DAYS ON THE NEPIGON. 



We have frequently observed that the most 

 enthusiastic and opinionated fly-fishermen 

 those who consider themselves the genuine 

 article in piscatorial sportsmanship, who 

 preach thistledown, snowflakes, sunbeams 

 and other trifles, will, when occasion warrants, 

 throw sentiment and system to the breezes, 

 forsake their idols, and resort to the crawfish, 

 the old barnyard hackle, the minnow, or any 

 other alternative with the intense zeal of the 

 inveterate dyed-in-the-wool bait-fisherman. 



His preach and his practice are oftimes 

 quite conflicting, but he will be deterred by 

 no legitimate methods, provided results are 

 attained; and horror of horrors, "tell it not 

 in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Aske- 

 lon," we once witnessed a devotee of fly-fish- 

 ing take a strip of salt pork, attach a scarlet 

 ribbon to it, and cast it upon the waters, 

 whence after a few minutes it returned, its 

 mission accomplished. Results such as having 

 fresh fish for supper are of infinitely greater 

 importance than implements if we are not 

 caught at it. 



