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spoken. As to its being used single or double, | our own, as we love the sentiment, which we that must depend upon its quality. First-rate had expressed almost in the very same words single gut is sufficient, with skill and carefulness, long before we had seen Mr. Scrope's work, and to kill a salmon to its heart's content; but we when we were as ignorant of his ideas as he of think the gradation just referred to, makes it rather advisable to have at least the upper portion double for a few links adjoining the reelline. If the river is rough and rocky, and genuine salmon-gut of prime quality cannot be had, then the entire casting-line should be double.

In regard to the choice of flies, the first thing is to endeavour to forget that there is such a thing as a natural fly on the face of the earth. You may then, by assiduous and observant practice on your own part, conjoined with reasonable though not too pertinacious inquiry from others who are locally experienced, obtain a knowledge of the artificial kinds. That some flies are better than others there is no doubt, but it is extremely difficult to say before-hand, which may prove the most successful, so variable are the fancies of salmon, and apparently so regulated by the state of the river, of the weather, or of other things it may be of an atmospheric nature unappreciable by our less delicate percep

tions.

Another person's fly sometimes proves more successful than the angler's own-at least we found it so the last day save one on which we fished the famous river Shin. We had left Lairg at five o'clock of a fine gray July morning, and the dog-cart took us four miles down the river in a few minutes, as we wished to angle the lower pools between the waterfall and Shin Bridge. It was Monday- the best day in the week for sport in that quarter, as net and cobble are at rest at the river's mouth throughout the preceding day, and so an extra number of freshrun fish have generally made their way upwards into stream and pool. We thought the day our own, as we knew of no one on the water (with permission) except ourselves, and so we descended to the river-side, and took our station by a well-known rush of water. Just as we commenced casting into the neck of the stream, we perceived that we had been anticipated, even at that early hour, for there stood at the tail of it a tall stranger, clad in tweeds from top to toe, whom we had actually seen a few minutes before, but had taken for an aspiring crag, so like was his pervading color to the rocky cincture of that roaring river. It was by mere chance that we had not stepped in before rather than behind him, which would not have accorded with piscatorial politeness. We fished the stream more quickly and carelessly than we should else have done; and as the "great unknown" passed downwards we did so too, in the hope of picking up what he might leave. We happened to have our eye upon him when he commenced the next stretch, which he had no sooner done than he raised a fine fish that came at him like a great wedge of blue and silver, making itself distinctly heard even amid the voice of many waters, for the banks were now high, rocky, and resounding from afar. However, it appeared that he had either missed his fish, or his fish had missed him, for no direct communication had been established between them. The angler then paused a minute- whether wisely or no we cannot take upon ourselves to say-but pause he did, drew up his line, took off his fly, unfolded his capacious pocket-book, appended to his line another lure, and tried the cast again. But this time he essayed in vain, for salmo, taking the sulks, had sunk beneath the darkening waters, and the turbulent stream pursued its course, unbroken but by its own uproarious nature, and its rocky shores. The piscator passed again downThis is all as true as steel. The italics are wards, and we also descending came upon the

"When a man toils a long time without success," says Mr. Scrope," he is apt to attribute his failure to the using an improper fly, so he changes his book through, till at last, perhaps, he catches fish. The fly with which he achieves this, is naturally a favorite ever afterwards, and probably without reason: the cause of success might be in the change of air and temperature of the water; and the same thing would probably have occurred if he had persevered with the same fly with which he began. When the night has been frosty, salmon will not stir till the water has received the genial warmth of the day; and there are a thousand hidden causes of obstruction, of which we, who are not fish, know nothing.

"As an instance, I once fished over a short stream above The Webbs,' in Mertoun Water, without having an offer. Being convinced there were fish in it, I went over it a second time with the same fly immediately afterwards, and caught two salmon and two grilse. Now, if I had changed my fly, as is usual, the success would naturally have been attributed to such change. But observe, I do not mean to assert that all flies are equally successful, for there must obviously be a preference, however slight; but I mean merely to say, that a failure oftener occurs from atmospheric variations than from color of the fly. Yet an occasional change is always advisable, particularly if you have had any offers; since the fish, in so rising, having perhaps discovered the deception, will not be solicitous to renew their acquaintance with a detected scamp. After all, the great thing is to give the appearance and motion of a living animal.”

to look at our fly. When we showed it, none the worse for wear, he looked at it reproachfully, and declared it was a perfect fac-simile of the one with which he had so nearly struck the fish himself, and which was then in his pocket-book. The first clause of the verse was very true-it was really as like as possible; the second was perhaps open to some cavilling objection, but as we are not ourselves of an argumentative turn of mind, we said nothing more upon the subject.

The mode of casting and working the fly can only be attained by practical experience, often dearly bought. Mr. Stoddart says well — the surface of the water. By the trout-fisher, "never allow the hook itself to plough or ruffle whose lures are in point of size comparatively insignificant, this may be done occasionally without any bad result; but a salmon-fly thus worked will generally occasion distrust or terror, and seldom prove inviting."

spot which he had left. With one leg planted | self not half an hour before, and requested leave in the water, and another on a ledge of protruding rock, we were just about to try our chance, when we espied beneath our upraised foot, just as we were setting it for firmness' sake on the aforesaid ledge, a beautiful and highly finished Irish fly, really a splendid piece of work, elaborate with the fantastic feathering of guinea-fowl, golden-pheasant, king-fisher, blue and buff maccaw, and other "birds of gayest plume." It had dropped unwittingly from the fingers of our aspiring predecessor, and was, we presumed, the very lure at which the salmon had just made so bright a lounge, and which its ungrateful, inconsiderate master had suddenly discarded and deposed, as if the fly had been to blame. We considered within ourselves, that if the fish had risen once so keenly, in like manner it might rise again, and so taking off our own property, we substituted the piece of "treasure trove," and cast it on the waters. Truly we found it again ere many minutes, for scarcely had it hung a few seconds pretty well within the edge of the off side of the stream, than up rose salmo like an aurora-borealis, and away he went down the water with a fly in his mouth which was certainly neither his nor ours. However, we gave him line liberally (it was our own), and strode along the rocks as fast as we were able. He went at once down to the tail of his own stream, stopped, turned, gave a surly indefinite kind of plunge, as if he were both fish and fowl, but instead of returning upwards as we had expected, he had merely made a somerset under water, and then went away down again, like a congreve rocket, through a narrow rush of water between two rocks, and into a dark and deep capacious pool below. This was precisely what he ought to have done, for we knew this bit of water as well as he did, or rather better, as we had been always near, and often in it, for a fortnight; whereas not being a member of the Sabbath Alliance, he had come up the day before. Time and types are wanting to tell all he did (we say nothing of ourselves), but after working him steadily for about sixteen minutes, he began to wamble through the water, and to show rather that his sides were deep and silvery, than that his back was broad and blue. We ere long led him gently into quiet water, towards the central side of that capacious pool, where our predecessor was still standing in his tweeds; and at the feet of that predecessor, our sagacious friend and follower, "the miller," gaffed and laid him down -a beautiful fish which might have been the stranger's own, and with a fly in his mouth, which assuredly had been so. He kindly informed us of what we were previously well aware, that he had raised that same salmon him

Salmon-angling is a much more slow and solemn occupation than trouting. Although a fish will sometimes take the fly upon the very surface, and almost the moment it arrives there, it more frequently waits for it under water, and after it has been allowed to course some portion of the stream. Deep and slow fishing is certainly more advisable than a superficial hasty style, although both extremes are bad. Although a salmon when sharp-set will no doubt follow a fly, and so go somewhat out of his way to obtain it, yet on the whole he prefers its being put honestly before him, which can only be done designedly when his own special haunt is known. But there is generally what may be called a likely portion of the water, and there the fly should take its patient and insidious courses—sometimes a solemn semicircular sweep then a coy attempt to escape by gently jousting upwardswhile ever and anon it should hang as if enamoured in the stream, or even be dropt suddenly a foot or two downwards, and then recovered cautiously again. These and many more manoeuvres must be called forth and regulated by the particular nature of the "pure element of waters" in which the angler may be standing for the time-an onward or at least continuous movement being advisable in the comparatively still reaches of a river, while the dallying or hovering action suits the more rapid and perturbed streams. On the whole, the upward or longitudinal motion, more or less varied, seems more successful, if not more deceptive, than the transverse. A river is seldom as broad as it is long; and if a salmon sees a nice-looking artificial fly (we never saw them rise at a real one) it will prefer following it up the deeper channel of the stream or current, to turning shorewards

for it, with the risk of finding itself in shallow | water, and wasting its silver sheen upon the gravel. That the hovering or hanging system is a good one, we had a couple of years ago occasion to exemplify, as follows. The reader will again excuse a "personal narrative," though not by Humboldt.

along the large stones of the cruive-dyke, and
up a steep rough knoll on the river-side, between
the end of that dyke and the lower portion of
the stream where the fish had been hooked, and
was now gambolling. But he behaved most con-
siderately, went splashing downwards at first for
a few yards (we had very few to spare, but of
this the salmon was probably not aware), and
then came towards us just fast enough to admit
of our reeling in a bountiful supply of line, and
then, after cutting his capers for ten or twelve
minutes within reasonable distance, he ran his
snout close in shore, where he grubbed about
for the first and last time, being speedily gaffed
by one of our companions.
P. S. No sooner
was our fly taken out of his mouth, and set at

and immediately raised, hooked, and killed another fish, exactly in the same manner. We never moved from our position a single inch the whole time. Now, there is no doubt that both of these salmon had seen and resisted two excellent and very taking flies, brought skilfully over them, but cross-ways, and somewhat too rapidly, many times immediately before we hooked them. So much for hovering.

We were angling on the river Inver with two friends, and had taken up our own position on the cruive-dyke which crosses that river about a mile and a half above Loch Inver. The principal stream was running impetuously beneath our feet, as we had commenced casting, for the sake of firm and comfortable footing, from off the boards which formed the roof of the cruive itself. We could thus command not only the centre of the current, but both its sides. How-liberty, than we again pursued a similar course, ever, we threw away for some time without raising a fish. Our two companions had taken up their station somewhat lower down, and were casting from the leftward shore. From their position, and working, as they were obliged to do, at right angles to the stream, although they could put their flies well into the nearer side of the current of strong water, they could not hang them there, because before that process can be effected, the line must fall away downwards till it is nearly at right angles with the rod, at least if the angler is casting across the water. The centre of that lower portion of the stream looked very inviting, but as it was beyond our own reach by ordinary casting, and besides, by courtesy, belonged for the time being rather to our friends than ourselves, we indulged in no covetous designs regarding it. But after nearly an hour of unsuccessful labor on the part of the triumvirate, our companions laid down their rods upon the sloping heathery bank behind, and themselves on a more smooth and open spot of turfy verdure, and soon was the surrounding air made odorous by the softly spreading vapor of cigars. We thought there was now no harm in trying the central portion of the tail of the stream, per fas aut nefas. And this we did without moving from our position on the cruive, but not by casting, which the distance made impossible. We simply let out with the hand the requisite length of reel-line, which the swift coursing water carried speedily away downwards, with our fly at the far end, and in this way we soon reached the desired portion of the stream. We had scarcely hung our fly for a few seconds with a waving motion in the precise piece of water which had so often been traversed by cross angling so immediately before, than we raised and hooked a fine fresh-run fish. Our only fear now was of his taking himself down the water, as our line was already far spent, and we could not very rapidly have made our way

We dare not now venture on any comparison between the peculiar pleasures afforded by our great southern river, the Tweed, and such as are yielded by our more northern waters. No stream in Britain equals the Tweed for the quantity of killing sport that may be obtained in it, especially if under the auspices of the powers that be. We are ourselves practically norse-men, the "northern powers" having hitherto accorded every kindness both to ourselves and friends. And is not the quality or nature of that northern sport the more intellectual and excitting of the two? We think it is, and so does our ingenious "Scottish Angler," even although his household hearth, and all his home affections, are now concentrated by the banks of the great border river.

"When I speak, however, of salmon-fishing," says Mr. Stoddart," I renounce all allusion to it frequenters of certain portions of the Tweed. as practised under that name by the aristocratic To those who live at a distance from this river, the feats recorded and vaunted of from time to time by these noble piscatores, may appear, as displays of skill and craft, highly creditable to the parties engaged. To the spectators of them, they are, in many instances, next thing to farcical, quite undeserving the name and character of feats of sport, and in reality are no more the them, than Punch and Judy is the veritable unachievements of those professing to execute assisted performance of a set of wooden puppets."―p. 246.

"But I come to the description of the sport

itself, so termed, although in my opinion but partially entitled to that designation, so far, at least, as regards the skill and judgment on the part of the angler, and also in respect to the kind of salmon forming the majority of those killed, and which, in the spring season, consist, with comparatively few exceptions, of kelts and baggits. These, although they sometimes run long and sullenly, are very far from having the activity of clean-run salmon; moreover, they are totally unfit, after being captured, for human use, retaining neither the internal curdiness nor rich taste of properly conditioned fish. As exercising, moreover, the ingenuity of the sportsman, they are quite at fault, possessing a voracity that, on occasion of great success, induces disgust and satiety rather than satisfaction or triumph.

"For my own part I would rather capture in spring a single newly-run salmon than a whole boat-load of kelts. Yet these, and no others, are the fish frequently vaunted of as affording, under the name of salmon, amusement to some brainless boaster, some adept by purchase, not by skill, in the noble art of angling. For, let me ask, what all the science displayed by this sort of salmon-slayer consists of? Is he versed in the mysteries of rod and tackle, taught by experience what fly to select-when, where, or how to fish? Is this amount of knowledge at all necessary? Nothing of the kind. The performer has no will or say in the matter. In every act, in the choice of his fly and casting-line, in the position and management of the boat, he is under the control of the tacksman. By him he is directed where to heave his hook, and, if a novice, how. Nothing is left for his own fancy or discretion. He has forfeited all freedom of action. Nay more, he is fettered with the presence of his griping taskmaster. Enough it is that he pays, and that handsomely, for the sport so termed, of hauling within reach of the gaffhook a miserable kelt or two, which, when secured, he sees no more of, and is unable, unless by purchase, to exhibit as a trophy to his friends.". p. 248.

"That salmon-fishing, as practised from the boat on Tweed, is upon the whole a very agreeable recreation, affording exercise and some measure of joyous excitement to the person engaged in it, I do not mean to deny; but it is not, to my mind, nearly so pleasurable or satisfactory a sport as when pursued on foot. Give me a stream which I can readily command, either from the bank, or by means of wading a dark, hill-fed water, like the Lochie or the Findhorn, full of breaks, runs, pools, and gorges — give me the waving birch-wood, the cliff and ivyed scaur, tenanted by keen-eyed kestril or wary falconmore than this, give me solitude, or the companionship not less relishable-of some ardent and kindred spirit, the sharer of my thoughts and felicity-give me, in such a place, and along with such an onlooker, the real sport of salmon-fishing the rush of some veteran water monarch, or the gambol and caracol of a plump new-run grilse, and talk no more of that monotonous and spiritless resemblance of the pastime,

which is followed by the affluent, among the dubs and dams of our border river."— p. 250.

And now, what says that accomplished painter and piscator, Mr. Scrope, whose very mind and body both, have been steeped for twenty years in Tweed's fair streams, and who has immortalized himself by those immortal waters? We shall not put him to the question, nor the question to him, although we dare to say that "his heart's in the Highlands,” — at any rate he confessedly prefers all running streams, wherever placed, to the injurious and rebounding sea.

"No; the wild main I trust not. Rather let me wander beside the banks of the tranquil streams of the warm South, in the yellow meads of Asphodel,' when the young spring comes forth, and all nature is glad; or if a wilder mood comes over me, let me clamber among the steeps of the North, beneath the shaggy mountains, where the river comes foaming and raging everlastingly, wedging its way through the secret glen, whilst the eagle, but dimly seen, cleaves the winds and the clouds, and the dun deer gaze from the mosses above. There, amongst gigantic rocks, and the din of mountain torrents, let me do battle with the lusty salmon, till I drag him into day, rejoicing in his bulk, voluminous and vast."

As usual, Mr. Scrope is right. Both are best, and we ought to accept of either with grateful

hearts.

A sound which makes us linger.” "Farewell!—a word that must be, and hath been,

We request Mr. Scrope to give us the benediction.

"Farewell, then, dear brothers of the angle; and when you go forth to take your pleasure, either in the mountain stream that struggles and roars through the narrow pass, or in the majestic salmon-river that sweeps in lucid mazes through the vale, may your sport be ample, and your hearts light! But should the fish prove more sagacious than yourselves—a circumstance, excuse me, that is by no means impossible; should they, alas!-but fate avert it,-reject your hooked gifts, the course of the river will always lead you to pleasant places. In these we leave you to the quiet enjoyment of the glorious works of the Creation, whether it may be your pleasure to go forth when the spring sheds its flowery fragrance, or in the more advanced season, when the sere leaf is shed incessantly, and wafted on the surface of the swollen river."- North British Review.

Translated for the Daguerreotype.

FRANCE AND THE REVOLUTION OF 1830.

If we contemplate the history of France since the days of Richelieu, we discern the progress of an idea, which was originated by the cardinal and which found its fulfilment in Louis the Fourteenth. It is the idea of the absolute state, which the king himself most clearly expressed in the memorable words: "I am the state."

"I am the state," said Louis the Fourteenth; but soon the French nation exclaimed: "the people is the state." The historical idea which Richelieu had originated, had been fulfilled in Louis, and as history seems to delight in contrasts, the opposite idea arose out of its dissolution. This opposite idea is the sovereignty of the people, which in the beginning, boldly threw itself into the form of the republic, but at last timidly sought an asylum in the constitution. The Empire, which lies between these, is only the warlike Midsummer-night's dream of the French, in which Napoleon appears as the brazen Puck, who turns the whole world topsy turvy, provides the royal Bottoms with asses heads, and makes them enamoured of the Titanias of the European Powers. But for France Napoleon was a misfortune, inasmuch as he absorbed the interest of the people. He converted the French Nation into a French army. He, who loved the people only when it was in uniform, and hated and feared it when clad in the blouse, he robbed it of its power of being sovereign. After him the sovereignty fell into the hands of those who had looked on, who had remained at home and tied up parcels and jobbed in stocks, into the hands of the shopkeepers, of the bourgeoisie.

While Napoleon was pouring out the blood of the people abroad, the citizen power was growing at home. And when the people returned, beaten and miserable, the bourgeoisie was ready to receive it, and to say: "work; learn to weave, and to make gloves; we will give you employment; you shall be allowed to eat and to drink, and to bring up children; but you must let us rule; we have the money, we have the power, we are sovereign, -we, grocers and stockjob

bers."

The people had been made weak, and was forced to submit; it sold its sovereignty for a mess of pottage, as Esau did his birthright. The bourgeoisie became de facto sovereign; the bourgeoisie, of whom Louis Blanc affirms that it overturned Napoleon and raised Louis the Eighteenth to the throne, and that all the polit

ical movements of the restoration were only its endeavours to enslave the royal power, without destroying it.

And why should not the bourgeoisie do this? It paid for history; it hired the people to make historical facts, in accordance with its own wishes and commands. Charles the Tenth, who, as is hereditary in his family, had learned nothing and forgotten nothing, fell mechanically into the old modes of government, which had been in fashion before 1792. This was by no means owing to a bad disposition, it was only the traditionary habit. But this habit had become unfashionable, and the bourgeoisie were offended by it; it drew itself up and said, we must revolutionize; we will hire the fists of the people.

The people? Yes, the people, which the bourgeoisie had held in check by work ("Le travail est un frein," said Guizot), was let loose in order to furnish history. This history was dictated by Laffitte, the banker. This banker was a good, honest man; he had a great deal of money, and carried his hands in his pockets: he was king of the bourgeoisie. The revolution cost him some sweat, but it cost the people, the poor foolish people, blood. What did it fight for? The liberty of the press? Surely not! they had no time to read newspapers. For the election franchise? Just as little! there was no idea of giving it to them. Well, what did it fight for? It fought for a fancy; it fought for its recollections. It was thinking of the republic, of the Emperor.

And assuredly for brave soldier-spirits here was inducement enough; and they were mostly brave soldier-spirits, who in 1830 fought in the streets of Paris for the bourgeoisie. How they rejoiced! How they dreamed! They thought their Emperor must come again to them, must bring back to them their old glory. In their enthusiasm they spurned the pay of the bourgeoisie; we fight, said they, for our honor. Sad illusion! They were fighting for the bourgeoisie; the bourgeoisie which celebrated the happy accomplishment of the revolution by a dinner at the Hotel de Ville in honor of Lafayette, to which four hundred guests sat down. The hungry people stood below in the dark street and murmured. What mattered it? The bourgeoisie had gained its end; it had got its charter, its king; it had Louis Philippe.

If Louis the Fourteenth was king of the no

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