, will live to a great age, and attain an enormous size, give them but range enough; and the only cause why there are trout of ten pounds and more in the Thames lashers, while one of four pounds is rare here, is simply that the Thames fish has more to eat.  Here, were the fish not sufficiently thinned out every year by anglers, they would soon become large-headed, brown, and flabby, and cease to grow.  Many a good stream has been spoilt in this way, when a squire has unwisely preferred quantity to quality of fish.

      And if it be not the quantity of feed, I know no clear reason why chalk and limestone trout should be so much larger and better flavoured than any others.  The cause is not the greater swiftness of the streams; for (paradoxical as it may seem to many) a trout likes swift water no more than a pike does, except when spawning or cleaning afterwards.  At those times his blood seems to require a very rapid oxygenation, and he goes to the ‘sharps’ to obtain it: but when he is feeding and fattening, the water cannot be too still for him.  Streams which are rapid throughout never produce large fish; and a hand-long trout transferred from his native torrent to a still pond, will increase in size at a ten times faster rate.  In chalk streams the largest fish are found oftener in the mill-heads than in the mill tails.  It is a mistake, though a common one, to fancy that the giant trout of the Thames lashers lie in swift water.  On the contrary, they lie in the very stillest spot of the whole pool, which is just under the hatches.  There the rush of the water shoots over their heads, and they look up through it for every eatable which may be swept down.  At night they run down to the fan of the pool, to hunt minnow round the shallows; but their home by day is the still deep; and their preference of the lasher pool to the quiet water above is due merely to the greater abundance of food.  Chalk trout, then, are large not merely because the water is swift.

      Whether trout have not a specific fondness for lime; whether water of some dozen degrees of hardness is not necessary for their development? are questions which may be fairly asked.  Yet is not the true reason this; that the soil on the banks of a chalk or limestone stream is almost always rich—red loam, carrying an abundant vegetation, and therefore an abundant crop of animal life, both in and out of the water?  The countless insects which haunt a rich hay meadow, all know who have eyes to see; and if they will look into the stream they will find that the water-world is even richer than the air-world.

      Every still spot in a chalk stream becomes so choked with weed as to require moving at least thrice a year, to supply the mills with water.  Grass, milfoil, water crowfoot, hornwort, starwort, horsetail, and a dozen other delicate plants, form one tangled forest, denser than those of the Amazon, and more densely peopled likewise.

      To this list will soon be added our Transatlantic curse, Babingtonia diabolica, alias Anacharis alsin astrum.  It has already ascended the Thames as high as Reading; and a few years more, owing to the present aqua-vivarium mania, will see it filling every mill-head in England, to the torment of all millers.  Young ladies are assured that the only plant for their vivariums is a sprig of anacharis, for which they pay sixpence—the market value being that of a wasp, flea, or other scourge of the human race;