above table in his memory-first, that it belongs to the true fish as distinct from cartilaginous (for no cartilaginous fish can have spines); second, that it belongs to first order of spiny finned fishes or Acanthopterigians; and, thirdly, if it has spines on the back, it is of the percidae family. Herein lies one of the practical uses of ichthyology. The determination of the different genera in the same genus of fishes requires more minute and careful comparison than a decision of the order. The tyro, for example, would probably find it difficult to instantly distinguish between the dace and chub, and, indeed, when both are young, the difference is infinitesimal. As I intend to revert to each fish in the order above given, I shall reserve any further remarks on the distinctive characteristics of each until that time.

It may now be well to consider in a succinct manner the various principal qualities and attributes which fish have in common. First, then, if we disregard the idea which has obtained in reference to eels being viviparous, or bringing forth their young alive, it may be stated that, in scientific phraseology, all fish are oviparous vertebrata, or creatures with articulated backbones bringing forth eggs. They have a double circulation, and breathe through the medium of water. Like other animals of the same class, they have a spinal column formed of four parallel sections, two of which receive nerves of sensation from the surface of the body, and the other receive the nerves of volition or action. The spinal cord enlarges at one end of this column and forms the brain, which in the pike is in weight as 1 in 3000 in proportion to the body, and in carp (the subtlest of the soft-finned fish) as 1 in 500.

The Branchia or gills, or breathing apparatus, are, as need scarcely be stated, compactly arranged in the opercula or gill covers of the creature, and consists of four or five cartilaginous fringed arches. Under the microscope these present a very beautiful appearance, as they continue their work, receiving the water, separating the air from it, and passing it on through the anterior opening, together with whatever of carbon is given off. And here it is worthy of remark that the water is not decomposed, but the oxygen is only mechanically separated from the water. A fish cannot live in a tumbler of water placed in the receiver of an air pump. Some fish will, however, continue to live out of water a considerable time. In the ordinary way the gill filaments get stuck together as they dry, and the fish then becomes asphyxiated and dies.

The fins of a fish serve variously in the different families and species. Generally speaking the following description of their functions is a correct one. I extract it from "Paley's Natural Theology," (the author of which probably got it chiefly from Goldsmith's "History of Animated

Nature,") because it states the results of experiments, which I have myself repeated, better than any words of mine could do. It says that in most fish "beside the great fin the tail, we find two pairs of fins upon the sides, two single fins upon the back and one upon the belly, or rather between the belly and the tail. The balancing use of these organs is proved in this manner of the large-headed fish, if you cut off the pectoral fins, i. e., the pair which lies close behind the gills, the head falls prone to the bottom; if the right pectoral fin only be cut off, the fish leans to that side; if the ventral fin on the same side be cut away, then it loses its equilibrium entirely; if the dorsal and ventral fins be cut off, the fish reels to the right and left. When the fish dies, that is, when the fins cease to play, the belly turns upwards. The use of the same parts for motion is seen in the following observation upon them when put in action. The pectoral, and more particularly the ventral, fins serve to raise and depress the fish; when the fish desire to have a retrograde motion, a stroke forward with the pectoral fin effectually produces it; if the fish desire to turn either way, a single blow with the tail the opposite way sends it round at once; if the tail strike both ways, the motion produced by the double lash is progressive, and enables the fish to dart forwards with an astonishing velocity. The result is not only in some cases the most rapid, but in all cases the most gentle, pliant, easy, animal motion with which we are acquainted. However, when the tail is cut off the fish loses all motion, and gives itself up to where the water impels it. The rest of the fins, therefore, so far as respects motion, seem to be merely subsidiary to this. In their mechanical use, the anal fin may be reckoned the keel, the ventral fins the outriggers, the pectoral muscles the oars, and if there be any similitude between these parts of a boat and a fish, observe that it is not the resemblance of imitation, but the likeness which arises from applying similar mechanical means to the same purpose."

In reference to the foregoing, one error needs correction, and one observation may be added. The error is in asserting that if the tail be lost in the fish it loses all motion. This it does not do. The posterior parts are still exercised as if the tail still remained, and the resulting movement is what anglers term a "wobble," but, nevertheless, a progressive movement. The addition is one the truth of which anyone may verify by watching the progression of the sticklebacks in a tank at the Royal Westminster Aquarium. The fish distinctly advance by a series of jerks caused by the pectoral fins. The tail has nothing to do with progression, and seems only to make a quivering movement to maintain equilibrium. I know of no other fresh-water fish with the same peculiarity.

The scales of a fish are for the purpose probably of defending it from its enemies in the way of associates of a vegetable or animal parasitic or devouring nature. If one be lost, it is again supplied in a manner similar to the supply of a lost nail in the human being. Glands are situated under the so-called lateral line and on the head of the fish, and from them a sort of varnish of mucus is perspired, without which fish cannot live long. When from any cause the supply fails, parasitic growths make their appearance, and after them malignant ulcers, and finally death. Roach about spawning time are usually rough and devoid of a plentiful supply. The roughness is caused by a sort of loosening of the scales. This soon after the deposition of ova, however, subsides, and an abundance of mucus makes it very unpleasant to handle the fish at all. The scales of fishes are divided into four classes, which are termed by Agassus-cycloid, from the Greek eidos, resemblance, and cyclos the circle; ctenoid, from ctenis, a rake; ganoid, from ganos, brilliancy; and placoid, from plax, a flat level surface.

Now as to the senses of fishes, which, after all, is to anglers the most important consideration of all.

First I will advert to sight. This is, unquestionably, the best developed sense in fishes, especially in the game fishes. In fish the eyes are variously placed, some having them so situated that a forward, backward, upward, and downward movement may be made, as in some of the carp family bred by the Chinese, termed "telescope" fish; in others, such as trout, the sight is vastly more developed, but the movement of the eye is more confined, hence I do not think a trout can see back, and in the case of the pike, where the prey is seized chiefly above the destroyer near the surface, the eyes are near the top of the head, and I opine and have seen nothing to alter the opinion, that the pike cannot, without great exertion and an anomalous arrangement of position, pick a bait from the bottom of the water. The angler may be quite sure that when he can see a fish that fish can invariably see him. An interesting question has recently arisen in an American sporting paper as to "colour" blindness in trout of certain waters. I am disposed to believe, without here giving my reasons for it, that in some cases trout are afflicted, if not with colour blindness, with certainly an unreasonable and unaccountable desire for a certain hue which rarely, but in some cases, disappears. I shall, however, discuss the matter in the chapter on Trout.

The senses of smell and taste have been referred to to some extent in a recent chapter, wherein I touched on the subject of baits, and need little, if any, further consideration. Whilst I concede the power of smelling to be tolerably acute, I am convinced that the sense of taste is very imperfect. Mr. Pennell gives as a reason for believing that fish have a

poor power of palate, the fact that they are "often unable to distinguish poisonous substances, and are frequently accordingly destroyed wholesale by poachers." It seems to me that these are very insufficient grounds for assuming an absence of taste. I doubt not but that I or the nearest druggist could compound savoury but fatal dishes ad infinitum, and even Mr. Pennell's educated palate would fail to distinguish the poisonous agent. However, he is quite right in the assertion which follows, that the sense of taste (if it amount to that) is more developed in herbivorous than in carnivorous fishes.

The sense of feeling, or mechanical perception, is without doubt also but feebly developed, except in such fish as the Silurus glanis, and generally barbed or bearded fishes, such as the barbel and gudgeon. In these the sense of sight is in many cases imperfectly developed, and the tentacula are as auxilliaries brought into requisition. The sense of feeling in its subjective aspect is also feeble. A shark, Mr. Pennell tells us, will be seemingly unconscious of serious injury unless it is disabled, and we know how trout will take a hook in its mouth, and a pike a gorge bait with treble hooks in its mouth and another hook and half digested lead in its stomach. Mr. Pennell once caught a perch with its own eye; and this incident reminds me that on one occasion I performed the operation on a large tame carp of cutting its eye from its head, from which it hung suspended by the optic nerve-having been partially torn out. The carp the same evening responded to its keeper's whistle to be fed, and did feed.

Speaking of calling fish reminds me of the final sense on which it is here necessary specifically to remark, viz., hearing. That fish do hear is undoubted; but the medium of the water being denser the sound made in air is not heard, I believe, in water unless it be sufficiently loud to produce well-defined mechanical vibrations in the water. For example, one may speak as loudly as inclined in the punt within a few yards of a wily old chub, but no result is apparent. The fish whose sight is so keen and whose fears are so instantly aroused as to perceive in the shadow of a flying bird an enemy, cannot hear the reverberation of the voice-for this assumption is fair from its timorous character; but fire off a gun near it as I have done, hidden so that no smoke or flame can be possibly seen by the fish, and away darts Cyprinus cephalus to deep water. Again, I have seen the small fish leap bodily out of the water on the firing of a frigate's 24-pounder. Of course I know that these results are substantially denied by Ronalds in his book, but I can conceive of his experiments being faulty, and his gun of light detonation, both of which possible causes of his opinions could not have operated in my own experiments. Again, notwithstanding my experience, I am confronted by the fact that persons whistle and call

tame carp.

How shall we get out of the dilemma ? I invite the reader to try experiments himself.

So far I have spoken of sounds made in the air being practically unheard in the water. Now for a different aspect of the affair. The chub of which I spoke above did not perceive your voice when you shouted without materially moving yourself; but assume that he is in the same position, and stamp your foot on the floor of the punt, the chub disappears instantly, and the angler cannot get him to return that day at least. The deduction is evident, and when fishing the tyro should bear in mind that it is infinitely worse to stamp the feet or move about in the punt or walk heavily on the bank than to talk or sing or whistle. Sound made on the surface or in water travels for miles, and fish in a well-fished river know the difference between sounds as well as the angler.

Growing out of the above remarks are various questions of great interest to the amateur as well as professional ichthyologist. A slight consideration of some of these cannot but be of service to the anglernaturalist, inasmuch as that the necessity for personal observation will be made manifest. The careful observer of fish life is usually a better angler than the careless and unobservant fisher. This is certain.

Do fish sleep? An equivocal answer can only be given. My own impression is that they do; but when I say this let it not be supposed that I confuse their slumber, coma, or rest-call it what you like-with the sleep of animals. It is the same only in generic kind, inasmuch as that it relieves the functions as analogous slumber does in the higher animals. To understand the meaning I wish to convey it is necessary to bear in mind that the fish is eminently endowed with muscular and consequently great locomotive power. Moreover, as it consumes but little oxygen, the waste of tissue is not great, hence fish have been known to do without food for a great length of time. Similarly the stress on the vital powers is not great, compared with that produced by the difficulties of movement in land animals.

These facts-viz., great muscular power, easy locomotion, and small consumption of oxygen, being borne in mind, we can understand why the necessity for sleep is small, and are prepared to find that fish sleep but little. And what are the observed facts? I have, so has every angler, observed the pike lie in the sunshine oblivious of the gently lowered bait, and even unconcerned when gently touched. I have noticed that fish seem to retire towards the period of night before dawn, and Mr. Chas. Capel, of Foot's Cray Fishery, wrote to the Field some little time ago saying in effect that on his entering his fish house at night and striking a light he has seen the young trout rise from their recumbent position on the gravelly bottom of the trough and resume their accustomed vivacity.