170 SUPrLEMENT TO THE BOOK OF THE BLACK BASS. 



silken gage to the kniglit in Lincoln-green, my ears con- 

 scious of the rippling laughter of the merry stream, the 

 joyous matin of the "woodland thrush, the purring under- 

 tone of the quivering leaves — my eyes catching glimpses 

 of hill and meadow, wren and robin, bee and bittern, fern 

 and flower, and my breath inhaling the sweet fragrance of 

 upland clover and elder-blossom — I say I can find more 

 true enjoyment in this — than paying court to the lordly 

 salmon, or the lovely trout, in its stiff and silent demesne, 

 with annointed face, gloved hands, and head swathed in 

 gauze. If this be treason, my brother, make the most of it. 

 I am content. It is my honest conviction. After killing 

 every species of game-fish east of the Rocky Mountains, 

 from Canada to Florida, and a few in foreign lands, I find 

 the knightly Bass and his tourney-field all sufficient. 



