830 A Fight with a Trout. 



the room in distress when a piano-forte is played is because the two 

 instruments are not in the same key, and the vibrations of the chords 

 of the one are in discord with the catgut of the other. On six feet 

 of this superior article I fixed three artificial flies, — a simple brown 

 hackle, a gray body, with scarlet wings, and one of my own inven- 

 tion, which I thought would be new to the most experienced fly- 

 catcher. The trout-fly does not resemble any known species of 

 insect. It is a "conventionalized" creation, as we say of ornamen- 

 tation. The theory is that, fly-fishing being a high art, the fly must 

 not be a tame imitation of nature, but an artistic suggestion of it. It 

 requires an artist to construct one, and not every bungler can take a 

 bit of red flannel, a peacock's feather, a flash of tinsel thread, a cock's 

 plume, a section of a hen's wing, and fabricate a tiny object that will 

 not look like any fly, but still will suggest the universal conventional fly. 

 I took my stand in the center of the tipsy boat ; and Luke shoved 

 off, and slowly paddled toward some lily-pads, while I began casting, 

 unlimbering my tools, as it were. The fish had all disappeared. I 

 got out, perhaps, fifty feet of line, with no response, and gradually 

 increased it to one hundred. It is not difficult to learn to cast ; but 

 it is difficult to learn not to snap off the flies at every throw. Of 

 this, however, we will not speak. I continued casting for some 

 moments, until I became satisfied that there had been a miscalcula- 

 tion. Either the trout were too green to know what I was at, or 

 they were dissatisfied with my offers. I reeled in and changed the 

 flies (that is, the fly that was not snapped off). After studying the 

 color of the sky, of the water, and of the foliage, and the moderated 

 light of the afternoon, I put on a series of beguilers, all of a subdued 

 brilliancy, in harmony with the approach of evening. At the second 

 cast, which was a short one, I saw a splash where the leader fell, and 

 gave an excited jerk. The next instant I perceived the game, and 

 did not need the unfeigned "dam" of Luke to convince me that I 

 had snatched his felt hat from his head and deposited it among 

 the lilies. Discouraged by this, we whirled about, and paddled over 

 to the inlet, where a little ripple was visible in the tinted light. At 

 the very first cast I saw that the hour had come. Three trout leaped 

 into the air. The danger of this maneuver all fishermen understand. 

 It is one of the commonest in the woods ; three heavy trout taking 

 hold at once, rushing in different directions, smash the tackle into 



