48 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



the rushing tide. I have discarded the old meth- 

 od of carrying flies in a book in which you are 

 obliged to wind the snell and place it in a space 

 in the leaf prepared for the purpose. I always 

 keep the snell perfectly straight, for obvious rea- 

 sons ; and my flies were thus lying loosely in my 

 new style of book, which resembles an old-fash- 

 ioned long leather wallet. I am particular in this 

 description, proposing to draw slightly upon your 

 imagination in what follows. I knew very well 

 what Charlie would say when I told him of my 

 misfortune : " It's a great wonder that you did not 

 tumble over with them," or some such encouraging 

 remark, so that I was in no particular hurry to make 

 known my loss, but stood gazing at the white- 

 crested waves over which they were being borne 

 to the somewhat more quiet waters farther on. As 

 I lingered I imagined a dozen or two fine, hand- 

 some trout lying in the unfished stream, tempted 

 by the unwonted attraction, rising for their prey 

 and hooking themselves ; and how they would look 

 to each other as they went around, comparing notes 

 with six inches of snell hanging from their mouths : 

 they might tickle each other's noses perhaps. I 

 had really begun to pity the poor fellows, when the 

 thought of it brought an anecdote to my mind 

 which I had come across somewhere, and I laughed 



