176 FISHING WITH THE FLY. 



longs for the toss of the swell on the reef, and the sud- 

 den joy of a strong pull on his line. Drift up along 

 side of him in your boat when he is quietly at his work, 

 without his knowing that you are near. You can do it 

 easily. He is pondering solemnly a question of deep 

 importance to him, and he has not stirred eye, or hand, 

 or head for ten minutes. But see that start and sharp 

 jerk of his elbow, and now hear him talk, not to you — 

 to the fish. He exults as he brings him in, yet mingles 

 his exultation with something of pity as he baits his 

 hook for another. Could you gather the words that he 

 has in many years flung on the sea winds, you would 

 have a history of his life and adventures, mingled 

 with very much of his inmost thinking, for he tells 

 much to the sea and the fish that he would never whisper 

 in human ears. Thus the habi t of going a-fishing always 

 modifies the character. The angler, I think, dreams of 

 his favorite sport oftener than other men of theirs. 



There is a peculiar excitement in it, which perhaps 

 arises from somewhat of the same causes which make 

 the interest in searching for ancient treasures, opening 

 Egyptian tombs and digging into old ruins. One does 

 not know what is under the surface. There may be 

 something or there may be nothing. He tries, and the 

 rush of something startles every nerve. Let no man 

 laugh at a comparison of trout-fishing with antiquarian 

 researches. I know a man who has done a great deal 

 of both, and who scarcely knows which is the most 

 absorbing or most remunerating ; for each enriches 



