382 BOOK OF THE BLACK BASS. 



two-pound Trout, and play him hither and yon, from surface to 

 bottom, without disturbing the pampered gorrnands which are 

 gorging themselves upon the disgusting viands ; and when he has 

 leisurely brought him to hand at last, and the gillie has scooped 

 him with his landing-net, he will feel in his capacious pocket for 

 his last trade dollar, and giving his friend the tip, shuffle back to 

 his house, and lay aside his rod forever. 



Rev. Myron H. Reed, an enthusiastic angler, who fol- 

 lows the example, in a double sense, of those disciples, 

 who, being fishermen of the waters, became also fishers 

 of men, ventures this prediction : 



This is probably the last generation of Trout fishers. The chil- 

 dren will not be able to find any. Already there are well-trodden 

 paths by every stream in Maine, in New York and in Michigan. I 

 know of but one river in North America by the side of which you 

 will find no paper collar or other evidences of civilization ; it is the 

 Nameless Eiver. 



Not that Trout will cease to be. They will be hatched by 

 machinery, and raised in ponds, and fattened on chopped liver, and 

 grow flabby and lose their spots. The Trout of the restaurant will 

 not cease to be. He is no more like the Trout of the wild river 

 than the fat and songless reed-bird is like the bobolink. Gross 

 feeding and easy pond-life enervate and deprave him. 



The Trout that the children will know only by legend is the gold- 

 sprinkled, living arrow of the Whitewater able to zig-zag up the 

 cataract, able to loiter in the rapids whose dainty meat is the 

 glancing butterfly. 



But is the Black Bass worthy to succeed and supersede 

 the speckled beauty of the cool mountain streams, as the 

 game-fish of American waters ? Let us see 



Reader, go with me 



This perfect morning in the leafy June, 

 To yon pool at the gurgling rapid's foot 

 Approach with caution ; let your tread be soft ; 



