OCTOBER. 



THE cold breath of Autumn which creeps up in the 

 dark, and shrivels the leaf, spares not the summer fly ; 

 they dwindle away with the declining warmth of the 

 sun ; still the waters, faithful to their trust, on genial 

 days pour out their winged tribes. Grayling and smelt, 

 fat and well favored for the remainder of the season, 

 furnish the sport of the small flyfisher. Farewell, 

 Trout ! my old and charming acquaintance ; fare thee 

 well in peace and security, until we meet in other days. 

 Thou art the best trump in the streams ; thy beauty, 

 thy cunning, and thy courage, I ever admired. How 

 have I loved to tackle thee in the days of thy freedom 

 and prosperity. I have delighted to deceive thee in thy 

 prime and ruthless moments ; but I ever detested the 

 snare and the lyster ; nor is the grey fly* in my list. 

 Neither would I disturb thee in thy connubial joys, or 

 persecute thee on those days when thy spirit is subdued 

 by adversity; no ! I would then succour and protect thee. 

 I now beseech all men to spare the trout, take or touch 

 him not until the returning sun rouses him again to 

 action. Drained are the riches of his delicate flesh, 

 and dimmed and dusk his late lovely sides ; but a 

 " change has come over the spirit of his dream" ; a ho- 

 ney drop creeps in his blood and fevers in his brain 



' Poacher^ 1 term for the Net. 



