306 I GO A- FISHING. 



service. But we had heard mention of Diamond Pond, 

 and our longings were thitherward. It was variously 

 stated at ten to fifteen miles' distance, by a road which 

 led through the wildest section of the country. So we 

 arranged for horses and a guide, and began in the even- 

 ing to unpack our fishing tackle. It was amusing to see 

 the expressions of countenance, and hear the brief and 

 sententious remarks made in the bar-room when our light 

 Norris rods were brought to the view of the Colebrook 

 fishermen. For they were anglers, and not to be despised 

 let me tell you. What American angler, however skilled 

 in the later years of his life, dare think without respect of 

 the up-country fisher who taught him his first cast with 

 an ash pole and a brown cock's hackle ? There is much 

 written and much said about the superiority, now of fine 

 tackle, now of birch and hemp. The accomplished angler, 

 with slender rod, multiplying reel, silk line, and thorough- 

 ly assorted book of flies, is sometimes indignant at the 

 remark that a barefooted boy with pole and line and 

 worm can catch more trout than he. It is sometimes 

 true. Along a stream where trout are plenty, the short 

 rod and worm bait will kill them much more rapidly than 

 a slender rod and a landing-net. But the angler does 

 not always seek many fish, and the difference is in the 

 pleasure of the skillful sport on the one hand, and the 

 rapidity of filling a basket on the other. Nevertheless, 

 as I have clearly stated before, I am not one of the 

 class of anglers who despise bait-fishing even for trout, 

 and when I want them in quantity for any purpose, I use 

 whichever I find to be the most taking lure. I can see 

 the scornful smile of some of my readers at this avowal. 

 Be as scornful as you please. It is to my notion the ex- 

 treme of nonsense for modern fishermen to read old Izaak 



