THE ANGLER 



In the soft evenings of April when the 

 air is full of the undefinable odor of the 

 warming earth and of the incessant re- 

 joicing of innumerable members of the 

 many families of batrachians, one may 

 see silently moving lights prowling along 

 the low shores of shallow waters, now 

 hidden by trunks of great trees that are 

 knee-deep in the still water, now emerg- 

 ing, illuminating bolls and branches and 

 flashing their glimmering glades far 

 across the ripples of wake and light 

 breeze. 



If one were near enough he could see 

 the boat of the spearers, its bow and the 

 intent figure of the spearman aglow in 

 the light of the jack which flares a back- 

 ward flame with its steady progress, and 

 drops a slow shower of sparks, while the 

 stern and the paddler sitting therein are 

 dimly apparent in the verge of the gloom. 



These may be honest men engaged in 

 no illegal affair ; they exercise skill of 

 a certain sort ; they are enthusiastic in 

 the pursuit of their pastime, which is as 

 fair as jacking deer, a practice upheld by 

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