266 THE CURVED MEADOW. 



scene of river bend, and slowly paints in every 

 detail with all the accuracy of a softly toned 

 picture, just as one recalls a familiar face or an 

 evening's conversation upon topics never likely 

 to be referred to again excepting in the company 

 of that particular person. 



You did not know, at the time, how they 

 would be treasured, or what an effect they had 

 exercised upon retina or memory. You long to 

 be in certain places in certain moods; just as 

 you long to talk to a special friend, and would 

 gladly travel two hundred miles to enjoy a few 

 hours exactly as you have planned in your 

 daydreams. 



Why is it too that although perhaps you have 

 always fished fairly possibly from never having 

 had the temptation of departing therefrom placed 

 before you in practical form the account of a 

 contraband experience, graphically and amusingly 

 recounted by a companion, always sounds so 

 fascinating? There must be some analogy 

 between fly fishing and intrigue. The stealing 

 down through the leafy copse, the lonely 

 meadow, the hour after sunset, the dewy grass, 

 the churr of the fern owl, the excitement of 

 anticipation, the disappointment of success, the 

 haunting memory of failure. 



Well, it is time to reel up and say goodbye. 

 You and I have never met probably never 

 shall but I sincerely wish you all the moderate 

 good luck, and immoderate pleasure, that I am 



