PRELUDE--ON AN OLD, FOOLISH MAXIM

The inventor of the familiar maxim that "fishermen must not talk" is
lost in the mists of antiquity, and well deserves his fate.  For a
more foolish rule, a conventionality more obscure and aimless in its
tyranny, was never imposed upon an innocent and honourable
occupation, to diminish its pleasure and discount its profits.  Why,
in the name of all that is genial, should anglers go about their
harmless sport in stealthy silence like conspirators, or sit
together in a boat, dumb, glum, and penitential, like naughty
schoolboys on the bench of disgrace?  'Tis an Omorcan superstition;
a rule without a reason; a venerable, idiotic fashion invented to
repress lively spirits and put a premium on stupidity.

For my part, I incline rather to the opinion of the Neapolitan
fishermen who maintain that a certain amount of noise, of certain
kinds, is likely to improve the fishing, and who have a particular
song, very sweet and charming, which they sing to draw the fishes
around them.  It is narrated, likewise, of the good St. Brandan,
that on his notable voyage from Ireland in search of Paradise, he
chanted the service for St. Peter's day so pleasantly that a
subaqueous audience of all sorts and sizes was attracted, insomuch
that the other monks began to be afraid, and begged the abbot that
he would sing a little lower, for they were not quite sure of the
intention of the congregation.  Of St. Anthony of Padua it is said
that he even succeeded in persuading the fishes, in great
multitudes, to listen to a sermon; and that when it was ended (it
must be noted that it was both short and cheerful) they bowed their
heads and moved their bodies up and down with every mark of fondness
and approval of what the holy father had spoken.

If we can believe this, surely we need not be incredulous of things
which seem to be no less, but rather more, in harmony with the
course of nature.  Creatures who are sensible to the attractions of
a sermon can hardly be indifferent to the charm of other kinds of
discourse.  I can easily imagine a company of grayling wishing to
overhear a conversation between I. W. and his affectionate (but
somewhat prodigal) son and servant, Charles Cotton; and surely every
intelligent salmon in Scotland might have been glad to hear
Christopher North and the Ettrick Shepherd bandy jests and swap
stories.  As for trout,--was there one in Massachusetts that would
not have been curious to listen to the intimate opinions of Daniel
Webster as he loafed along the banks of the Marshpee,--or is there
one in Pennsylvania to-day that might not be drawn with interest and
delight to the feet of Joseph Jefferson, telling how he conceived
and wrote RIP VAN WINKLE on the banks of a trout-stream?