TOTHEREADER. ix 



some of my angling friends, one or two of whom had read parts of 

 my manuscript, urged me to publish, and overcame my scruples as 

 to my short-comings as a writer, for I profess to be only an angler. 

 One of these, who regards the author and his project perhaps in too 

 favorable a light, addressed me a letter on the subject. I conceive it 

 to be so strong an argument in favor of angling, and so much more 

 to the point than I could express it myself, that I insert it here. 



My Dear Friend : Several times you have told me that you entertained 

 the idea of writing a treatise on angling. Let me beg of you not to sufier 

 this " good intention" to be turned into a paving-stone for that locality into 

 which all unfulfilled good intentions are dumped for cobble. 



I feel great confidence that if you can impart to beginners but a share 

 of the practical knowledge and insight of the gentle craft which you have 

 obtained by years of patient, observant, and appreciative practice, or can 

 imbue them with a part of that genuine love for the sport which has grown 

 into and with you, then you will be doing the youth of our country a real 

 service. 



Perhaps few people claiming to be civilized have greater need than we 

 Americans to be taught the necessity of innocent out-door recreations, for 

 the healthy development of mind, body, and spirit. To the struggle for 

 wealth, and place, and fame, we devote such unremitting ardor, that we 

 are too apt to overlook the simple and innocent joys which a kind Father 

 has so bountifully placed within our easy reach ; by neglecting which, we 

 miss the natural means for renewing the spring of life, and keeping fresh 

 and green in our memories the happy days of boyhood. 



I have ever felt grateful that as a boy I imbibed a love for angling, for 

 iu my maturer years it continues to afford me a keener enjoyment than 

 any other recreation. Nothing has sui-vived to me of my boyish days 

 which has the peculiar abandon and charm of boyish joy like this. At 

 each returning season, when the warm breath of spring flushes the maples 

 with the ruddy glow of budding leaves, what can equal the angler's de- 

 light, as, rigged out in sober woollen suit and hob-nailed wading shoes, 

 with creel o'er his shoulder and pliant rod in his grasp, he is permitted to 

 revisit the bright familiar stream (scene of his former triumphs), to listen 

 to the music of its flow, and to try once more if his right hand has lost its 

 cunning, or his flies their attraction. 



Though I have always loved angling, I think if I had known you earlier 

 I should have loved it even better. I realize how much I have learned 



