PREFACE 



MY angling days are over. The May fly 

 imitation, which goes by the name of " The 

 Rosebery," and which caught my last two- 

 pound trout, hangs still as a trophy on the 

 forefront of my old cap (still in wear), where 

 I had fixed him after he had done that doughty 

 deed. That trout, judged by his lanky length, 

 ought to have weighed nearer four pounds than 

 two. He must have seen his best days long 

 before he took that last and fatal leap. His 

 will was as good, and he was perhaps hungrier 

 than he ever had been, but his power of re- 

 sistance had departed, he came to grass, almost 

 without a struggle. Like that old trout, I, his 

 captor, have seen the last of my best and fish- 

 ing days. I can only now live over again in 

 memory the happy days spent with many friends 

 by many a riverside. If the flesh is weak the 

 spirit is still alive, and that has led me, perhaps 



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