THE AMERICAN TROUT. 25 



point may be left under the skin, or exposed, as the 

 poacher pleases ; I prefer it covered. It should not 

 penetrate the flesh. 



In the Marshpee I was using a single hook, keeping 

 the bait well ahead of me, and creeping cautiously in 

 the freezing water, watching the tiny float as it danced 

 its merry course along, now borne swiftly over the rip- 

 pling current, anon caught in an eddy and returning on 

 its track, and then again resting motionless in some dark 

 and quiet pool. It was scarcely visible beneath the densa 

 shadows, and once in a while it would disappear from my 

 straining sight ; then followed a sharp blow with my rod, 

 a fierce tug, a short fight between fear, despair and cun- 

 ning on the one side, and strength, energy and judgment 

 on the other. The prey once hooked, and skill there 

 was not ; it was a mere contention of two brute forces, 

 in which the weaker went to the basket. An exhibition 

 of skill or tenderness would have resulted in an entangle- 

 ment round the nearest root, and the loss of fish, leader 

 and hook. Still, there was excitement ; the situation 

 was romantic, the narrow gorge, the deep and rapid 

 stream, the closely matted trees and vines, the ever- 

 changing surface of the current, which adds beauty to 

 the tamest brook, all combined to lend enchantment 

 to the scene. The fish were large and vigorous, fresh 

 run from the sea, where they had, the Winter long, 

 been a terror to the small fry, and early death to 

 juicy and unsuspicious shell-fish. They fought fiercely 

 for life and liberty, their homes and their household 

 gods, and, alas ! two often successfully. The risk of 

 their escape added to the interest of the occasion, and 



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