74 Recreations of a Sportsman 



and taking, fearing, hoping, and other things, 

 lest he take me unawares. More than once he 

 had me on the run; more than once I lost con- 

 trol and he led me into pastures new and dan- 

 gerous, and as I pranced down-stream for the 

 last time, working hard, I caught the laughter 

 of my friend, who was still holding the big fish, 

 as a sort of totem, and reciting his Walton : 

 " And so, if I might be judge, God never did 

 make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation 

 than angling." 



Walton never fished the Elver of Feathers, or 

 he never would have penned those dulcet lines 

 that fit most streams and angling minds. But 

 such a trout in Walton i an waters would be a 

 " Volscian in Corioli," and at last, superheated, 

 excited to the limit, exultant in the angler's 

 fashion, I held him in mid-stream, and began 

 to think of the long-handled net. He was con- 

 quered, but refused to acknowledge it ; went into 

 the air repeatedly, mayhap to look at me, shook 

 himself bravely, and bounded from side to side 

 in the deep shadows of the pool, like a ball, my 

 stolid friend meanwhile holding the big trout. 



And so I brought my fish to the bank, and 

 my friend netted him in gallant fashion, and 

 having broken the ice, as it were, the game was 

 on. To an enthusiast every stream is the 

 best, and each fish the biggest, but this little 

 winding river with its song and laughter, its 



