110 SPECKLED TROUT. 



the woods, the wild, nearer to bird and beast, while 

 threading my native streams for trout, than in almost 

 any other way. It furnished a good excuse to go 

 forth : it pitched one in the right key : it sent one 

 through the fat and marrowy places of field and 

 wood. Then the fisherman has a harmless preoc- 

 cupied look ; he is a kind of vagrant that nothing 

 fears. He blends himself with the trees and the 

 shadows. All his approaches are gentle and indi- 

 rect. He times himself to the meandering soliloquiz- 

 ing stream; its impulse bears him along. At the 

 foot of the water-fall he sits Sequestered and hidden 

 in its volume of sound. The birds know he has no 

 designs upon them, and the animals see that his mind 

 is in the creek. His enthusiasm anneals him and 

 makes him pliable to the scenes and influences he 

 moves among. 



Then what acquaintance he makes with the stream ! 

 He addresses himself to it as a lover to his mistress : 

 he wooes it and stays with it till he knows its most 

 hidden secrets. It runs through his thoughts not less 

 than through its banks there ; he feels the fret and 

 thrust of every bar and bowlder. Where it deepens 

 his purpose deepens ; where it is shallow he is indif- 

 ferent. He knows how to interpret its every glance 

 and dimple ; its beauty haunts him for days. 



I am sure I run no risk of over-praising the 

 charm and attractiveness of a well-fed trout stream, 

 every drop of water in it as bright and pure as if the 

 nymphs had brought it all the way from its source 



