AUG. 3, 1907.] 

sing the little pools with unpardonable violation 
»f every nicety of the art? Most of us, perhaps, 
ynly too often. Yet these two characters are the 
rustees of much that we anglers revere and 
yelieve, although we are not always so ready 
o admit it. They unconsciously demonstrate 
hat a few flies used on proper occasions are all 
hat the trout fisher’ needs; that one’ fly of a 
riven class does just about as well as another 
vhen fish are feeding, excepting on such occas- 
ons as the rise of the Mayfly or March brown. 
The village angler.backs his arguments in favor 
xf his local patterns by the fact that he is sel- 
lom disappointed in a day’s sport. He contends, 
oo—and here, perhaps, with some reason—that 
iis flies, being more like those which they are 
ntended to imitate, are more likely to catch fish 
han those monstrosities of the tackle maker, 
iome of which bear no resemblance to any living 
‘reature. He-‘is ready to refute one’s statement 
hat a March Brown made in Oxford street 
vould be as deadly a lure as one tied in his own 
village, even though they had a brotherly like- 
iess to one another. His favorite patterns are 
rearly always on the cast. They are there, as 
t were, by inheritance and birthright. It would 
ye extraordinary if they did not catch more fish 
han those which are given only an occasional 
rial, so that the value put upon them is a purely 
ictitious one.. Then there is prejudice. This 
ocal sportsman is possessed of an inherited dis- 
ike for anything new. 
There is much piscatorial philosophy in that 
lelightful picture which Punch gave us some 
ime ago of the irascible old gentleman who, 
ifter having fished all day, after having tried 
‘very available fly he possessed, throws his book 
nto the stream with a malediction and exclaims, 
‘There! Take your choice!” If a trout will not 
‘ise when he is made a fair offer, there is noth- 
ng that will induce him to do so. You may 
Jabble the most coquettish coch-y-bondu across 
he wind-ruffled “water above him.. You may 
ickle his nose suggestively with a most attrac- 
ive black spider, yet he remains in stolid in- 
1ifference to all offers. But half an hour hence, 
yerhaps, the same fish will be feeding with the 
sharacteristic greed of his kind at whatever pre- 
ents itself in the shape of food, provided it is 
not extravagantly unreal in nature or appear- 
ince. Last summer two little four-ounce trout 
vere caught in a mountain brook in quick suc- 
‘ession, one with a tiny, black, midge-like fly, 
which had been put on the cast by way of ex- 
yeriment, and the other with a palmer of gaudy 
iress. The water was clear, and it is worthy of 
1ote that-the second fish had two half-swallowed 
ivorms in its gullet when it took the fly. 
| While, from the point of view of mere sport, 
here is much needless worrying over this side 
f the subject, on the other hand there is a deal 
hat might be said in favor of a fly-book that 
is well furnished without being vulgarly _ so. 
‘Packle makers may seduce us if they will. They 
}lo so at least once every year, and we submit 
lecause we rather like it. To turn over the 
‘amiliar parchment, whether we are. by the river 
lide with the scent of spring in the air, or 
lreaming of days past and to come by the wintry 
lireside, is to inspire one’s imagination anew. 
‘lies are pretty, attractive things, and we owe 
ot a little gratitude to those who have created 
|hem. If we were to weed out all these beauties 
‘perish the thought)! and leave only that prac- 
lical half dozen, so plain and dowdy, much of 
lhe old flavor of fishing would go with them. 
\Breathes there an angler with “soul so dead” 
lvho would part with his Ronald even though 
1e were offered Izaak Walton in his stead? To 
suffer that wholesome entomology to be broken 
vould be to throw bankruptcy in the face of a 
well tried friend. The angler would be _scorn- 
ing his very birthright in feigning indifference 
lwhich .at one of the stages in its unenviable 
lrareer is well called Creeper. And the fly-fisher 
|will yield to none in the beauty and refinement 
»f his tackle. With him there is no messy bait- 
|ng of hooks, no impaling of luckless worms, no 
\oickling of happy minnows. For my part, al- 
hough I am not squeamish nor addicted to cry- 
/ng cruelty, I confess I do not like these things. 
iThere is something in the wriggle of the worm 
\-hat repels—The Outlook. 




FOREST AND STREAM. 
165 


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