As a game-fish the grayling is fully the equal of the trout, though its way of taking the artificial fly is quite different, and the old hand at trout fishing must pay court to "the lady of the streams" with the greatest assiduity before he is successful in winning her attention to his lures. And even then he must become fully conversant with her coy and coquettish way of accepting his offer, though it be cast never so deftly. There is a rush and snap and vim in the rise of a trout to the fly that is lacking with the grayling. The trout often leaps above the water to seize the fly, while it is taken more quietly and deliberately, though just as eagerly, by the grayling from below. In other words, it is "sucked in," as English anglers term it, though that hardly expresses it, as the act is not so tame as might be inferred. On the contrary, the grayling rises from the bottom of a pool and darts upward like an arrow to seize the fly, though as a rule it does not break water, and is not so demonstrative as the trout; but it seldom misses the mark, if the fly is small enough, which the trout often does. Sometimes the grayling will rise a dozen times to a fly, and for some reason refuse it, but will take it at the very next cast. Just why this is so is one of the unanswerable problems that often vexes or confounds the angler. Presumably the fly is too large, or is not presented in just the right way to please her ladyship. But the angler should not despair under such circumstances, but remember the old couplet, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again." Moreover, he must remember that he is fishing for grayling, not for trout. He must not cast on a riffle, or at its head, but below, in the eddy or still water, where it is deepest. There lie the large fish, though small ones may be in the shallower water, and it is the latter that perplex one by their antics, oftentimes leaping over one's flies in play. Trout generally lie in ambush beneath the bank, shelving rocks, or roots, usually in shallow water, from whence they rush with tigerlike ferocity upon the fly, often leaping over it in their eagerness for the fancied prey. On the contrary, grayling lie on the bottom of pools, in swift water, entirely in the open. They are also gregarious, assembling in schools, while the trout is a lone watcher from his hidden lair. Some dry fly-fishers of England, echoing the opinion of Charles Cotton, term the grayling a "dead-hearted fish" that must be taken with a wet or sunken fly. This idea of its lack of gameness is implied in Tennyson's lines:-- "Here and there a lusty trout. And here and there a grayling."