The American angler . he loves. He woos it with water, cooling the sweat-stained brow;a passionate fondness, and stays with it and how wholesome the woody frag-till he has learned all its hidden secrets, ranee borne upon its wings. HungerHe laughs with the ripples and eddies, lurks in every crevice of your body asand meditates along the deep, smooth the basket is opened and the viandsstretches, while casting the gossamer spread out J^efore you; every morsel hasleader and feathery lure into shadowy a distinct relish, and a drink of waternooks, below sunny rapids, over foam- from a near-by sprin
The American angler . he loves. He woos it with water, cooling the sweat-stained brow;a passionate fondness, and stays with it and how wholesome the woody frag-till he has learned all its hidden secrets, ranee borne upon its wings. HungerHe laughs with the ripples and eddies, lurks in every crevice of your body asand meditates along the deep, smooth the basket is opened and the viandsstretches, while casting the gossamer spread out J^efore you; every morsel hasleader and feathery lure into shadowy a distinct relish, and a drink of waternooks, below sunny rapids, over foam- from a near-by spring is grateful. Afterflecked eddies and on silent pools. Fly lunch, to most anglers, comes the restfulfishing is said to be the poetry of ang- friendly pipe; and as the vapory wreathsling, and though there is a fascinating curl above your head and vanish in theuncertainty in it, yet a thrill of expecta- air, as you lie stretched upon the cooltion accompanies every cast. The swish grass-covered earth, the cloud specked. Below McLarneys Bridge, Looking Nortln. canopy of sky above you, watching thewind waving the trees, and the sunlightflitting and flashing through their hightufted tops, like rare thoughts througha poets mind, listening to the drowsyhum of bees, and the liquid tones of thestream, keeping time with the motionsof swaying flags and drooping alders,the weary muscles regain their elasticityand the flagging nerves pick up theirtension. The scenes of the morningpass in imaginative review, then fadeaway, like dissolving views, to be re-placed by anticipations that limber oneup for the afternoons sport. To most anglers, perhaps, the after-noons fishing would be but a repetitionof the morning; but to him, who has aneye to the beautiful and variety in Na-ture, there is no repetition. The streamhas new windings, new riffles, eddies,and smooth stretches, flowing over bot-toms of widely varying character. Thescenes along the banks please the eye and sense with other varieties of
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectfishing, bookyear1895
