260 FISHING WITH THE FLY. 



stream, and sighs to him in the summer breeze. She is 

 vocal in a myriad of voices, and manifest in innumera- 

 ble ways. 



The still fisher, reclining on the mossy bank, is dis- 

 posed to dreamy reveries, to pleasant fancies ; but the 

 fly-fisher, with quickened senses, has an ear for every 

 sound, an eye for every object, and is alive to every 

 motion. He hears the hum of the bee, the chirp of the 

 cricket, the twitter of the sparrow, the dip of the swal- 

 low ; he sees the gay butterfly in its uncertain flight, the 

 shadow of the drifting cloud, the mossy rock, the modest 

 violet, the open-eyed daisy ; he is conscious of the pass- 

 ing breeze, of the mellow sunlight, of the odors of the 

 flowers, of the fragrance of the fields. Nothing escapes 

 his keen notice as he casts his flies, hither and yon, in 

 the eager expectation of a rise. 



Fly-fishing is, indeed, the poetry of angling. The 

 capture of the salmon is an epic poem, the taking of the 

 trout an idyl. But it is not my presumptuous purpose 

 to ring the changes on the delights of salmon or trout 

 fishing, for they have been immortalized by the pens of 

 gifted anglers for ages. My feeble effort would be but a 

 sorry imitation of those glorious spirits who have made 

 their last cast, who have crossed to the other side of the 

 river, and 



" Gone before 

 To that unknown and silent shore." 



So, leaving the salmon, the trout, and the grayling to 

 their well-earned laurels, I wish to say a word for several 



