DIES PISCATORI^. 675 



her great motherly eyes as she raised her head. A moment 

 since the noisy king-fisher poised himself on the dead branch 

 of the hemlock, over my left shoulder, as if he would peep 

 into the hole of my fish-basket. The little warbler sang in 

 the alders close by my old felt hat, as if he would burst his 

 swelling throat with his loud glad song. Did either of them 

 know that I am of a race whose first impulse is to throw a 

 stone or shoot a gun at them? And the sparrow-hawk 

 on that leafless spray extending over the water, sitting 

 there as grave and dignified as a bank president when you 

 ask him for a discount ; is he aware that I can tap him on 

 the head with the tip of my rod ? — These are some of the 

 simple incidents on the stream, which afterwards awaken 

 memories, 



" That like voices from afar off 



Call to us to pause and listen, 



Speak in tones so plain and childlike, 



Scarcely can the ear distinguish 



Whether they are sung or spoken." 



But I must start for the open water below — What a glo- 

 rious haze there is just now, and how demurely the world's 

 great eye peeps through it ! Trout are not very shy though, 

 before the middle of May, even when the sun is bright. I 

 have sometimes taken my best fish at high noon, at this 

 season of the year. — I am as hungry as a horsefly, though it 

 is only " a wee short hour ayont the twal." So I'll unsling 

 my creel by that big sycamore, and build my fire in the 

 hollow of it. If I burn it down there will be no action for 

 trespass in a wooden country like this. 



What boys are those crossing the foot-log? I'll press 

 them into my service for awhile, and make them bring wood 

 for my fire. I know them now ; the larger one has cause to 

 remember me "with tears of gratitude," for I bestowed 



