BROOK TROUT 



of the wilderness — the talking stream whose rapids re- 

 flect the early sunlight down one of the long aisles, 

 and cause it to dance on the foliage. Not all the 

 chets and banquets in the cities of the round world 

 could produce such a meal as this, with such a 

 breakfast-chamber ! 



For the wealth of beauty is everywhere. Laurel 

 and rhododendron blossoms are around him — wild 

 lilies, trailing arbutus, and white strawberry blossoms I 

 Finally, the forest rises above a blue carpet of violets. 

 How the angler loves them I He stops the cook from 

 plucking them for a boutonniere. He almost wishes, 

 as he lies beside a thick cluster of their blooms, that 

 he might strike hands and feet in the kind earth, take 

 root himself beside his favorite flowers, and nevermore 

 abandon the happy companionship. The little, nod- 

 ding, blue comrades I He feels that they are sentient — 

 know and are grateful for his love and insight. He is 

 charmed by their wild, shy life. As he lies prone and 

 drinks from the spring below the bank, one of them 

 takes advantage of a sudden gust of wind to actually 

 nod at him several times I 



" // is just a little violet on the hank above the spring ; 



Just a little point of blue that nods before the saucy air : 

 And as he notes the beauty of the zvee and icinsome thing. 



He feels that it is glad to see him back and drinking there." 



And now comes proof that the angler sees and 

 knows the beauty of his environment. For he is not 



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