ownward, the same spray
dashing over the stones, the same eddy coiling at the edge of the pool.
Send your fly in under those cedar branches, where the water swirls
around by that old log. Now draw it up toward the foam. There is a
sudden gleam of dull gold in the white water. You strike too soon.
Your line comes back to you. In a current like this, a fish will almost
always hook himself. Try it again. This time he takes the fly fairly,
and you have him. It is a good fish, and he makes the slender rod bend
to the strain. He sulks for a moment as if uncertain what to do, and
then with a rush darts into the swiftest part of the current. You can
never stop him there. Let him go. Keep just enough pressure on him to
hold the hook firm, and follow his troutship down the stream as if he
were a salmon. He slides over a little fall, gleaming through the foam,
and swings around in the next pool. Here you can manage him more easily;
and after a few minutes' brilliant play, a few mad dashes for the
current, he comes to the net, and your skilful guide lands him with
a quick, steady sweep of the arm. The scales credit him with an
even pound, and a better fish than this you will hardly take here in
midsummer.

"On my word, master," says the appreciative Venator, in Walton's
Angler, "this is a gallant trout; what shall we do with him?" And
honest Piscator, replies: "Marry! e'en eat him to supper; we'll go to
my hostess from whence we came; she told me, as I was going out of door,
that my brother Peter, [and who is this but Romeyn of Keeseville?] a
good angler and a cheerful companion, had sent word he would lodge there
tonight, and bring a friend with him. My hostess has two beds, and I
know you and I have the best; we'll rejoice with my brother Peter and
his friend, tell tales, or sing ballads, or make a catch, or find
some harmless sport to content us, and pass away a little time without
offence to God or man."

Ampersand waited immovable while I passed many days in such innocent and
healthful pleasures as these, until the right day came for the ascent.
Cool, clean, and bright, the crystal morning promised a glorious noon,
and the mountain almost seemed to beckon us to come up higher. The
photographic camera and a trustworthy lunch were stowed away in the
pack-basket. The backboard was adjusted at a comfortable angle in the
stern seat of our little boat. The guide held the little craft steady
while I stepped into my place; then he p