THE ANGLER 



note the songs of the catbird in the 

 willow thicket, watch the poise and 

 plunge of the kingfisher, and so spend 

 all the day with nature and his own lazy 

 thoughts. That is what he came for. 

 Angling with him is only a pretense, an 

 excuse to pay a visit to the great mother 

 whom he so dearly loves ; and if he car- 

 ries home not so much as a scale, he is 

 happy and content. 



But how is it with him who comes 

 stealing along with such light tread that 

 it scarcely crushes the violets or shakes 

 the dewdrops from the ferns, and casts 

 his flies with such precise skill upon the 

 very handsbreadth of water that gives 

 most promise to his experienced eye ; or 

 drops his minnow with such care into 

 the eddying pool, where he feels a bass 

 must lie awaiting it. Eye and ear and 

 every organ of sense are intent upon 

 the sport for which he came. He sees 

 only the images of the clouds, no branch 

 but that which impedes him or offers 

 cover to his stealthy approach. His ear 

 is more alert for the splash of fishes than 

 for bird songs. With his senses go all 

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