TROUT FISHING 



excellent substitute for butter at breakfast," so to my mind 

 fishing in a loch from a boat is only a substitute for the real 

 thing, and except for a change occasionally, I would rather 

 have indifferent sport in a river or burn than fish the finest loch 

 in the Highlands. . . .' 



SPRING 



Now when the first foul torrent of the brooks, 

 Sweird with the vernal rains, is ebb'd away. 

 And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctured stream 

 Descends the billowy foam ; now is the time, 

 While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile, 

 To tempt the trout. The well-dissembled fly. 

 The rod fine tapering with elastic spring, 

 Snatch'd from the hoary steed the floating line, 

 And all thy slender watVy stores prepare. . . . 

 Just in the dubious point, where with the pool 

 Is mixM the trembling stream, or where it boils 

 Around the stone, or from the hollow'd bank 

 Reverted plays in undulating flow. 

 There throw nice-judging the delusive fly 

 And as you lead it round in artful curve. 

 With eye attentive mark the springing game. 

 Straight as above the surface of the flood 

 They wanton rise, or urged by hunger leap. 

 Then fix with gentle twitch the barbed hook ; 

 Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank. 

 And to the shelving shore slow dragging some, 

 With various hand proportioned to their force. 

 If yet too young, and easily deceived, 

 A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod ; 

 Him, piteous of his youth and the short space 

 He has enjoy 'd the vital light of Heaven, 

 Soft disengage, and back into the stream 

 The speckled captive throw. But should you lure 

 From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots 

 Of pendent trees, the monarch of the brook. 

 Behoves you then to ply your finest art. 

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