284 FISHING WITH THE FLY. 



I'm thinking of the trout ! I mean they are light as a 

 feather, and taste to me just as did those I never had 

 half enough of when I was a lad with my good old 

 Presbyterian grandmother, who would not ' set ' the 

 batter on Saturday night lest it should e work ' on the 

 Sabbath. 



"Just here I wish to record an event which has hap- 

 pened to me while yet each detail is fresh in my mem- 

 ory. 



' ' The day had been showery, yet the fishing had been 

 very poor, so I went at sunset to try my luck in the 

 stream near the house, where are some fair pools and a 

 semi-occasional trout. 



"The darkness had begun to gather, indeed it was so 

 dark that I knew only by the instinct of habit where 

 my flies fell upon the water, for I could not fairly see 

 them. I had just made a cast across a little rock which 

 protruded somewhat above the surface into a small pool 

 behind, and was slowly drawing my line toward me, 

 when I perceived a frog seated upon the rock, watching 

 the proceedings with some apparent anxiety. Hardly 

 had I made out his frogship in the gloaming, when 

 pop ! he went into the water. 'Kerchung !' At this 

 instant I felt a strike and returned the compliment 

 sharply, so as to set my hook well in and make sure of 

 my trout. He was very game, and I was obliged to play 

 him with a five and a half ounce rod for some time, but 

 finally landed him in good form, only to discover that 

 instead of a trout I had taken froggy on a black hackle 



