hood of Bakewell,* on the banks of that far-famed brilliant stream (the brightest perhaps in England, it may be in the world) the Latchkill. It was on one of those days in direct opposition to that described in Walton and Cotton's "Angler "

"A day without too bright a beam,
"A warm but not a scorching sun,
"A southern breeze to curl the stream,
"And, master, half our work is done."

For the day I am mentioning was one of the brightest; no breeze, and the river was like a looking-glass. On the banks of the above little stream, with rod and line, bending on one knee, nearly prostrate to prevent the fish from seeing him, imagine that you beheld this jolly angler (for such he was in many senses of the word) vainly endeavouring in the broiling sun to catch one single fish; though every now and then, I am sorry to say, he took out of his drake basket a live fly, which he spitted with his hook, and very gently throwing it on the water, using extreme

* Bakewell is situate on the river Wye, Derbyshire, in a beautiful and picturesque vale. The engraving is introduced, being the place of resort by many anglers, who, by the kind and condescending permission of the Duke of Rutland, have liberty to fish in the neighbouring trout streams, of which there are many, strictly preserved by his Grace for the amusement of the visitors at the Rutland Arms, in Bakewell, and at the Peacock Inn, Rowsley.

care lest he should tear out the hook, and thus lose his fly, or that a sudden jerk might kill the insect, and prevent its fluttering on the water to entice the trout. During this merciless proceeding I ventured to approach him, and naturally observed, "Do you think, Sir, those insects feel at "all?" "Feel?" he replied, and at the same time suiting the action to the word, he passed the hook through the body of one of his victims, adding, "As much as any Christian." At that time I happened to have in my book one of those artificial Winchester May flies with the wing reversed, and immediately commenced fishing with it, to the disdain of my brother angler with his live flies, who looked upon me, I believe, after some such manner as Goliath eyed David. However, I persevered in the broad sun-light, and after a few casts I hooked a fish, and then another, to the astonishment of the old gentleman. And before I got home to the inn (notwithstanding the still air and scorching sun, and water of the colour and appearance of crystal), I had managed to secure a good dish of trout; and I had left the live fly angler with an empty pannier to pursue his reflections on the many living little creatures whom he had spitted alive to no purpose but to die a miserable death, either from drowning or the

NEEDLESS CRUELTY OF LIVE-FLIES AS BAITS. 63

effects of the impalement by the hook, or from both.

in

I have related the above anecdote to prove that every instance as much may be done with the dead bait, and perhaps much more than with the live one; for where will you find a stream so clear as the Latchkill, or the fish which inhabit it so shy?

If with an artificial fly, on a stream like that, you can exceed the sport of the most celebrated angler with his live flies, little doubt remains that on common streams, the waters of which are far less transparent, your advantage over him would be greater; why, then, should recourse be had to the live fly? Not to mention the cruelty, the sport is much deteriorated by the live principle-it partakes of the nature of poaching; whereas in fishing with an artificial fly (especially with one of your own making) you have the satisfaction of knowing that you are relying on your own resources, calling forth into action all the skill of the accomplished fly angler, not relying on the work of others, made ready to your hand, purchased at the shops, or given to you. The graceful flow of your line, behind, before, and around you, with its appended fly made to reach its destination with fairy fall on the smooth or

rippled stream--all these contribute to give pleasure to this fascinating amusement; but on the contrary, you destroy at once all the satisfaction and delight associated with the graceful art of fly-fishing, hardening your heart to behold the agonizing flutter of the poor harmless insect, and become neither more nor less than a heartless common poacher. You not unoften mar your success in taking fish: should you catch them, you do not enjoy half the satisfaction in possessing them. Away then with the live fly, and leave him to enjoy his existence in the sunny ray. One day's existence is frequently his utmost limit: let him enjoy his short-lived nature, and cut him not off in the meridian sunshine of his day; open your drake basket and let him escape; and as he enjoys his liberty, ascending with majestic motion in the glorious sunlight, your relenting heart will experience an inward joy as you view his heavenward flight far greater than having made him the victim of your cruelty for securing your prey.

With a few observations on the best method of casting your line, I shall hasten to conclude.

Should you be fly-fishing on a windy day, you should be the more careful in noticing every direction I am about to give, or you will crack off many a fly, entangle your line in the trees and