where he can fish from the banks free of expense, though the best way of following his sport will be to subscribe to some water on the Lea, where, for a subscription varying in amount from 10s. to 2l., he can always ensure a quiet day in the meadows by the river-side.
Doubtless many of these subscription waters are over-fished, and the capture of a heavy jack is not an every day occurrence, but there is usually a quiet little inn connected with them which is supported by lovers of angling, and where for little cost the visitor can get a comfortable bed, good plain country fare, and the society of anglers.
Old Izaac Walton’s theory that fishermen are generally harmless, honest men, applies to these times as well as to his own days. I have mixed often with them at fishing inns, and my experience has been that a fast man would be much out of his element in their society. The evening talk runs mostly on gorge hooks, paternosters, hair lines, gut lines, and the like. Many a fish is killed over again, pending the enjoyment of solemn pipes, and occasionally in winter time a rubber at long whist for penny points, “with snuffed candles, a well swept hearth, and the rigour of the game” (as Charles Lamb says), varies the evening’s amusement. Then there are good old stories of wonderful fish which have been caught in days gone by, and we never think of doubting the assertion of steady-going, old-fashioned frequenters of the house, “that fifty years ago the water was the finest in England;” nor do we question the weight—quoted from memory—of a pike which was taken in the Waterloo year by the narrator of the incident, who deplores the removal of an old weir where he landed his prize.
The working men at the East-end of London are, many of them, enthusiastic fishermen. Roach-fishing is their particular hobby, probably owing to its being the least expensive. A very little money will buy a decent roach rod and line, and a few single hair or gut hooks can be procured for a penny each; a pennyworth of gentles and a little crumb bread and bran, for bait, complete the equipment.
In spite of the menaces of Little Bethel, or Ebenezer, I have often walked by the river-side on a fine Sunday afternoon, and seen with pleasure some poor man intent on his roach-fishing, and not unfrequently accompanied by his missus and two or three children, who were enjoying their al fresco dinner near him. I do not smell brimstone in the enthusiastic cry of “Father’s got another bite!” and when I think of the gaping gin palaces near the poor angler’s dwelling, which are always yawning to receive him, and that he has preferred saving a little money for weeks past for this Sunday treat, instead of investing it in gin, I, for one, won’t throw a stone at “that awful Sabbath breaker,” which ugly title some well-fed Mr. Stiggins is always applying to him.
I am not going to enter on the question of Sunday fishing, beyond remarking that the overworked artisan, not your underworked nine hours’ strike man, has a very good answer to any one who bullies him about Sunday fishing.
Let any one who wants to ascertain the value of a day’s fishing as a relief to the brain, keep a diary of his day by the river-side, and compare it with a page of his working diary. Possibly the two diaries would run somewhat in this way: Monday: attended Perks. Mem.: press Johnson for two hundred pounds. Smith versus Cod-liver Oil Company—filed bill. Wrote Brown, Jones, and Robinson, &c.
Tuesday: by the river at 6.30 a.m. Run with pike; lost him round a post. Caught perch—weight, 1½ lbs. Second run with pike; landed him—weight, 4¾ lbs. Breakfast at 8.30. Sun hot from 10 till 4. Saw lots of dragonflies and kingfishers. 5: out of bait; caught seven roach, &c.
Any one who feels disposed to expend a little ready money on an outfit, and can get a friend who understands the mysteries of the gentle art to go with him once or twice, will have no difficulty in acquiring sufficient knowledge of fishing to amuse himself; and although he will never be an Izaac Walton, he will, if he takes a fancy to the sport, provide himself with a new pleasure in life which is inexhaustible. It is not a bad expenditure of money for a novice to go once or twice with a Thames fisherman in a punt; and—taking care to furnish such a commissariat as will keep the puntman in good humour—get a thorough good lesson or two from him. Old Izaac must be his text-book for all information relating to the haunts and habits of fish, though of course he must study some modern practical book (the “Jolly Angler” my text book) for instructions about his tackle.
If I have failed in pleasantly putting my hobby before the readers of Once a Week, let me now make amends by ending with a quotation from the good old Izaac.
Venator (loquitur).—“And as a pious man advised his friend: that to beget mortification he should frequent churches, and view monuments, and charnel-houses, and then and there consider how many dead bodies Time had piled up at the gates of death: so when I would beget content, and increase confidence in the power, and wisdom, and providence of Almighty God, I will walk the meadows by some gliding stream, and there contemplate the lilies that have no care, and those—very many—other various little living creatures that are not only created, but fed, man knows not how, by the goodness of the God of nature; and therefore I will trust in him. This is my purpose, and so let everything that hath breath praise the Lord, and let the blessing of St. Peter’s[1] master be with mine—
Piscator (loq.).—“And upon all that are lovers of virtue and dare trust in his Providence, and be quiet, and go a-angling.”
TANNHÄUSER.
In ancient days the gods were occasionally dethroned. Vulcan was literally kicked out of Olympus, and Apollo reduced for a time to tend the flocks of Admetus. But in the third century of our era, all the heathen deities were expelled together. Heine, in a charming essay
- ↑ St. Peter the Fisherman was the favourite Apostle of Izaac Walton.
