DAYS ON THE NEPIGON. 



save the Nepigon, its trout and ourselves. It 

 makes one feel as though his years were an il- 

 lusion, as expectancy bubbles and the buoy- 

 ancy of veritable youth reasserts itself. Verily 

 it is good to be here, when the gladness of 

 the days and the spirit of the woods take full 

 possession. If a man is fortunate enough to 

 have a commendable hobby, he is doubly for- 

 tunate if he can cultivate it out o' doors. 



It is unnecessary to describe the prelimin- 

 aries and requisites of the coming bout. To 

 witness the frictionless action of the rod just 

 assembled, one would hardly surmise it had 

 been slumbering away the long winter days 

 in an obscure corner, taking neither exercise 

 nor nourishment, but with never a whisper of 

 complaint. For at the first movement of the 

 wrist and forearm, it fell into step and all its 

 wonted suppleness was restored in a twinkling. 

 The fountain of perpetual youth still bubbled 

 in its joints. It gazed over familiar scenes y 

 recognizing the old pool, where it had suf- 

 fered in defeat and gloried in victory, and its 

 good red fighting blood began coursing from 

 is 



