6 The American Angler 
ductive are the wiles of Nature along 
the way. His eyes follow and linger 
upon the yet unfished stretches of the 
stream, winding through its green re- 
treat, till, like a silver thread, it is lost 
to view in the tall grasses of the distant 
meadow, or bending, disappears behind 
the intervening woods, and he would 
fain stoop down and kiss the rippling 
flow good bye, so kindly are his feelings 
towards the gentle goddess who has 
presided over the destinies of the day. 
The contentment which fills the mind 
of the angler, at the’ close of the day’s 
sport, is one of the chiefest charms of 
his life. It is not the number of fish 
he captures that brings this coveted con- 
tentment; for the true angler can enjoy 
his wading and casting of the fly if he 
has only an occasional fish to reward his 
efforts. If he has been successful, he is 
gratified; if he has had poor luck, his 
ardor for the pursuit is not dampened. 
The inborn love of angling is enthroned 
in his heart, and vibrates through every 
nerve and muscle of his body. The re- 
turn home from the stream is usually 
spent in recounting the adventures and 
incidents of the day with one’s compan- 
ion; or, during the intervals of silence, 
the quiet thinking is apt to be pleasant, 
delicious, sometimes even sacred. You 
dreamily watch the gray, dusky shadows 
clustering thickly around the diStant 
tree-clumps bordering the stream-swept 
fields, and listen to the croaking frogs, 
that, in reedy marshes, join with busy 
insects in their vesper hymns. ‘The 
redbreast, from the topmost bough of 
wayside tree, cheers you with his even- 
ing lay, while overhead the cawing 
crow wings his homeward roosting 
flight. Pale yellow lights flare from 
farm house windows as you pass along 
the dew wet road; and from the sky the 
moon and stars look down. 
The wel- 
come home, the tea table chat, and off 
to bed for dreamless slumber, is a glad 
ending of a glorious day. 
Now that we have enjoyed a day on 
the Outlet, spent chiefly in angling 
with apparent success and delight, let 
us see if there has been anything in it 
worthy of further mention, or has had 
a personal influence upon one’s life or 
character. Is it all of fishing merely to 
fish? Are the trophies of the creel the 
only aim and end of the piscatorial pur- 
suit? Are there any impulses emanat- 
ing from the stream itself as it sweeps 
through the lovely valley of its course ? 
Any impressions worth bearing away 
from its wave-lapped banks, or its bor- 
dering meadows and woods? Has the 
blue or cloud-flecked sky above looked 
down into unappreciative eyes? Have 
the bird hymns and warblings been lost 
in the all-absorbing art of angling? 
Has the athletic leap of the frog, or the 
tremulous flight of the butterfly passed 
unnoticed, and the hundred and one 
other phenomena of Nature awakened 
no interest or sympathy in the mind or 
heart of the angler? The true angler 
isa lover of Nature, pure and simple, 
and has a true and just appreciation of 
her poetic side. His heart beats in 
sympathy with all her manifestations. 
She speaks to him through the rustling 
leaves, murmurs to him from the flow- 
ing streams, and sighs to him in the 
summer breezes. She is vocal in myr- 
iad of voices and manifest in innumerable 
ways. The angler, with quickened 
senses, has an ear for every sound, an 
eye for every object, and is alive to every 
motion. He is conscious of the passing 
shadows, of the mellow sunlight, of the 
odors of the flowers, of the fragrance of 
the woods and fields. He recognizes 
the unity of Creation, accepts his posi- 
tion at the head of the line, and places 
