8 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



never carry through such an undertaking, 

 and I don t try. 



I did try once, when I was young and reck 

 less. I headed the tip of my rod, like a lance 

 in rest, for the most open spot I could see. 

 For the fisherman s rule in the woods is not 

 &quot;Follow the flag,&quot; but &quot;Follow your tip,&quot; 

 and I tried to follow mine. This necessitated 

 reducing myself occasionally to the dimen 

 sions of a filament, but I was elastic, and I 

 persisted. The brambles neatly extracted 

 my hat-pins and dropped them in the tangle 

 about my feet; they pulled off my hat, but I 

 pushed painfully forward. They tore at my 

 hair; they caught an end of my tie and drew 

 out the bow. Finally they made a simul 

 taneous and well-planned assault upon my 

 hair, my neck, my left arm, raised to push 

 them back, and my right, extended to hold 

 and guide that quivering, undulating rod. 

 I was helpless, unless I wished to be torn in 

 shreds. At that moment, as I stood poised, 

 hot, bafHed, smarting and stinging with 

 bramble scratches, wishing I could swear 

 like a man and have it out, the air was filled 

 with the liquid notes of a wood thrush. I 



