BROOK TROUT 



go Straight to the centre ot' the pool, and kiss the 

 water. 



A flash, gleam, flying spray as a large trout darts 

 from his home under the bank I It is an experience 

 that has often thrilled the real angler. The fish has 

 jumped at and missed the leading fly I 



But the next cast is successful. An even fiercer 

 rush, and the angler, with the well-known turn of the 

 wrist on the rod, has the fish hooked I Straight down 

 stream flies the quarry, the reel screaming and the 

 heart of the angler beating hard and fast 1 A long 

 struggle follows. Almost in the landing-net twice, and 

 yet the trout makes savage rushes for liberty I Soon 

 the prize is secured ; joy of possession as a wild, 

 twelve-inch king of the jewelled coat lies on the bed of 

 fern-leaves in the bottom of the trout-creel I For this, 

 and for the gladness of returning health among some 

 of earth's fairest scenes, the angler has journeyed almost 

 1,000 miles. Already he is mastered by the spell of 

 the remote, wild life, with its mystery and music. 



Three beautiful trout are taken from the pool while 

 the starlight dies and the sky grows lighter. Then, 

 startling the ear of earliest dawn, a solitary bird fills 

 the forest with its first note, clear, pure, and thrilling, 

 as if Heaven itself had sent its own winged messenger 

 to herald the coming day ! Then another bird takes up 

 the song ; then another and another, until all the woods 

 are vocal with melody — now near and joyous, now far 

 and sweet, like "the horns of elf-land faintly blowing." 



