Fairhaven herald. [volume] (Fairhaven, Wash.) 1890-????, 1892-09-29

L
chamber and buried my head in the pillows
| that might not hear the glorious music
of the hounds as they raced, noses breast
| high, after the flying game.
Friend" said the trapper I'VE have
done injustice to yer natur, that fine natur
the Lord give we at birth, and sold yer
birthright of happiness for a mess of miser-
able pottage. Ye have fed yer feelins on
husks when the plenty and merriment of
yer fathers house was open to ye Here,
take the rod, take the rod, say, and let
yer old fingers feel the heft of it, and yer
ears hear the whirr Of the reel once more, "
and the trapper literally thrust the rod into
the white hand Of his hesitant companion.
But oh, the change that came to the old
minister as his tapering fingers closed on
the polished butt He fairly caressed the
reel with his white, thin hands; his eyes
lighted as be poised il as for a cast; his
form Strengthened and his left foot was
pushed forward; fine flush glowed
through the pallor Of his cheek; he seized
the leader and with wide sweep of his
hand drew dozen yards from the reel and
laughed low, happy laugh at the singing
thereof.
MAKE a cast, make a cast" cried the
trapper. "Lengthen the line, and make a
cast to the far edge of the pool where yon
bubbles be in line. If the Lord sends ye
the trout he ought to send ye, he will
take twenty years from yer head to the
bottom of the river with him."
Then and there, on the ledge that juts
into the Racquette's tide just below the
mouth of Cold river, did the church of
common sense become incarnate. As Ole
Bull would stand posed before the expect
ant thousands when he lifted his bow, so
vibrant, erect, graceful, stood the old divine
ready for the cast. In an instant came the
motion Of the arm, the turn of the wrist
that all anglers know but no words may
describe, and up went the lilies into the
air, flew backward and then shot straight
out over the wnirling tide Downward
they floated, lighted like vagrant feathers
amid the bubbles, and
Salvation screamed the doctor. "A
trout" 4 trout such as is rarely seen
hung in air three good feet above the flies
and bubbles. Tail fat and big as
single, mouth open, belly red as a stormy
sunrise, fins like rainbow, the huge sides
dotted with shot Of reddest rose--so hung
in full sight tor moment above the dark
stream, then fell with mighty fash and
was gone
Cast agin, cast agin at the same spot
and if he lifts, strike quick and strike
hard, in honor of the rod and the pool and
yer boyhood days, and be hanged to the
Pharisees," yelled the trapper.
Oh, the passage of time! Oh, the bur
den of years, Oh, the cares and the
troubles that whiten the head How they
fadel How they fall! How they fly from
ne rF..va ,.gal
on thc$lge of deep, whirling pool, with
a trout such as that in the depths, waiting
for the beautiful lure which he has in his
eagerness missed
Oh the cast that the old doctor made
and the answer that flashed from the
depths! The nervous old wrist struck
quick and struck true, the twisted silk
shFuHk to the strain and the water few In
fine mist from the braids, so strong was
the stroke and so heavy the FISH. Then
down, downward he plunged, full of force,
full of fire, line breaker, rod smasher is
he, and through the strong, swirling cur
rent he tears like submarine bolt fired
to kill.
See the line cut the waterl See the rod
sway and CULVER! Hear the shrill cry OF
the reel see the old minister's face, the
the set look of the mouth, the white hair
flying free. Then see the great fish on the
bank, the two white headed men bending
over it; hear their laughter; see their
clasped hands; see the old divine fling a
caper like the flourish that precedes the
jig, and the green balsams and pines and
through their dark branches patches and
spaces Of blue sky. Can you not see the
picture and sketch-you, brother angler
that hangs in my memory over the big
ledge on the Racquette, just below where
the cool current of Cold river flows ini
Many things have we lost and many
changes have come TO me, as to thee, with
the years. Faces which were to our eyes
like stars to dark skies have faded from
sight; voices whose greetings and fare
wells made music to our ears sound no
more, and hands that clasped ours warm
and true we in the throng Of today reach
for in vain, seek and find not. But the
rivers on which we boated, the lakes where
we camped, the streams that we fshed,
the hills and the mountains, the lilies and
wild roses, the green, fragrant trees, the
still, lonely camps that we made years ago
these we see as of old. These memory
holds dear and hangs high in her hall, and
dearer they grow as our heads get white
and our eyes grow dim, while our sun red
dens to its setting, and that cleaning
which we trust will bring forth anew the
sweet stars that have faded, as we sit
hoping and waiting, comes silently on
W. II II. Murray in New York World.