28 THE AMERICAN TROUT. 



torn off by the sharp stones. His efforts grow fainter, 

 the flashing eye dims, a few convulsive throes and he is 

 quiet ; the grim hand of death has pressed upon him. 



He is indeed the prince of monsters, the paragon of 

 giants ; so thick, so deep, with so small a head for so 

 large a body ; such brilliant hues : the fins so red, the 

 blue and carmine spots so numerous and delicate. I 

 wash him off and stand gazing at him in my hand 

 regardless of further sport. I have captured the king, 

 and care not to follow his subalterns. I lay him gently 

 in my basket ; he will not lie at full length. I cover 

 him with moss, filling the little room left, and forcing 

 my way through the overhanging bushes, and, reaching 

 the broad light of day, proudly await the arrival of my 

 companion. Then the moss is carefully removed, and 

 the beatities of my darling are unveiled, and flash and 

 gleam in the sunlight. 



There are several ways of landing a trout, but not all 

 equally sportsmanlike. Large trout may be gaffed, 

 small ones landed in a net, and where neither of these 

 means is at hand, they must be dragged out of water, or 

 flirted up among the bushes, according to the taste of 

 the angler and the strength of his tackle. 



A tyro was once fishing on the same boat with me, 

 using bait, when he struck his first trout. One can 

 imagine how entirely misspent had been his previous 

 existence, when it is said he had never taken a trout, 

 no, nor any other fish before. It was not a large fish ; 

 such luck rarely falls to the share of the beginner, and 

 in spite of what elderly gentlemen may say to the con- 

 trary, an ignorant countryman, with his sapling rod 



