some better adapted to our mountain-streams. But what a size that book is! - In fishing, as in literature, the schoolmen's adage holds,— Megas biblos, mega kakon. Why, nothing but a soldier's pack would carry it! we will soon, however, render you independent of this mighty magazine, by teaching you to fabricate your own flies."

"I fear I am too old to learn; the art of tying must, I presume, be acquired early in life, and brought to perfection by after experience."

This does not always follow; I did, when a boy, tie flies passably; but having left off fishing when I removed from my native river, I forgot the art, and depended on others for my supply. The person who furnished my casting-lines fell sick, and it unluckily happened that his illness occurred in the best period of the season; the river was filled with fish, and constant service soon wore out my scanty store. Necessity is the mother, -you know the proverb,-I was sadly reduced; ground blunted hooks and patched ravelling bodies; at last, my stock was reduced to half-adozen, and that half-dozen to perfect skeletons. What was to be done? Man is an imitative animal,—I endeavoured to fabricate; produced something between a bird and a bee; tried

again, succeeded better; and before my artist had recovered, by the shade of Walton! I could turn out a reputable fly.”

"I believe I must make an attempt.”

You shall succeed; and as a preliminary, I will put you under the tutelage of my worthy neighbour, the Priest; observe his style of casting, and mark the facility with which he sends five-and-thirty feet of hair and gut across the broadest pool. I fish tolerably, but have repeatedly laid aside my rod to admire the beautiful casting of this perfect master of the angle."

'He ties a very handsome fly, no doubt."

"I

I won't say that, he ties a very killing one. I expect him presently; and as the day is wet, I'll leave the materials ready, and to-morrow, if the rain ceases soon, we shall prove the value of his flies."

6

"As we are on the subject of tying, I must observe, that the advantage one derives from being able to construct his own flies is wonderful; in fact, without attaining this accomplishment in the gentle art,' no one can fish comfortably or successfully. No stock, however extensive, will afford a supply adapted for every change of weather and water, and a man may lose a day overlooking an interminable variety of kinds and colours, in a vain

!

search after one killing fly. Not so the artist: the favourite insect being once ascertained, he speedily produces an imitation and fills his basket, while his less fortunate neighbour is idly turning the pages of his over-stocked fishing-book.

was an

"I had two sporting friends, who were excellent instances of this. Colonel S ardent, and, I may add, a very tolerable angler. No one went to more trouble and expense in procuring the most approved flies; he never tied, or attempted to tie one, and he assured me he had many hundred dozens in his possession. To find a new fly, was with him sometimes the labour of a day; and when about to try another water, he would spend hours toiling through his immense variety, before he could succeed in discovering the necessary colour and description. I have seen him, with Job-like patience, labouring through endless papers and parcels in search of a paltry insect, that I could fabricate in five minutes.

"His companion, Captain B- ——, ran into an opposite extreme. He rarely had a second casting line, and seldom a second set of flies. Did the day change, or the river fill or lower, he sat down on the bank, ripped wings and dubbings from his hooks, and prepared a new outfit in a twinkling. I never met an angler

who was so certain of filling a basket as my friend B--. His system, however, I would totally disapprove of. Without burthening oneself with enough to furnish out a tackle-shop, a small and effective collection is desirable, and it is absurd to lose a fortunate half-hour tying on the river bank, what could be more conveniently fabricated during the tedium of a wet day within doors. An accident may rob the most discreet angler of his flies, and surely it is necessary to have a fresh relay to put up? But though I take a sufficiency along with me, I never leave home without being provided with the materials for constructing new ones. An hour may bring ephemera on the waters, which you must imitate, or you will cast in vain; before evening they will have vanished, and given place to some new variety of the insect world. Thus far, at least, the tyer possesses an advantage over him who cannot produce a fly, that no collection which human ingenuity can form will compensate.

"The best practical lesson I ever got originated in the following accidental occurrence. Some years ago I received private information, that a travelling Tinker, who occasionally visited these mountains to make and repair the tin stills used by the peasantry in illicit distillation, was in the constant habit of destroying fish, and he was

represented as being a most successful poacher. I was returning down the river after an unfavourable day, a wearied and a disappointed fisherman, and observed, at a short distance, a man chased across the bogs by several others, and eventually overtaken and secured. It was the unfortunate tinker, surprised by the keepers in the very act of landing a splendid salmon; two, recently killed, were discovered in his wallet, and yet that blessed day I could not hook a fish! He was forthwith brought in durance before my honour, to undergo the pains and penalties of his crime. He was a strange, raw-boned, wild-looking animal, and I half suspect Sir Walter Scott had seen him before he sketched Watt Tinlin in the Lay. He was a convicted felon - he had no plea to offer, for he was taken in the very fact. But he made two propositions wherewithal to obtain his liberty— 'He would never sin again-or he would fight any two of the captors.' My heart yearned towards him he was after all a brother—and, admitting that rod and coat were not worth threepence, still he was an adept in the 'gentle art,' although the most ragged disciple that ever Izaac boasted. I forgave him, dismissed the captors, and ordered him to the lodge for refreshment. My honour had no sport,' and he looked care