THE AMERICAN TROUT. 35 



splendid ones. Who lias not said or thought such words 

 as he stood in the bright summer's day under the grate 

 ful shade of the piazza running round the old country 

 house where he played, a boy ? 



He does not make the nerves thrill and tingle like the 

 salmon, he does not leap so madly into the air nor make 

 sucli fierce, resolute rushes, he has not the silver sides 

 nor the great strength ; but he is beautiful as the sunset 

 sky, brave as bravery itself, and is our own home dar- 

 ling. How he flashes upon the sight as he grasps the 

 spurious insect, and turns down with a quick little slap 

 .of the tail ! How he darts hither and thither when he 

 finds he is hooked ! How persistently he struggles till 

 enveloped in the net ! And then with what heart-rend- 

 ing sighs he breathes away his life ! Who does not love 

 the lovely trout? With eye as deep and melting, skin 

 as rich and soft, and ways as wildly willful as angelic 

 woman who loves not one loves not the other. Who 

 would not win the one cares not to win the other. 

 Strange that man should " kill the thing he loves ;" but 

 if to possess them kills them, he must kill. If women, 

 like the Ephemeras, died as they often do in their love, we 

 should still love them. Such is man ; do not think I 

 praise him. No one kills fish for the pleasure of killing ; 

 but they cannot live out of water, nor we in it, therefore 

 one of us must die. We would willingly save them ; 

 we have tried to bring them home alive, but it is not pos- 

 sible. They are too delicate. With what a feeling of 

 affection we look upon a beautiful fish as he lies upon the 

 moss, the sunlight sparkling from his colors fading in 

 death! with how deep a sadness we see his strength 



