420 



RECREATION. 



ly enough to see clearly what- happened, 

 but the prompt commotion it occasioned 

 was assurance that it was a matter requir- 

 ing my closest, immediate attention. I 

 didn't have far to go to find another white 

 butterfly; but that time I took the pre- 

 caution of hooking him on to a sickly look- 

 ing grey hackle at the end of my leader 

 before flipping him off the log. 



The expected happened. I didn't see any 

 trout, but the suction which carried that 

 fly out of the range of human vision was 

 sufficient. 



I struck, and struck again. A little line 

 ran out and stopped. I stiffened and 

 awaited developments. Nothing developed. 

 I strained, and nothing gave way. I slack- 

 ened, and the line curved gracefully to the 

 current. I struck hard, to wake him up, 

 and there came no responsive thrill. 



"Stuck, b'gosh !" said I, for I firmly con- 

 cluded he was a well educated old stager 

 from the big pool in front of camp, just be- 

 low, and had deliberately hung that fly 

 up on the bottom of the log, where he 

 could get it when he was hungry. I soon 

 began to feel a presentiment that I was 

 about to lose an old friend, tried and true, 

 in that good 6-foot leader, for no maneuver- 

 ing afforded any relief. Anyway, the re- 

 verse side of a 5 foot log, mostly under 

 water, is an extremely ill favored spot 

 from which to rescue a fishhook. I quickly 

 became discouraged and decided on drastic 

 measures. I slacked away, took the line 

 in my hand, and, with a sigh of fare- 



well, mingled with a fervent prayer that 

 if it must break it might break at a hook, 

 I cautiously but firmly applied the power 

 and held my breath. At first the line 

 seemed to stretch a bit, but did not give 

 way; then, with added strength intended 

 to break something and have it over, it 

 gave still more, but strangely drew back, 

 as though a springy branch was holding 

 it. When, in desperation, I yanked for 

 keeps, I received the delayed thrill that 

 burned well into 2 fingers before I could let 

 go and get rod and reel in action. 



That fish wasn't inclined to leave his 

 happy home under the big log for any- 

 body. He took 2 whirls out to the end 

 and back, at first ; but he mostly stayed 

 right under me, wrapped his tail around a 

 knot, and left it to me to sustain the stren- 

 uous end of the excitement. Once in a 

 while he let go, to wet his tail and take 

 a fresh hold. Then I gained a few inches 

 on him, only to give them back when he 

 wanted them. Never a rush or a break; 

 just that stubborn, tireless pull, with an 

 occasional vicious tug or ugly shake of the 

 head such as I had only experienced before 

 in an effort to coerce a balky horse. The 

 bark must have slipped off his knot so that 

 he lost his powerful hold, for finally I be- 

 gan to prove, inches at a time, that I was 

 the bigger and the fitter; and, with never 

 a rush or a break, I slipped the net under 

 him exactly where I had idly flipped a soli- 

 tary dead butterfly into the swelling flood 

 an hour before. He was my first bull. 



THE FOUNDLING. 



REV. E. L. TIFFANY. 



From the German of Goethe. 



I went in the forest so dark and still, 

 But seeking nothing: that was my will. 



In the shade I saw a floweret lone ; 

 How like a star its wee eye shone ! 



I would have olucked, but it spoke, so shy: 

 "Must I be broken, to wither and die?" 



With its rootlets all from the mold 'twas 



torn ; 

 To my pretty garden-house 'twas borne ; 



And planted again in a quiet place, 

 It branched and blossomed with added 

 grace. 



