THE TEOUT-STEEAM. 



I HAVE never been a zealous or a diligent angler, and 

 whenever I have thus employed myself, it was rather 

 as a voluptuary bent on the quiet observation of nature, 

 than as a lover of the sport. Yet I will confess that next 

 to rambling through a wood-path or over an old by-road 

 in the country, I cannot name a more delightful journey 

 than that of following a trout-stream, especially if en- 

 gaged in the pleasant occupation of trolling for the timid 

 tenants of the brook. The angler passes down the stream ; 

 and seldom in this direction, save when it is lost in a 

 wood or a fen, will it disappoint his pursuit. Its intri- 

 cacies are a source of constant amusement, and its mo- 

 mentary disappearances serve but to awaken our interest. 

 While moving with the stream, it can never entirely elude 

 our observation. But if we turn the opposite way, and 

 try to discover its source, we soon become involved in 

 the perplexity of the metaphysician when he endeavors 

 to unravel the mystery of final causes. 



But there is a peculiar excitement attending a search 

 for the original source of the stream, that has often 

 tempted us to seek for it. "We imagine it is some 

 shady nook or dripping dell, in which the ferns and 

 mosses have their paradise; and that, if we could but 

 gain this spot, we should view the sacred urn of the 

 Naiad, and observe how she distils its waters from the 

 dews of heaven and the dappled clouds of morning. We 

 wander through glens and thickets and over plains and 

 valleys, pausing only to note the flowers of every hue 



