A Bit of River 73 



plunges, shouting in reckless power, into the great 

 trout pool. 



Thus far it bears itself as the strong, riotous child 

 of rocks and hills, but not far below the great pool 

 its character changes. Left behind are the pomps 

 and vanities of rollicking falls, gemlike bubbles, and 

 foamy wreaths. Left behind, too, are the rocks and 

 sudden steeps which tempt a woodland stream to 

 daring plunges and merry racings. Henceforth its 

 course winds through fat lowlands, mighty forests, 

 and broad clearings ; thence through leagues of 

 fens and marshes, till at last our river, now slow, 

 deep, and wide, finds its long-sought lake. 



When it left the rock lands the region of ever- 

 green-clad slopes and maple-filled intervales the 

 river bade farewell to its trout. No jewelled aristo- 

 crat could tolerate the long, lazy reaches of almost 

 currentless water, the weedy margins, the slopes of 

 clay, down which every summer shower sends yellow 

 cascades to stain the languid flood for hours after. 

 The trout reigns in the upper waters, where the cold 

 springs pump unceasingly, where the water knows 

 no rest, where new-born insects try their wings and 

 clumsy larvae slip and fall from lofty twigs. There, 

 like ancient robber of the Rhine, Sir Trout holds his 

 own by prowess and lives by the right of might. 



In the lower river are many fishes so many that 

 the absence of the trout does not greatly matter. 

 The deep placid water suits numerous species which 

 never seek the upper stream except to spawn, and 

 even then never penetrate to the haunts of the trout. 

 Any angler of the lower river will tell you that it 

 is not all, or one-half, of fishing to take trout. He 



