You may kill graylings from July till February. That sounds very good. Eight months of it. Here, you say, is a fish that should be cultivated. Let us examine this matter.
In July the large graylings disappear. They are not. In August the trout copy their pernicious example. Only the little graylings remain. (I shall deal with them in a moment.)
In September the big graylings emerge from their hiding-places and provide admirable sport. I have nothing but praise for them in September. This is my one good word for the grayling log.
In October my hands become lifeless after they have once been wetted. In November I die if I stand for more than half an hour by a river. In December I stay in London. In January I stay indoors. In February I stay in bed.
A fish which causes me so much annoyance cannot win my pardon by offering me eight months' fishing on these terms. Therefore I object to big graylings, except in September. And this is not September.
And now of little graylings.
The little graylings feed for ever. Yet they never grow up. There are little Peter Pan graylings in this river which have haunted certain spots for eight years. They were in those spots when first I threw a fly on Clere. They will be
