The very first and evidently the most important exhortation in the book is, “Whatever you do, keep out of sight of the fish.”  Is that open and above-board?  Is it honorable?

“Trout invariably lie in running water with their noses pointed against the current, and therefore whatever general chance of concealment there may be rests in fishing from behind them.  The moral is that the brook-angler must both walk and fish upstream.”

It seems as if a lot of trouble might be saved the fisherman, in case he really didn’t want to walk upstream but had to get to some point downstream before 6 o’clock, to adopt some disguise which would deceive the fish into thinking that he had no intention of catching them anyway.  A pair of blue glasses and a cane would give the effect of the wearer being blind and harmless, and could be thrown aside very quickly when the time came to show one’s self in one’s true colors to the fish.  If there were two anglers they might talk in loud tones about their dislike for fish in any form, and then, when the trout were quite reassured and swimming close to the bank they could suddenly be shot with a pistol.

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But a little further on comes a suggestion for a much more elaborate bit of subterfuge.

The author says that in the early season trout are often engaged with larvae at the bottom and do not show on the surface.  It is then a good plan, he says, to sink the flies well, moving in short jerks to imitate nymphs.

You can see that imitating a nymph will call for a lot of rehearsing, but I doubt very much if moving in short jerks is the way in which to go about it.  I have never actually seen a nymph, though if I had I should not be likely to admit it, and I can think of no possible way in which I could give an adequate illusion of being one myself.  Even the most stupid of trout could easily divine that I was masquerading, and then the question would immediately arise in its mind:  “If he is not a nymph, then what is his object in going about like that trying to imitate one?  He is up to no good, I’ll be bound.”

And crash! away would go the trout before I could put my clothes back on.

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There is an interesting note on the care and feeding of worms on page 67.  One hundred and fifty worms are placed in a tin and allowed to work their way down into packed moss.

“A little fresh milk poured in occasionally is sufficient food,” writes Mr. Garrow-Green, in the style of Dr. Holt.  “So disposed, the worms soon become bright, lively and tough.”

It is easy to understand why one should want to have bright worms, so long as they don’t know that they are bright and try to show off before company, but why deliberately set out to make them tough?  Good manners they may not be expected to acquire, but a worm with a cultivated vulgarity sounds intolerable.  Imagine 150 very tough worms all crowded together in one tin!  “Canaille” is the only word to describe it.