gloves to a young lady who laid a wager that she would catch ten out of a dozen bites, 'nibbles included,' and actually did it. Notwithstanding, however, this somewhat feminine reputation, there is no doubt that for male minds also gudgeon-fishing occasionally possesses a peculiar fascination; and it is mentioned as a fact that the clergyman of a parish near Hampton Court, who was engaged to be married to a bishop's daughter, lingered so long over this sport as to arrive too late for the ceremony, whereupon the young lady refused to be united to one who preferred his basket to his bride.1 I used greatly to enjoy a day's gudgeon-fishing myself in my schoolboy days before loftier ambitions had stepped in to throw my punt fishing propensities into the shade; before I had risked my neck in a helter skelter rush after a 20-lb. salmon ; exulted in a tussle with that grim cannibal, the pike; or, trout rod in hand, strolled my solitary way by the banks of the arrowy Dart— Shut in, left alone, with myself and perfection of water. But at the time I speak of I was a glutton for Thames punt fishing, and for gudgeon fishing in particular. I remember my enthusiasm effervescing in a semi-jocose article to a sporting contemporary. If I reproduce a part of this article here, my apology must be that it recalls the red letter days of boyish existence, which cannot, alas, be lived over again; and as I began my fishing experiences on the banks of the Thames, so I may perhaps not inappropriately conclude this book, the last I shall probably ever write on fishing, with a tribute to my Alma Mater. 'Of all spots and sports, commend me to a good gravelly swim on the Thames in July-a punt, a rake, a pretty companion and a day's gudgeon fishing. What can be more jolly? A fellow has come back regularly done up, perhaps, with grind, to spend the "long" at the Grange with the cousins (Julia is a ward in Chancery, I fancy?)-one of those broad white houses to be found nowhere but on the banks of the Thames, with a skirting of pheasant cover or wooded cliff 1 Jesse's Angler's Rambles, p. 4. as a background, and a lawn as smooth and green as the finest Paris velvet, sloping down from the drawing-room steps to the boathouse. The moment breakfast's over, "Now then come along girls!"someone shouts and out you go through the window or over the balcony-a scamper to the boathouse, a vigorous shove or two with the punt pole, and in five minutes the ripecks are fast, and everything ready in the very perfection of a "pitch" -not that one out there over the shallows, for the sun will soon have done washing his face, and in an hour will blaze up dazzling enough for Phaeton himself-but the other, under the island yonder, and just within the dip of the chestnuts, where you can see the "golden gravel," as Tennyson calls it, as bright as a new guinea. Splash! in goes the rake, leaded at the end like a constable's staff that it may sink well out, over the swim-three minutes' vigorous raking-another for comfortably shaking down into places, and you are about to set to work with a will, when you probably discover that Blanche has broken her float, or that Julia's hook is off (it was yesterday !) . . . But floats are not difficult to mend, and there are more hooks than one in the world, so everything is soon en règle, and at it you go. Ha! a bite the moment the float touches the water, bobsouse-you have him-so has Julia (Blanche and Charley aren't baited yet)—two fish in two swims-that looks well; for if gudgeon don't come on to bite at first, they often don't do it at all. "A pair of gloves that I catch the first dozen?" "Done," -and done you are, for Julia nobbles twelve unsuspecting gobiones in as many swims, before you have bagged your fifth, and triumphantly informs you that her size is "sixes, sir." "Once more! come, double or quits?" If you are lucky you possibly win; but if you are not only not lucky, but in love, you lose to a dead certainty. Something must be wrong; you examine your little red worm with an unloving and critical eye, and you find that your No. 9 Kendal is minus its barb ! Well! that's soon remedied :-"Come, another pair?" but Julia declines with thanks the proffered. "glove," and suggests that when she accepted it before "your hand wasn't in." The little sharper! Well, so she is-sharper than you at all events; and she might have accepted your challenge, sir, with the utmost safety if she had chosen to bleed you; for she is one of the best gudgeon-fishers on the Thames, and when ladies do take in earnest to catching gudgeon, let me tell you they beat the lords of creation into fits. "Bless you!" as a Smithfield butcher once observed to me à propos of sticking pigs, "it comes nat'ral to 'em." But how's this? The gudgeon have all at once left off biting. Half-a-dozen swims without a nibble-“give them another rake." You do, till your arms ache. But you might just as well give them another spade for any effect it produces. Stay-I see! My friend, Mr. Perca fluviatilis, is below, and the process of biting, so far as the gudgeon are concerned, is taking a passive instead of an active form. Try him with a paternoster; whilst he stops there nothing will bite, depend upon it,— you might as well try and tempt a snake-fascinated parroquette with a caterpillar! Ha! I have him . . . a John, by all the powers!-a big, bullying pike, come here to make a breakfast. Julia, the landing net-quick-don't wait till he's done up, but pop it under him the moment you get a chance, for whilst he can show fight he keeps his tail towards you and his head down, with the gut in the corner of his great mouth where he's got no teeth; but as soon as he's beaten, his mouth slews round, and the line will be in the breakers in a moment. So-bravely done a six-pounder at the least and in capital condition. But what on earth can Charley and Blanche be about all this time? They actually haven't begun yet! Well, the fact is that Blanche and Charley have contrived to get their two lines into a most vigorous tangle, and somehow the juxtaposition of so many pair of taper fingers doesn't seem to have much expedited matters. But there! What's the good of talking and making myself melancholy? a fellow can't eat his cake and keep it; it's all over and done with, and here I am back at my venerable Coach's again-Homer, Horace, Livy-Livy, Horace, Homer -the old grind! Adieu to gudgeon and gudgeon fishing, Hurley Bucks, Harleyford Woods, cool breezes, murmuring rivers, and pretty cousin Julia—until the next long vacation.' Glide gently, thus for ever glide. O Thames! that anglers all may see As thy deep waters now are flowing. H. C.-P. 335 ROACH-FISHING AS A FINE ART, WITH A FEW WORDS ON THE RUDD. To describe roach-fishing as a 'Fine Art' may, in the opinion of some sportsinen, be deemed an abuse of terms. I can, in fancy, see the smile-kindly may-be, yet sardonic-which flits across the countenance of many a reader as he scans the heading of this chapter. He puts the book down for a moment; knocks the ash off his cigar; leans back in his chair, and runs his eye along the wall, upon which, in the pleasant sanctum of the angler, hang his salmon and trout rods. 'Roach-fishing a fine art is it?' he mentally enquires. Fly-fishing I know, spinning I understand. They are sciences, fine arts if you like, but roach-fishing-no.' My good sir, pause awhile. Be reasonable. Lay yourself open to conviction. Allow yourself to be cross-questioned, and admit once for all that your credulity is. the consequence of what very blunt persons-say Dr. Johnson -would call sheer ignorance, but which I will merely specify as defective knowledge upon the subject. Believe me that roach-fishing can be elevated, and is often elevated, into a very fine art indeed, as I will endeavour to explain before I lay down my stylograph. At the same time, to soothe your troubled soul, I have no objection in the world to admit that there has been an enormous amount of nonsense written about the game qualities of the roach, the superlative character of the sport, and the consummate skill required to catch the fish. It will be sufficient for my purpose to remark, as an ending to this introductory paragraph, that for many reasons, roach-fishing may be fairly included in a catalogue of British sports, and must be |