"It is generally true that if a trout is pricked by a fly-hook he 

 will not rise to it again." W. C. Prime. 



" CHRISTOPHER NORTH. Would you believe it, my dear Shep- 

 herd, that my piscatory passions are almost dead within me ; and 

 I like now to saunter along the banks and braes, eyeing the 

 younkers angling, or to lay me down on some sunny spot, and 

 with my face up to heaven, watch the slow changing clouds ! " 



"SHEPHERD. I'll no believe that, sir, till I see 't and scarcely 

 then for a bluidier- minded fisher nor Christopher North never 

 threw a hackle. Your creel fu' your shootin'-bag fu' your 

 jacket-pouches fu', the pouches o' your verra breeks fu' half-a- 

 dozen wee anes in your waistcoat, no' to forget them in the croon 

 o' your hat, and, last o' a', when there's nae place to stow awa 

 ony mair o' them, a willow- wand drawn through the gills of 

 some great big anes, like them ither folk would grup wi' the worm 

 or themennon but a' gruppit wi' the flee Phin's delight, as you 

 ca't, a killen inseck and on gut that's no easily broken wit- 

 ness yon four pounder aneath Elibank wood, where your line, sir, 

 got entangled wi' the auld oak-root, and yet at last ye landed 

 him on the bank, wi' a' his crosses and his stars glitterin' like gold 

 and silver amang the gravel ! I confess, sir, you're the King o' 

 Anglers. But dinna tell me that you have lost your passion for 

 the art ; for we never lose our passion for ony pastime at which 

 we continue to excel." 



*' The fisherman has a harmless, preoccupied 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 indirect. 

 He times himself to the meandering, soliloquizing stream ; 

 he addresses himself to it as a lover to his mistress ; he wooes 

 it and stays with it till he knows its hidden secrets. 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. " John Burroughs. 



