EPHEMERAE. 131 



thou art in the eyes of the uninitiated vulgar ; a 

 little, stumpy old maid, toddling about the world 

 in a black bonnet and a brown cloak, laughed at 

 by naughty boys, but doing good wherever thou 

 comest, and leaving sweet memories behind thee ; 

 so sweet that the trout will rise at the ghost or 

 sham of thee, for pure love of thy past kindnesses 

 to them, months after thou hast departed from 

 this sublunary sphere. What hours of bliss do I 

 not owe to thee ! How often have I seen in the 

 rich meads of Wey, after picking out wretched 

 quarter-pounders all the morning on March- 

 brown and red-hackle, the great trout rush from 

 every hover to welcome thy first appearance 

 among the sedges and buttercups ! How often, 

 late in August, on Thames, on Test, on 

 Lodden heads, have I seen the three and four- 

 pound fish prefer thy dead image to any live 

 reality . . . and the great trout rose and rose, 

 and would not cease, at thee, my alder fly ! 

 Have I not seen, after a day when the earth 

 below was iron, and the heavens above as brass, 

 that the three-pounders would have thee, and 

 thee alone, in the purple August dusk, and old 

 Moody 's red face grow redder and redder with 

 excitement, half proud at having advised me to 

 ' put on ' thee. . . . Beloved alder fly ! would 

 that I could give thee a soul (if, indeed, thou hast 



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