unlike its predecessor as he can make it. I can never fully
understand the frequent admission, "He was a fine fish, but he got
off." The breaking away of a lusty trout upon whom the fine line has
been too heavily strained, or who has been hooked with rotten tackle,
is explainable enough. It is a natural consequence. The "getting off"
of such a fish is quite another matter, and argues something, in nine
cases out of ten, radically wrong in the disposition of the hooks. You
often see three or four triangles so fixed to the bait that only by
accident can one of them get into the mouth of the fish, and not a half
of one _deserves_ to get in. There is no sense in having the hooks too
small, and, if I may venture to offer one more opinion, no spinning
flight for trout is perfect which has not a hook or hooks clear of all
impediment at the tail.

About the tackle and methods of fishing for Thames trout there is
nothing new to say. Of late years the use of the live bait with fine
snap tackle, and on Nottingham principles, has prevailed to an
increasing extent, but the familiar style of spinning from the weir
beams still holds its own. It presents a minimum of toil, and the
rushing water helps you so much that it appeals irresistibly to the
happy-go-lucky instincts of the fair-weather sportsmen, who are
probably, after all, a majority of Thames trout fishers. Our friends
are persevering, but they persevere in the wrong way, contenting
themselves by fishing the same water from morning to night, instead of
working the bait far and near with constant change of tactics. The
Thames trout is particularly cute, and is not such a fool as to be
taken in by a little fish that is always twiddling at one place, in a
strongly running current, yet never gets an inch forward. A good
Thames man spins his bleak everywhere, steadily and naturally, into
eddies, close to piles, under trees, near the banks. The glittering
object is never at rest, but flutters hither and thither, covering new
ground with every yard of advance.

* * * * * *

More through lack of opportunity than dislike, intention, or design, I
have not, at least to the present time, enjoyed my full share of
fishing from a punt, or in the river Thames. On the few occasions when
I have sought it the experience has therefore been a little peculiar,
like that of going to school to learn something. Together with the
very proper keenness of