call them in Yorkshire), to be a lot of herons, so silent and quiet were they. Just at this momenta gamekeeper and his dog came up on to the bank on the opposite side of the river. I do not know which looked the most astonished, the man or his dog, at the sudden apparition of this long line of silent and motionless men. I myself had drawn a ticket, a capital allotment, with one nice little swim in it, about the size of a dining-table, from which I expected great things. Tackle is often perverse when one wishes to be more than usually careful. My tackle on this occasion was particularly obstinate and disagreeable—knotting, tangling, breaking, and in the most uncivil manner refusing to act. The very first cast I got foul of an immense branch that had chosen my swim as a resting-place, and in getting it out, I of course frightened every fish away from my twenty yards; add to this the pouring rain, wetting one’s tackle-books in the most painfully provoking manner, and it is not to be wondered at if I began to despair.

I waited a bit, and thought, to myself, u Oh, these Yorkshire fish ain’t up to snuff like the London fish but sad experience showed me that the Yorkshire fish are as sharp as the Yorkshire men. There must be something in the air of this celebrated county that puts an edge on to the wits of man and fish, for not a single bite, even from a minnow, could I get. So I asked my next-door neighbours how they were getting on.

They were in the same plight as myself. One of them had caught “ an old woman’s wig ” (a bit of weed), and the other a lot of thatching-pegs, but no fish.

At length, after about an hour’s silence, Mr. House-the very last on the line, and a longman—who was way off—broke the silence and quiet by shouting out, at the top of his voice, “ Tommy Parsee.” Another fisher answered with a laugh, and also as loud as he could bawl, u Tommy Parsee.” The word passed up the line, and everybody shouted, “ Tommy Parsee.” I have, after diligent and severe investigation, discovered that u Tommy Parsee ” is Yorkshire for a little fish called prickle-back, and imagine that it is a Yorkshire fisher’s war-cry, and that when he utters it he means he has no sport. So we fished and fished, but no bites. At last, bob-bob went my float—“ I’ve got him!” cried I; andup came a small roach, and immediately after another still smaller. I placed them on the bank, and my neighbour informed me that I was now sure of a prize-man at the last yearly meeting getting a second prize for two ounces and a half. So I took matters easy, and laid down my rod, and took a walk (contrary to the rules, by the way), to see what others were doing. I found most of the anglers fishing with a ledger—not a great heavy ledger, like the London barbel-ledgers, but one or two big shot on the gut just enough to sink the bait. Floats, too, were used; but such tiny

floats! Just the cork of a small phial physic-bottle, sharpened at both ends, with a cut in it into which the line can be slipped. These Yorkshire fish are either so

scarce, or else so knowing, that it requires the finest tackle to induce them to be caught. Most of the rods I observed, were spliced, not jointed rods. They were nearly all painted green, and Nottingham reels far pre-dominated over brass reels.

In about two hours, other anglers, who had bad places or who could get no sport, came wandering by.

“What thou got?” “Nought; nought.” “ You’re too keen, you’re too keen, munn; you strike too hard; I myself ain’t had a smell, much less a nibble, all day, and I’ve gee it oop.”

Then came by “The Wandering Jew,” a drunken angler—the only misbehaved man, by-the-way, of all the large party—who had waited so long in the public-house for his ticket that he had got too much beer aboard. He carried all his tackle anyhow, like a bundle of sticks, and lugged along a huge landing-net, into which he every now and then put his foot, and came tumbling over, like a shot hare. He said “ he wanted his place, which was No. 24, and that he had been all day looking for No. 24, and everybody said there was no 24; but he knew there was 24, and if he walked all day he would find it.” He then claimed 115,

which he swore was 24. He came bothering up to Houseman, who declared, if he did not stop his noise and clatter, he wrould put him on his hook and fish writh him. Then came down a man with a report of what they had been doing at the other end of the line; he told the tall, thin old gentleman from Thirsk, who stood tiptoe on the very verge of a very soft mud-bank, and who fished as if his life depended on the result, that somebody had caught fish amounting to 61b. weight. The old man, who was getting the best sport of all in our quarter, opened his eyes wider than they were before, but went on fishing with redoubled silence and quiet. I expected every minute to see him topple into the river, so eager was he to win the prize cup. He did not seem inclined to answer the many queries put to him, his only response was, “ Grubb for chubb, grubb for

chubb.” I myself caught two more little thin roach (I did get

a prize of a small red tobacco jar for fish weighing altogether oz. The highest prize was for fish weighing 4 lb. 6J oz.); and then, as the time of pistol-firing near, and I had fished since eleven,—five o’clock—got I left my allotment to see the u weighing in.”

The pistol was fired when I got near to the far end of the line, and the “ weigher-in ” came by, with a pair of scales and a note-taker behind him. I also took notes.

The first man we came to had got his fish displayed on

the grass. “ Into the scales with him. Name and number, sir,” said the weigher—=•“ 3oz., sir.” “ Now for the next man ” ” “The next “ 6—“ 4 oz.; oz.; ” “ The next “ 2J oz.; ” “ The next”—“ By Jove! it’s a jack; he’ll get the prize! no he won’t, the jack weighs only 8 oz.; ” ” “ The oz. The next ”—“ oz.;“ The next ”—“ 1J

allnext ”—“ T oz.” (a little dace); “ The next—Is that ye’re got?” “Yes.” “Weigh him, then.” “By Jove he doesn’t turn the scales at all.” “Yes, he does. You’ve lost the prize, sir, he just turns the scales. You’ve rubbed him in the sand, sir, and made him heavier than he is naturally; if you had not you would have won the prize.” “ What prize!” said the man. “ Why the prize for the smallest fish, sir.” “ Why if I knowed that,” said the man “ I’m dommed if ah would not ah fished for small fish all day long.” “ What fish is it?” said I, “ let’s look.” “ He is all covered with call him?” “ Sithee munn, it’ssand—what do you nought but f a Tommy Parsee.’ ” “Thank goodness, then! ” I exclaimed, “ I have at last seen that mythical

‘ Tommy Parsee.’ ” * is it? ” “ AYorkshire—what “ Give him here; I must have him for my museum. What’s the prize for him?” “Oh! it’s a wooden

11 Pope" of Thames anglers. A Tommy Parsee is the

spoon,” said the weigher-in, u generally, for the smallest fish; but I must take him up to the chemist’s and weigh him, because I think a fisher down yon has got a smaller.” We then came to an old man who was still fishing, sitting below a very steep bank, on a basket surrounded with an immense display of tackle and bait for himself and for the fish. Bread-and-cheese, beer, gin-and-water, wasp grubs, worms, pastes, &c., were all spread about him in great profusion; and every here and there an irate wasp came to reclaim her lost young robbed from her powder-destroyed nest. Our patient friend, whom we found still fishing (though the match had been over above an hour), was one mass of macintosh; it had been raining some three hours back—and he had a great sheet of macintosh bound like a tent-house over his u long-faced ” hat. “ Yon youth’s got glazed,” said the weigher-in u Hi! weigh oop thee fish, munn.”

The fisher turned round sulkily. u I got nought, I got nought,” said he, and went on

fishing sulkily. He rebaited his hook, and I doubt not may still be found in his fishing-box by the side of the Swale at this moment. As we got further down, the weight of fish somewhat increased, though the first prize was obtained for 41b Gioz. There cannot be many fish in the river, or else

they will not bite. I leave this point to be settled by philosophers. All being over, we again marched in line to the public-house. One of the anglers had caught a burbolt, which he very kindly, at Mr. Houseman’s request, gave to me, and I delivered a clinical lecture upon it to a select party. While the anglers were collected in knots waiting the announcement of the rewards and prizes, I remarked that, though but very few had fish, every man had a landing-net. One fisher had a huge iron gaff, made by a village blacksmith. These landing-nets were all fixed permanently into a long handle, and the bottom of the handle had a piece of iron

fixed into it exactly the shape of a boat-hook, viz., a spike and a crook; the crook is of great use for un-hitching tackle from trees, and the spike serves to stand the net upright in the ground. I strongly recommend this addition to the landing-net to all anglers. As the 135 men were standing about in knots talking over the events of the day, the 135 landing-nets stood web in relief against the sky. They had the most curious possible appearance, reminding one of a party of New Zealanders with their clubs all ready for the assault at the sound of the war-cry, “ Tommy

Parsee.” It has been remarked by somebody who knows nothing about the subject, that the notion that fishermen are a pacific race is a mistaken idea. I, for my

part, can only say that on this very pleasant day with the Yorkshire “ fishers ” I saw great good-feeling and mutual friendliness and excellent behaviour among a large number of men of the most varied characters and dispositions; in fact, I have generally found that anglers are a peaceful and kind-hearted set of men. I have only one regret as regards the match in which I had the honour of competing, and that is, that there was not a prize for those who had no bite; but I fancy this prize was not offered, as there would have been too many competitors, for fifteen jolly anglers who were placed in a row, all showed blank returns, not one of them having had a nibble all day, much less a that arbitration would have been difficult.bite,—so

Such matches as these, I am sure, do the cause of angling and piscatorial fellowship much good;—and I shall certainly (if the London anglers support the notion) some summer endeavour to get up a similar match for Thames anglers. People get to know each other, and much fun and friendly chaff is elicited. Though the prizes were small, and in some cases laughable, it must be remembered anglers do not care so much for the value of the prizes, nor yet for the fish they catch, as for the encouragement of good feeling, and friendly emulation, and good fellowship among all lovers of the “ gentle art.”

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