begin your fishing. I recommend to you that fine pool below the bridge;
there are always grayling to be caught there—and already I see some
rising.
PHYS.—With what imitation of flies shall we fish?
HAL.—As yesterday; a yellow fly for your stretcher, and two duns for the
droppers. There, you have a good fish. And now another—both grayling.
PHYS.—I shall try the rapid at the top of this long large pool; I see
several fish rising there.
HAL.—Do so. You will catch fish there—trout, but I fear no grayling.
PHYS.—Why not?
HAL.—In that part of the stream the water is too rough for grayling, and
they like to be nearer the deep water. Lower down, in the same pool,
there are large grayling to be caught.
PHYS.—You are in the right; the fish I have is a large trout—at least he
is not much less than 2lbs. I have landed him; shall I keep him?
HAL.—As you please: he is as good as he ever was, or ever will be in
this water.
PHYS.—There are now more yellow flies out than I have seen before this
season. They have appeared suddenly, as if sprung from that large alder.
Though you gave us in a former conversation some account of the flies
used in fishing, yet I hope you have not forgot your promise, to favour
us with some more details on this subject, which, both as connected with
angling, and with a curious part of natural history, is very
interesting.
HAL.—I wish it was in my power to give you information from my own
experience, but, I am sorry to say, this has been very limited; and
though the English are peculiarly the fly fishing nation, yet our
philosophical anglers have not contributed much to this department of
science, and what has been done is principally by foreigners, amongst
whom Swammerdam, Reaumur, and above all De Geer, are pre-eminent. To
attempt to collect and apply the knowledge accumulated by these
celebrated men, would carry us far beyond the limits of a day’s
conversation; and as a great proportion of the insects that fly, walk,
or crawl, are the food of fishes, a dissertation, or discourse on this
subject, would be almost a general view of natural history. You know
that frogs, crawfish, snails, earthworms, spiders, larvæ of every kind,
millipedes, beetles, squillæ, moths, water flies, and land flies, are
all eaten by trout; and I once heard the late Sir Joseph Banks say, that
he found a large toad stuck in the throat of a trout; but as the skin of
this animal is furnished with an exceedingly acrid secretion, it
probably had been disgorged after being swallowed by a fish exceedingly
hungry. But though I have found most of the insect tribes, and many
small fishes, even of the most ravenous kind, as pike, in the stomachs
of trout, it never happened to me to see a toad there. I might give you
an account of the birth and life of frogs, which, with respect to their
generation, resemble fish, and which, when first excluded from the egg,
may be considered in the tadpole state as fish; and you would not find
their singular metamorphosis without interest. Or I could detail to you
the true histories which naturalists have given of the habits of snails
and earthworms, and of the sexual relations of these apparently
contemptible animals;—but this is too delicate a subject to dwell on.
Even the renewing or change of shell in the crawfish, when it falls in
its soft state an easy prey to fish, is a curious inquiry not only for
the physiologist, but likewise for the chemist. On these points, I must
request you to refer to writers in Natural History: yet I shall perform
my promise, and say a few words on winged insects, which, in their
origin and metamorphosis, offer the most extraordinary known miracles
perhaps of terrestrial natures. You must be acquainted with the origin
of our common house flies?
PHYS.—We know, that they spring from maggots, and that both the common
and blue bottle fly deposit their ova in putrid animal matter, were the
eggs are hatched and produce maggots, that, after feeding upon the
decomposing animal material, gradually change, gain a hard or horny
coat, seem as if entombed, and wait in a kind of apparent death or
slumber, till they are mature for a new birth, when they burst their
coatings and appear in the character of novel beings—fitted to inhabit
another element.
HAL.—The history of the birth and metamorphosis of all other winged
insects is very similar, but with peculiarities dependent upon their
organs, wants, and habits. You know the curious details with which we
have been furnished by natural historians of bees and ants, which live
in a kind of society. The ant flies, of which, as I mentioned to you,
imitations are sometimes used by fishermen, were originally maggots, and
became furnished with wings—not, however, passing through the aurelia
state for this last transformation.
POIET.—I beg your pardon, but, having lately read an account of these
animals in the very interesting book, called “An Introduction to
Entomology,” I think I can correct you in one particular; which is, that
the maggot of the ant _does_ assume the form of a chrysalis or pupa,
before it becomes a winged animal.
HAL.—It is true, that the _immediate_ transition of the maggot is into a
pupa, _then_ into an ant, which is furnished with a kind of case, from
which the wings emerge for their perfect transformation into the fly or
imago state. The males die soon after the sexual intercourse; the
females, when impregnated, lose their wings, and either voluntarily or
by force enter into society with neuter or working ants, for the purpose
of raising a new generation.
POIET.—You are perfectly right; and though it would be irrelevant to our
present object, I could almost wish, for the sake of amusing our
friends, that you would detail to us some other parts of the marvellous
history of these wonderful animals, which, if not so well authenticated,
might be supposed a philosophical romance. Such as the neuter or working
ants feeding each other and the offspring; the manner in which they
make, defend, and repair their dwellings, provide their food, watch and
attend to the female, and take care of her eggs; their extraordinary
mode of acquiring and defending the aphides and cocci, which bear to
them the same relation that cattle do to man, which are fed by them with
so much care, and the milk of which forms so important a part of their
food; the predatory excursions of a particular species to carry off
pupa, which they bring up as slaves.
HAL.—To enter into any of the details of the history of insects in
society, would carry us into an interminable, though interesting
subject, that would soon lose all relation to fly fishing; and I fear
what I have to say, even on the winged insects connected with this
amusement, will occupy too much of your time, for we have not more than
an hour to devote to this object.
POIET.—Tell us what you please; we are attentive.
[Illustration: PHRYGANEÆ,
_With their Imitations._
_Frederick Sc._]
[Illustration: EPHEMERÆ
_With their Imitations or Hooks_
_Frederick Sc._]
[Illustration: EPHEMERÆ,
_With their Imitations or Hooks_
_Frederick Sc._]
HAL.—The various individuals of the _gryllus_, or grasshopper tribe,
spring from larvæ, that do not differ much from the perfect insect,
except in possessing no wings. The eggs are deposited in our meadows,
and many species of this animal are gregarious, and their immigrations
in swarms are well known. The butterfly and moths, as you know, lay eggs
which produce caterpillars, and these caterpillars, after feeding upon
vegetable food, spin themselves or frame houses or beds, cocoons, in
which they are transformed into aurelias, and from which they burst
forth as perfect winged insects. The _libellula_, or dragon fly, the
most voracious of the winged insect tribe, deposits her eggs in such a
manner, that the larvæ fall into the water, and, after destroying and
feeding upon almost all the aquatic insects found in this element, and
changing their skins at various times, they emerge in their winged form
the tyrants of the insect generations in the air. The gnats and tipulæ
have a similar existence. The gnat, the female of which only is said by
De Geer to bite man, or suck human blood, in Sweden, lays her egg in a
kind of little boat or cocoon of her own spinning. These eggs are
hatched on the surface of the water, and produce the larvæ, which
undergo another change into peculiar nymphæ, that still retain the power
of swimming and moving, from which the perfect insect is produced during
the summer heat. The flies, which I mentioned to you in a former
conversation, under the name of the grannom, or green tail, (_see fig._
2,) are of the class _phryganeæ_, which includes all those water flies
that have long antennæ, and wings something like those of moths, but
usually veined and without powder. The yellow flies, which you saw a
short time since sporting on the banks of the river, are of this kind.
The phryganeæ (_see fig._ 1, 2, 3, and 4,) have four wings, which, when
closed, lie flat on their backs, the two upper ones being folded over
the lower ones: the flies called by anglers the willow fly, the alder
fly, (_see fig._ 4,) and the dun cut, are of this kind. The phryganeæ
lay their eggs on the leaves of willows, or other trees, that overhang
the water; they are fastened by a sort of gluten to the surface of the
leaf: when hatched, they produce small hexapode larvæ, which fall into
the water, and by a curious economy of nature collect round themselves,
some, parts of plants, or small sticks; some, gravel; and some, even
shell fish. They spin themselves a sort of case of silk from their
bodies, and by a gluten, that exudes from this case, cement their
materials together. They feed upon aquatic plants, and sometimes upon
insects, protruding only their head and legs from the case. When about
to undergo transmutation, they quit their cases, rise to the surface,
and wait for this process of nature in the air; but some species fix
themselves on plants or stones: they burst the skin of the larvæ, and
appear perfect animals, male and female, fitted for the office of
reproduction. In the early spring, the species which are called green
tails, from the colour of the bags of eggs in the female, appear in the
warm gleams of sunshine that happen in cloudy days, and they then cover
the face of the water, and are greedily seized on by the fish. As the
season advances they appear principally in the morning and evening. In
the heat of summer the phryganeæ are almost nocturnal flies, and seem to
have the habits of moths: at this season, _now_, I should say, the few
flies that appear are generally seen in the day-time. The _ephemeræ_,
another class of flies peculiarly interesting to the fisherman, differ
from the phryganeæ in carrying their wings perpendicularly on their
backs, and in having long filaments or hairs in their tails. The March
brown, (_see fig._ 8,) the various shades of duns, (_see fig._ 5, 6, and
7,) which I described to you on a former occasion; the green (_see fig._
9 and 10,) and white May fly, the red spinner, (_see fig._ 11,) are all
of the class ephemeræ. These flies are produced from larvæ which inhabit
the water, which can both crawl and swim, and which generally live in
holes they make in the bottom. They change their coats several times
before they become nymphæ. They quit their skin on the surface of the
water, but even after they are flies, they have another transformation
to undergo before they are perfect animals fitted for generation. They
make use of their wings only to fly to some dry bank, or trunk of a
tree, where they gradually disencumber themselves of the whole of the
outward habiliment they brought from the water, including their wings.
They become lighter, more beautiful in colour, and then begin their
sports in the sunshine—appearing like what might be imagined of spirits
freed from the weight of their terrestrial covering. This last
transmutation has been observed and fully described by some celebrated
naturalists, in the case of the May flies, and one or two other species,
and it probably will be found a general circumstance attached to the
class: I have often observed what appeared to me to be the cast-off
skins of the small species of ephemeræ on the banks of rivers and
floating in the water. The green ephemera, or May fly, lays her eggs
sitting on the water, which instantly sink to the bottom: and most of
the duns, or small slender-winged flies, do the same. The gray or
glossy-winged May fly, commonly called the gray drake, performs regular
motions in the air above the water, rising and falling, and sitting, as
it were, for a moment on the surface, and rising again, at which time
she is said to deposit her eggs. To attempt to describe all the variety
of ephemeræ, that sport on the surface of the water at different times
of the day, throughout the year, would be quite an endless labour. Some
of them appear to live only a few hours, and none of them, I believe,
have their existence protracted to more than a few days. In spring and
autumn a new variety of these flies sometimes appears every day, or even
in different parts of the same day. Of the beetle, or colyoptera genus,
there are many varieties fed on by fishes. These insects, which are
distinguished, as you know, by four wings, two husky-like shells above,
and two slender and finer ones below, are bred from eggs, which they
deposit in the ground, or in the excrement of animals, and which,
producing larvæ in the usual way, are converted into beetles, and these
larvæ themselves are good bait for fish. The brown beetle, or
cockchaffer, the fern fly, and the gray beetle, which are abundant in
the meadows in the summer, are often blown into the water, and are the
most common insects of this kind eaten by fishes. Whether the ditisci
and hydrophili, the water beetles, are ever eaten by trout, I know not,
but it is most probable. These singular animals are most commonly found
in stagnant waters; fitted for flying, swimming, diving, and walking,
they are omnivorous, and usually fly from pool to pool in the evening.
They deposit their eggs in the water, where their larvæ live, but which,
to undergo transmutation into the beetle, migrate to the land. But there
is hardly any insect that flies, including the wasp, the hornet, the
bee, and the butterfly, that does not become at some time the prey of
fishes. I have not, however, the knowledge, or if I had, have not the
time, to go through the lists of these interesting little animals; but
of the family of one of them I must speak—the ichneumons, that deposit
their eggs in caterpillars, or the larvæ of other flies, and which feed
on the unfortunate animal in which they are hatched, and come out of its
interior when dead, as if it had been their parent. To enter into the
philosophy of this subject, and to study the organs and faculties of
these various insect tribes, in their functions of respiration,
nutrition, and reproduction, would be sufficient for the labour of a
life. To know what has already been done would demand the close and
studious application of a comprehensive mind; and to complete this
branch of science in all its parts is probably almost above human
powers: but much might be done if enlightened persons would follow the
example of De Geer, Reaumur, and Huber, and study minutely the habits of
particular tribes; and it is probable, that physiology might be much
advanced by minutely investigating the simplest forms of living beings;
and that particularly with respect to the functions of generation a
minute study of the modifications of which the forms of animals seems
susceptible, particularly in the hymenopterous, or bee tribe, might lead
to very important results.
POIET.—Even in a moral point of view, I think the analogies derived from
the transformation of insects admit of some beautiful applications, that
have not been neglected by pious entomologists. The three states—of the
caterpillar, pupa, or aurelia, and butterfly—have, since the time of the
Greek poets, been applied to typify the human being—its terrestrial
form, apparent death, and ultimate celestial destination; and it seems
more extraordinary that a sordid and crawling worm should become a
beautiful and active fly—that an inhabitant of the dark and fœtid
dunghill should in an instant entirely change its form, rise into the
blue air, and enjoy the sunbeams,—than that a being, whose pursuits here
have been after an undying name, and whose purest happiness has been
derived from the acquisition of intellectual power and finite knowledge,
should rise hereafter into a state of being, where immortality is no
longer a name, and ascend to the source of Unbounded Power and Infinite
Wisdom.
PHYS.—I have been listening, Halieus, to your account of water-flies
with attention, and I only regret, that your details were not more
copious; let me now call your attention to that Michaelmas daisy. A few
minutes ago, before the sun sunk behind the hill, its flowers were
covered with varieties of bees, and some wasps, all busy in feeding on
its sweets. I never saw a more animated scene of insect enjoyment. The
bees were most of them humble bees, but many of them some new varieties
to me, and the wasps appeared different from any I have seen before.
HAL.—I believe this is one of the last autumnal flowers that insects of
this kind haunt. In sunny days it is their constant point of resort, and
it would afford a good opportunity to the entomologist to make a
collection of British bees.
POIET.—I neither hear the hum of the bee, nor can I see any on its
flowers. They are now deserted.
PHYS.—Since the sun has disappeared, the cool of the evening has, I
suppose, driven the little winged plunderers to their homes; but see,
there are two or three humble bees which seem languid with the cold, and
yet they have their tongues still in the fountain of honey. I believe
one of them is actually dead, yet his mouth is still attached to the
flower. He has fallen asleep, and probably died whilst making his last
meal of ambrosia.
ORN.—What an enviable destiny, quitting life in the moment of enjoyment,
following an instinct, the gratification of which has been always
pleasurable! so beneficent are all the laws of Divine Wisdom.
PHYS.—Like Ornither, I consider the destiny of this insect as desirable,
and I cannot help regarding the end of human life as most happy, when
terminated under the impulse of some strong energetic feeling, similar
in its nature to an instinct. I should not wish to die like Attila in a
moment of gross sensual enjoyment: but the death of Epaminondas or
Nelson in the arms of victory, their whole attention absorbed in the
love of glory and of their country, I think really enviable.
POIET.—I consider the death of the martyr or the saint as far more
enviable; for in this case, what may be considered as a divine instinct
of our nature, is called into exertion, and pain is subdued, or
destroyed, by a secure faith in the power and mercy of the Divinity. In
such cases man rises above mortality, and shows his true intellectual
superiority. By intellectual superiority I mean that of his spiritual
nature, for I do not consider the results of reason as capable of being
compared with those of faith. Reason is often a dead weight in life,
destroying feeling, and substituting, for principle, calculation and
caution; and, in the hour of death, it often produces fear or
despondency, and is rather a bitter draught than nectar or ambrosia in
the last meal of life.
HAL.—I agree with Poietes. The higher and more intense the feeling,
under which death takes place, the happier it may be esteemed; and I
think even Physicus will be of our opinion, when I recollect the
conclusion of a conversation in Scotland. The immortal being never can
quit life with so much pleasure as with the feeling of immortality
secure, and the vision of celestial glory filling the mind, affected by
no other passion than the pure and intense love of God.
NINTH DAY.
HALIEUS—POIETES—ORNITHER—PHYSICUS.
FISHING FOR HUCHO.
_Scene—The Fall of the Traun, Upper Austria.
Time—July_.
POIET.—THIS is a glorious scene! And the fall of this great and clear
river, with its accompaniments of wood, rock, and snow-clad mountain,
would alone furnish matter for discussion and conversation for many
days. This place is quite the paradise of a poetical angler; the only
danger is that of satiety with regard to sport; for these great grayling
and trout are so little used to the artificial fly, that they take
almost any thing moving on the top of the water. You see I have put on a
salmon fly, and still they rise at it, though they never can have seen
any thing like it before—and it is, in fact, not like any thing in
nature.
HAL.—You are right, they never have seen any thing like it before; but,
in its motion, it is like a large fly, and this is the season for large
flies. The stone fly and the May fly, you see, occasionally drop upon
the water, and the colour of your large fly is not unlike that of the
stone fly; but if, instead of being here in the beginning of July, you
had visited this spot, as I once did, in the beginning of June, you
would have found more difficulty in catching grayling here, though not
so much as in our English rivers—in the Test, the Derwent, or the Dove.
POIET.—How could this be?
HAL.—At this season the large flies had not yet appeared; the small blue
dun was on the water, and I was obliged to use a fly the same as that
which suits our spring and late autumnal fishing. The fish refused all
large flies, but took greedily small ones; and, as usually happens when
small flies are used, more fish escaped after being hooked than were
taken; and these I found, the next day, were become as sagacious as our
Dove or Test fish, and refused the artificial fly, though they greedily
took the natural fly.
PHYS.—These fish, then, have the same habits as our English salmons and
trouts?
HAL.—The principle to which I have referred in two former conversations
must be general, though it has seemed to me, that they lost this memory
sooner than the fish of our English rivers, where fly fishing is common.
This, however, may be fancy, yet I have referred it to a kind of
hereditary disposition, which has been formed and transmitted from their
progenitors.
PHYS.—However strange it may appear, I can believe this. When the early
voyagers discovered new islands, the birds upon them were quite tame,
and easily killed by sticks and stones, being fearless of man; but they
soon learned to know their enemy, and this newly acquired sagacity was
possessed by their offspring, who had never seen a man. Wild and
domesticated ducks are, in fact, from the same original type: it is only
necessary to compare them, when hatched together under a hen, to be
convinced of the principle of the hereditary transmission of habits,—the
wild young ones instantly fly from man, the tame ones are indifferent to
his presence.
POIET.—No one can be less disposed than I am to limit the powers of
living nature, or to doubt the capabilities of organized structures; but
it does appear to me quite a dream, to suppose that a fish, pricked by
the hook of the artificial fly, should transmit a dread of it to its
offspring, though he does not even long retain the memory of it himself.
HAL.—There are instances quite as extraordinary—but I will not dwell
upon them, as I am not quite sure of the fact which we are discussing; I
have made a guess only, and we must observe more minutely to establish
it; it may be even as you suppose—a mere dream.
POIET.—I shall go and look at the fall: I am really satiated with sport;
this is the twentieth fish I have taken in an hour, and it is a grayling
of at least fifteen inches long; and there is a trout of eighteen, and
several salmon trout, which look as if they had run from the sea.
HAL.—These salmon trout have run from a sea, but not from a salt sea;
they are fish of the Traun See, as it is called by the Germans, or Traun
Lake, which is emptied by this river.
PHYS.—Tell us why they are so different from the river trout, or why
there should be two species or varieties in the same water.