THE TROUr OF 



MOUNTAIN STREAMS 



IS there anything in existence more charming, 

 more beautiful, more replete with the har- 

 monies of woodland, than the splashing, 

 gurgling, joyous, swiftly flowing brook ? Its 

 waters ever suggestive of the chill of snow-clad 

 hills, ever sparkling in their cold, clear purity ? 

 Now its course dashes over rocks that break into 

 frosting foam the wealth of never-ceasing waters. 

 Again, it forms itself into a soft-flowing stream, 

 as it twines in serpentine coils through meadows. 

 Bending bushes bedeck its borders. Onward, ever 

 onward, it rushes, until lake or ocean welcomes its 

 coming. 



Here is indeed the fitting nursery for the de- 

 velopment of that rainbow-spotted, restless, beauti- 

 ful life we know and love, and call the trout. Even 

 the tiny specimen, but little larger than the fly 

 with which it is captured, displays the characteris- 

 tics of the race. Their birthdays but mark in- 

 crease in weight, agility, and keenness. 



119 



