io 4 Iff PURSUIT OF THE MAY FLY 



be such as my eager fancy painted them. I had 

 looked for bright, genial days, occasional summer 

 clouds, and gentle breezes to tone down the 

 brilliance of the water. I expected to find May 

 flies and other insects wantonly and joyously in 

 swarms dancing upwards and downwards in the 

 warm air, clustering on branches or long grass 

 stems or floating and fluttering on the water. I 

 had dreamed of big trout flopping up and making 

 great circles where the river runs deep and slow. 

 I had hoped to listen to the music of the birds, and 

 watch the brilliant kingfisher dart along the stream. 

 I had pictured myself casting my "counterfeit 

 presentment" daintily over these rising fish, and 

 bringing them to grass in pleasant profusion. 

 Such things I have known in the pleasant days of 

 old. These dreams, and hopes and expectations 

 were not realized. The beginning of June 1900 

 resembled the beginning of March. It is true 

 that the birds sang when the howling winds gave 

 them a chance ; it is true that the May Fly did 

 appear intermittently ; it is true that the trout rose 

 occasionally ; it is true that we caught a goodly 

 number of them ; but they were caught laboriously. 

 The joy and the glow and the charm of the 

 brightest and leafiest and sweetest month of the 

 year was not there. It did not inspire us. Like 

 Mark Tapley, we had to make our own cheerfulness. 



Sic transit gloria piscatorinm ! 



