And the nightingale from shadowy boughs her vesper hymn repeat;
For as the pattering shower on the meadow doth descend,
And far as the flitting clouds with the sudden sunbeams blend;
All beauty, joy and harmony, from morn to eventide,
Bless the sport that we court by the gentle river side.
Well, here we are once more at the charming little village of
Shawbury. How often, both as a boy and a man, have I wandered by the
banks of the river Roden. What changes have taken place since my early
rambles! Long familiar forms, companions in my fishing expeditions,
have vanished; the mind fondly cherishes their memory, and recalls
past hours of cheerful intercourse. We will put up the horse and
carriage at the Elephant and Castle Inn and stroll away to the river.
Ah! here is a capital place. Now, Master Willy, there is no tree to
interfere with your throw, so cast in just near that spot, quietly,
carefully, anxiously; if there is a fish there he cannot resist your
green drake. I recommend him the artificial before the fat natural
fly. As Christopher North says--"Devouring ephemerals! Can you not
suffer the poor insects to sport out their day? They must be insipid
eating--but here are some savoury exceedingly ... they carry _sauce
piquante_ in their tails. Do try the taste of this bobber--but any of
the three you please." There, hold fast, Willy, for that's a good
one. Bring him up carefully to the side; hold your rod erect; play him
a little, for he is full of vigour. There! well done; I have got him
in the landing net. Is not he a beauty? A pound weight, I'll be bound;
and what condition! His flesh will be almost as pink as that of a
salmon. Further down stream I managed to take a fish in very different
condition; I took him where the river was rather muddy, and flowed
very slowly. Just look at him, with a body lean and dark coloured, and
an enormous head for so slender a body. "Oh! but, papa," said Willy,
"what are these curious creatures crawling over him? Do look." Ah! I
know them well; anglers call them trout lice. I will scrape off a
specimen, and put him in the bottle. Now look at him. The body is
nearly round, and almost transparent; colour rather green; it has four
pairs of swimming feet, each pair beset with a fringe of hairs; a pair
of foot-jaws; a small half-cleft tail; and a pair of fleshy circular
suckers just in front of the foot-jaws, by means of which the little
creature is able to attach itself, as a parasite, upon various fish.
It is a graceful little creature, and, as you see, can swim with great
activity in the water; now it swims in a straight line, now it
suddenly turns quickly round and turns over and over. It is known to
naturalists under the name of _Argulus foliaceus_; I do not think it
has any English name. It is found on many kinds of fish, and generally
in greater abundance upon individuals that are in an unhealthy state;
though these parasites often attach themselves to fish in good
condition. The mouth is furnished with a long, sharp sucking-tube, by
means of which the animal can pierce the skin of the fish it lives
upon, and suck up the juices. We will take a few home, and I will show
you the different parts of the creature under the microscope.
[Illustration: PARASITE (_Argulus foliaceus_) ON TROUT, NAT. SIZE AND
MAGNIFIED.]
Let us now sit down and rest for an hour, and eat our lunch; the fish
do not rise as freely as they did; perhaps later on they will be in
the humour again. But what do I see sticking to the sides of that rail
across the river; I must go and see. Well, really this is an
interesting thing. An immense mass of flies, a few alive, but the
greater number quite dead; and, look! a quantity of white eggs
underneath them. Let us examine a fly; it is of a brown or tawny
colour, and has rather long, diverging, colourless wings, marked with
irregular brown spots. Why, there must be thousands of dead flies
covering these eggs. What an odd idea! Presently up comes Mr. Collins
from the farm near the bank of the stream. "Oh, sir, I know those
flies quite well; they are oak-flies (_Leptis scolopacea_)." Certainly
not, I replied, though they do somewhat resemble them in colour and
appearance; but the farmer stoutly asserted he was right, and I did
not think it worth while discussing the matter further with him. Mr.
Collins is a good fly-fisherman; and fly-fishermen, unless they are
naturalists, are generally very positive. How often have I tried to
teach anglers that the May-fly does not come from a caddis worm; how
often have I failed! Well, the two-winged fly I have just found in
such thousands, with their dead bodies brooding over this mass of
eggs, is known to entomologists by the name of _Atherix Ibis_; the
females are gregarious, and, as we have seen, attach their eggs to
rails, boughs, or other objects overhanging streams; each female,
having laid her eggs, remains there and dies; shortly after comes
another and does the same, and so on till immense clusters are formed.
The larva, when hatched, falls into the water, its future residence;
it is said to have a forked tail about one third the length of its
body, and to "have the power of raising itself in the water by an
incessant undulating motion in a vertical plane." I am not, however,
acquainted with either larva or pupa, but hope to become so this
summer. "It is very curious, papa," said Jack, "that the flies, after
they have laid their eggs, should die there; why do not they fly away?
Do any other animals do the same?" Yes, pretty much so. Some of the
female insects of the genus called _Coccus_, scale insect, or mealy
bug, common on the stems of various trees, to which they sometimes do
incredible mischief, lay their eggs and die over them, the dead bodies
of the parents forming coverings for the young. See how fast the green
drake is appearing. Notice how it flies with head erect for a second
or two, and then falls almost helplessly on the surface of the water.
There! did you see that fish rise at him? He has escaped the hungry
trout, and has reached a blade of grass, where he will probably rest
for some hours. But give me my rod; perhaps the same trout will rise
at my artificial fly. There! that throw was exactly over the spot. No;
he won't have it. I'll try again and again. No. Objects to _sauce
piquante_, I suppose. Well, I will tempt him again in an hour's time
or so. The water is smooth here, and free from rapids; let us lie down
on the grass and see the birth of _Ephemera_--for that is the
May-fly's proper name. Here comes something floating down. It is
within the reach of my hand, so I will secure it. What is it? As I
thought. Ephemera is throwing off its swaddling clothes. See how it
twirls and twists itself about. Now it is free; and the
strange-looking worm has changed into a beautiful fly. But there is
yet one other operation to go through ere it assumes its final and
complete form; you see at present it is a heavy flier, for the wings
are scarcely dry, and the muscles as yet unequal to great exertion; so
in their present imperfect form they are constantly dropping for a
second or two in the water, and are often sucked down the throat of
some roach, trout, or other fish on the look-out. You should remember
that the _Ephemera_, or May-fly, in this its _sub-imago_, or imperfect
winged state, represents the "green drake" of the angler. What have I
here on this blade of grass? Do you see? What is the shadowy form that
lifelessly clings to it? It is a delicate membrane, thin and light;
see, I blow it away. You saw the split in the back, through which the
former tenant left the abode. It is the cast-off skin of the green
drake, now metamorphosed into a creature more active than harlequin or
columbine, the male into a dark brown insect, with gauze-like wings,
the female into a beautiful creature, with body marbled white and
brown, and able to fly well and strongly, now high in the air, now
sailing along close to the surface of the water, ever and anon dipping
gently into it for the purpose of laying her eggs. The small oval eggs
sink down to the bottom, and attach themselves to the weeds and stones
that are found there. The flight of the male Ephemera is different; it
is the males that practise together that peculiar up-and-down dance,
with heads erect and bodies curving prettily upwards; of course, you
can understand how countless multitudes fall victims to fish and bird,
for dainty morsels they are. These flies, though voracious feeders
both in the larval and nymphal state, never eat at all after they have
assumed their perfect form. Indeed, they have no true mouth, only an
imperfect or rudimentary one; and you would never find a particle of
food in their stomachs, which are always more or less full of
air-bubbles, which, no doubt, assist in buoying up the insect, and
thus save the expenditure of muscular power. I'll catch one of those
dancing males, and press him quickly in the middle. There! crack he
goes! for the little air-bubbles in the stomach have burst by the
pressure of my finger and thumb.
Abundant as are the May-flies at the latter end of May and the
beginning of June in this country, in other countries they are
sometimes more astonishingly numerous. In some parts of Holland,
Switzerland, and France, their great numbers have been compared to
pelting flakes of snow. "The myriads of Ephemeræ which filled the
air," says Reaumur, "over the current of the river and over the bank
on which I stood, are neither to be expressed nor conceived. When the
snow falls, with the largest flakes and with the least interval
between them, the air is not so full of them as that which surrounded
the Ephemeræ." The occurrence of such prodigious numbers is, I
believe, unknown in the British isles. In the perfect or _imago_ state
the May-fly lives but a short time. The word _ephemera_ means "living
only for a day;" and though individuals may live longer, yet the term
is fairly correct as expressing their short existence. The May-flies
(_Ephemeræ_) have all three long fine hairs at the end of the tail;
some members of the same family, but belonging to a different genus,
have only two hair-like appendages. For instance, the fly known to
fishermen as the "March-brown" belongs to the same family as the
May-fly; it is smaller than it, and has only two hairs at the end of
the tail; but with this exception, the natural March-brown and the
May-fly are wonderfully alike; yet it is most curious to notice what a
wonderful difference there is in the larvæ of these two insects.
Significant facts, no doubt, lie at the bottom of such differences in
the case of insects so evidently allied, but these I will not speak
of. Here are the two forms of larvæ, the one being the larva of the
common May-fly (_Ephemera_), the other that of the March-brown
(_Baëtis_).
[Illustration: LARVA OF BAËTIS, WITH BREATHING PADDLES, MAGNIFIED.]
[Illustration: LARVA OF EPHEMERA, OR MAY-FLY, MAGNIFIED TWO DIAMETERS.]
Come, we have lunched, and rested, and watched the May-flies; let us
try to catch a few more trout. It is very strange why sometimes the
fish will not rise, though the weather is propitious and the water in
first-rate order. Holloa! master Willy, what game are you after now?
"Oh, papa," he exclaimed, "there are a lot of dace on this shallow, so
I put the spinning hooks on, and, see, I have managed to hook a couple
out, by simply throwing the tackle on the other side of the fish and
then drawing it smartly through the water over them." Well, that looks
like a bit of poaching, at all events; the fish are spawning amongst
that water-crowfoot, no doubt; just hook out some weed, and I dare say
we shall see some eggs. To be sure; there they are, dotted over the
long thread-like leaves of the plant, like little pearls. You have
caught enough, for I think it is not sportsmanlike conduct to take
such unfair advantage of the unfortunate dace. Put on your casting
line and try under the old forge bridge. You think there is not much
use? A true fly-fisherman should never say so. I have taken many a
trout under the bridge, and I dare say you may be successful this
time. There! I told you so. Keep your line tight, and Jack shall land
him. He is not a large fish evidently, but very lively. Now you have
him, throw him on the grass. Are there any parasites on him? Yes; but
different to the last we observed. Here is a leech-like creature,
rather small and cylindrical; it is the _Piscicola_, a not uncommon
parasitic leech on fish. Well, put him into the bottle; we can take
him home and examine him at leisure. How many trout have we taken
now? "We have got nine, papa, and, remember, I have caught three."
Yes; but I suppose you include the poaching? "No; I have caught three
trout with the fly, and I don't count the dace." Not a bad day's
sport, after all; for I threw back again three small fish. What is
this showy plant, with large, yellow, globe-like blossoms? How pretty
it is, growing in abundance in a little spot near the river! It is the
globe flower, so called from the rounded shape of the corolla; it is
one of the buttercup family, as you will, perhaps, guess. In its wild
state I believe it is found in mountain districts, so I suspect it has
found its way here from some of the cottage gardens which are only a
quarter of a mile distant. We will grub up a few roots; perhaps Mrs.
Charlton would like them for her wild garden shrubbery. When you go
a-fishing always be provided, if not inconvenient, with a trowel and a
small basket, as well as with a few wide-mouthed bottles; they will be
very useful, especially if the trout will not rise. The trowel and
basket you can leave at a cottager's house, and the bottles are
indispensable to every angler-naturalist. What are you running after,
Jacko? Oh! I see; one of the most beautiful insects that are found in
this country. Ah! he is too quick for you. It is the brilliant
steel-blue dragon-fly. Let us sit down for a few minutes and watch its
flight. How rapidly it flies, now pursuing the course of the river,
now suddenly darting back again. It is the _Agrion virgo_, the most
splendid of all the dragon-flies, even rivalling the gorgeously
coloured insects of tropical countries. All the dragon-flies proceed
from water larvæ; strange creatures of unbecoming forms and ferocious
dispositions. The mouth, or rather the lower lip of the larva is of
very singular form. Two jaw-like organs are at the end of the lip, its
basal portion being articulated to the head; this mask, as it has been
called, is folded beneath the head when in repose, but it can be
suddenly shot out in front of the head so as to seize any small
creatures that may pass near it which the larva thinks good to eat.
Imagine one of your arms being joined on to your chin, bend your elbow
up till your hand covers your face--this will represent the dragon
larva with the mask in repose; now shoot out your arm in a straight
line from the head--this will represent the mask unfolded and in use;
your fingers may be considered to represent the jaws of the creature.
When the larva wishes to turn into an insect, it leaves the water and
creeps up the stem of some water weed or other object out of the
water, bursts its skin, and commences its new state of existence. If
we look about us near the water side, we shall be sure to find some
empty pupa skins. Here are two on this sedge; you see a slit on the
back through which the dragon-fly has come out. The dragon-flies are
the largest and most active of our British insects, and, to quote the
descriptive words of Professor Rymer Jones, "are pre-eminently
distinguished by the rapidity of their flight and the steadiness of
their evolutions while 'hawking' for prey in the vicinity of ponds and
marshy grounds, where in hot summer weather they are everywhere to be
met with. Equally conspicuous from their extreme activity, their
gorgeous colours, and the exquisite structure of their wings, they
might be regarded as the monarchs of the insect race. The very names
selected for them by entomologists would testify the perfection of
their attributes; their titles ranging from that of _Anax imperator_,
indicative of imperial sway, to epithets expressive of feminine
delicacy and ladylike grace, such as _virgo_, _puella_, _demoiselle_,
and _damsel-fly_, which are appropriated to the sylph-like forms that
many of them exhibit. In their habits, however, they by no means
deserve the gentle appellations bestowed upon them. They are, in
truth, the tigers of the insect world, and their whole lives are
devoted to bloodshed and rapine. Indomitable in their strength of
wing, furnished with tremendous jaws, and possessed of acuteness of
sight and rapidity of motion scarcely to be paralleled, there seems to
be no escape from their ferocity, and terrible is the slaughter they
effect amongst the insect legions they are appointed to destroy." It
must not, however, be supposed from the above description that the
dragon-flies are creatures that deserve to be killed. On the contrary,
they are most serviceable to men, and destroy countless numbers of
injurious flies and butterflies whose larvæ do damage to vegetation.
"Well, papa," said Jack, "the boys in the village always kill them if
they can catch them, and say they sting horses." I know that this is a
popular tradition, inherited by the rural folks of our day from their
great-great-grandmothers' grandmothers. Dragon-flies are often called
_horse stingers_; in America they are sometimes called _devil's
darning-needles_; in Scotland, I believe, they are known by the name
of _flying adders_. Where is my net? I will try and catch a
demoiselle. There! I have her, or I should rather say _him_, for these
dark spots on the wings disclose the sex; the female has unspotted
wings, and is of a rich green colour. "How splendidly it shines in the
sun," said Willy; "nothing can exceed the beauty of its wings." Well,
now you have looked at him closely and admired him, I will let him go
again. Off he flies, none the worse for his temporary captivity. Now
for my friend the trout, who would not take my fly an hour ago. Ah! I
have got him the first throw; see how he jumps. Now, Willy, for the
landing-net. Bravo! all safe, and a good fish too. Our sport is over
for the day, and we must get ready to drive home. To-morrow, Willy,
you may learn these lines from Thomson's 'Seasons:'
"When with his lively ray the potent sun
Has pierced the stream and roused the finny race,
Then, issuing cheerful, to thy sport repair;
Chief should the western breezes curling play,
And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds.
Just in the dubious point where with the pool
Is mixed the trembling stream, or where it boils
Around the stone, or from the hollowed bank
Reverted plays in undulating flow,
There throw, nice judging, the delusive fly;
And as you lead it round in artful curve
With eye attentive mark the springing game,
Straight as above the surface of the flood
They wanton rise, or urged by hunger leap,
Then fix with gentle twitch, the barbed hook.
Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank,
And to the shelving shore slow-dragging some,
With various hand proportioned to their force.
If yet too young and easily deceived,
A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod;
Him, piteous of his youth, and the short space
He has enjoyed the vital light of heaven,
Soft disengage, and back into the stream
The speckled captive throw. But should you lure
From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots
Of pendent trees, the monarch of the brook,
Behoves you then to ply your finest art.
Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly;
And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft
The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear.
At last, while haply o'er the shaded sun
Passes a cloud, he desperate takes the leap,
With sullen plunge. At once he darts along,
Deep struck, and runs out all the lengthened line;
Then seeks the furthest ooze, the sheltering weed,
The caverned bank, his old secure abode,
And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool,
Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand,
That feels him still, yet to his furious course
Gives way, you, now retiring, following now
Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage;
Till, floating broad upon his breathless side,
And to his fate abandoned, to the shore
You gaily drag your unresisting prize."
There is some good advice here worth remembering; at any rate,
persevere, persevere, and no doubt you will become in time
[Illustration: A MOST SUCCESSFUL ANGLER.]
WALK VI.
JUNE.
"We had many pleasant rambles last autumn," said Willy, "in search of
fungi. How I wish the time was come when we could hunt for fungi
again. Think of the woods at the bottom of the Wrekin, and those
delightful fir plantations near Tibberton. Besides you know some kinds
are so good broiled for breakfast. I often think of fungus-hunting.
When shall we be able to go out hunting again?"
September and October are the best months, but we shall meet with
fungi earlier. However, I will promise you a long day's ramble or two
in search of fungi when the time comes. In the mean time let us keep
our eyes open, and I dare say we shall even now, in the month of June,
meet with a few interesting species. We will go into some of the
meadows near home to-day, and I am much mistaken if we shall not be
able to find St. George's mushroom. It is a very delicious fungus, and
perfectly wholesome. I gathered a few specimens the other day, and now
that the weather is warm, I doubt not we shall meet a good number; so,
besides collecting bottles, we will take a basket, and Jack shall be
the carrier. Now separate yourselves and search this pasture well.
"Here are a lot of fungi growing in a ring," exclaimed May. Let me
look. You have found what we wanted. This fungus is the _Agaricus
gambosus_, or St. George's mushroom. See how closely the gills are set
together; they are yellowish-white in colour; the top is thick and
fleshy; the stem, too, is very thick. Few fungi, comparatively
speaking, grow so early in the year, and you could not mistake
_gambosus_ for any other kind. What? You think the smell rather
strong. Well, I confess this fungus has a strong and not a very
pleasant odour. Put what you have collected into the basket; you will
find that the taste is better than the smell. Here are some specimens
with the top cracked and split; these are a little older, but they are
very good. We will put them with the rest. "Oh, papa," exclaimed Jack,
"I was looking at that ash tree in the hedge, and I thought I saw a
mouse run up the trunk." I suspect it was not a mouse, but a bird,
called, from its habit of running up trees, the tree-creeper. Let us
get a little nearer. I see I am right; there the little bird is,
running rapidly up the tree; now he stops, as if examining the bark;
now he is off again. How very like a mouse, to be sure! It is one of
the smallest of our British birds, and, though common enough, is not
very often seen, except by those who, caring for such things, use
their eyes well. Now he has gone to the opposite side of the tree; off
he goes again and explores another trunk. By means of its long curved
claws and stiff forked tail-feathers, this prettily marked bird is
enabled to climb with great rapidity. It remains in this country all
the year, and is more abundant in plantations and parks where there
are plenty of trees. It makes its nest in a hollow tree, or on the
inner side of the bark of a decayed one. The little bird lays many
eggs, from six to nine, in the month of April; they are nearly white,
with a few pinkish spots, generally at the larger end of the egg. It
utters a few pleasing but feeble notes. The young ones are, as you may
suppose, tiny little things. You should notice the curved pointed beak
of this bird, and the stiff tail-feathers it presses against the tree
as a fulcrum to aid it in its ascent.
[Illustration: TREE-CREEPER AND YOUNG.]