EPHEMERZ. 131 
thou art in the eyes of the uninitiated vulgar; a 
little, stumpy old maid, toddling about the world 
in a black bonnet and a brown cloak, laughed at 
by naughty boys, but doing good wherever thou 
comest, and leaving sweet memories behind thee ; 
so sweet that the trout will rise at the ghost or 
sham of thee, for pure love of thy past kindnesses 
to them, months after thou hast departed from 
this sublunary sphere. What hours of bliss do I 
not owe to thee! How often have IJ seen in the 
rich meads of Wey, after picking out wretched 
quarter-pounders all the morning on March- 
brown and red-hackle, the great trout rush from 
every hover to welcome thy first appearance 
among the sedges and buttercups! How often, 
late in August, on Thames, on Test, on 
Lodden heads, have I seen the three and four- 
pound fish prefer thy dead image to any live 
reality . . . and the great trout rose and rose, 
and would not cease, at thee, my alder fly! 
Have I not seen, after a day when the earth 
below was iron, and the heavens above as brass, 
that the three-pounders would have thee, and 
thee alone, in the purple August dusk, and old 
Moody’s red face grow redder and redder with 
excitement, half proud at having advised me to 
‘put on’ thee.... Beloved alder fly! would 
that I could give thee a soul (if, indeed, thou hast 
K 2 
