388 BOOK OF THE BLACK BASS. 



Fly-fishers are usually brain-workers in society. From 

 time immemorial the fraternity has embraced many of the 

 most honored, intellectual and cultured members of the 

 liberal professions and arts. Along the banks of purling 

 streams, beneath the shadows of umbrageous trees, or in 

 the secluded nooks of charming lakes, they have ever 

 been found, drinking deep of the invigorating forces of 

 nature giving rest and tone to overtaxed brains and 

 wearied nerves while gracefully wielding the supple rod, 

 the invisible leader, and the fairy-like fly. 



Oh ! how the sluggish pulses bound, the deadened nerves 

 thrill, and the relaxed muscles quicken, responsive to the 

 inspiration of the electric rise of the gamey denizens of the 

 stream ; and oh, how the buried forces of life are resur- 

 rected, renewed and strengthened by the hopes, and fears, 

 and struggles, of the contest which follows ! And when 

 at last the brave beauty has been lovingly deposited in 

 the creel, the restored angler feels that he has won a 

 double victory; for, in the death of the fish, he sees re- 

 newed life for himself. 



But the true fly-fisher, who practices his art con amore, 

 does not delight in big catches, nor revel in undue and 

 cruel slaughter. He is ever satisfied with a moderate creel, 

 and is content with the scientific and skillful capture of a 

 few good fish. The beauties of nature, as revealed in his 

 surroundings the sparkling water, the shadow and sun- 

 shine, the rustling leaves, the song of birds and hum of 

 insects, the health-giving breeze make up to him a meas- 

 ure of true enjoyment, and peace, and thankfulness, that is 

 totally unknown to the slaughterer of the innocents, whose 

 sole ambition is to fill his creel and record his captures by 

 scores; and who realizes naught in his surroundings but 



