A FINE TROUT. 3 1 



till we approached the spot which our friend had in his 

 mind. We took an excellent run of trout all along. I 

 think the morning's work was better than usual, and our 

 spirits rose as we strolled through the grand old forest. 

 The river was full of music, the rush of every rapid was 

 loud and clear and ringing. The sharp cry of the wood- 

 pecker sounded shrill across the valley, while an occa- 

 sional partridge that we put up here and there went off 

 with a buzzing, thunderous flight that was altogether use- 

 less under the circumstances, for it was May, and we 

 carried only rods. 



"Ha! I have him now," said the Doctor, suddenly, as 

 he struck a fine trout. 



He was a pretty specimen, but I had seen a larger one 

 rise at the same fly, and, when he missed it, turn down 

 toward the eddy under a rock in the middle of the 

 stream. Philip saw him too. 



"My head against your wig he kills the largest fish 

 of the day within ten minutes, Doctor." 



" I wear my own hair, Philip, as I have before re- 

 marked to you." 



I had him ; my reel flew around with a sharp whirr as 

 he went down stream. 



The Doctor looked on with disappointment in his 

 whole countenance. It was the very trout for whose de- 

 lectation he had tied that fly. 



The bend of the rod, the gentle feeling with the finger 

 as I checked the run of the line, told his weight almost 

 as accurately as a spring scale. Don't imagine always 

 that anglers have no authority for their figures when 

 they tell of large fish that they have struck and lost. I 

 know men who are accustomed to tell the weight of their 

 fish before they have seen them above water, and who 



