The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1893-03-31

But CHI, 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 rs he poised it as for a cast; his
form Strengthened and his left foot was
pushed forward; fine flush gloved
through the pallor of his cheek; ne Sc cd
the leader and with wide sweep of bis
hand drew dozen yards from the reel and
laughed low. happy laugh at the singing
thereof.
snake a cast, make cast" cried the
trapper. "Lengthen the line and make q
cast to the far edge Of the pool where yon
bubbles be in line. If the Lord sends We
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
Gull 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 flies into the
air, flew backward and then shot straight
out over the whirlinR tide. Downward
they floated, lighted like vagrant feathers
amid the bubbles, and
"Salvationp screamed the doctor. "a
trout" A trout such as is rarely seen
hung in air three good feet above the flies
and bubbles. Tail fat and big as a
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 for moment above the dark
stream, then fell with mighty flash 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
Pharsees," yelled the trapper.
Oh, the passage of timel 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
us, friends, when we stand, rod in hand,
on the edge 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
shrunk to the strain and the water flew 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 a submarine bolt fired
to kill.
See the line cut the water! See the rod
sway and culver! Hear the shrill cry of
the reel; see the old minister's face, the
flush Of the cheek, the CLEAN in the eye,
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 ding
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 IMP
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 fished,
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 it's setting, and that cleaning
which we trust will bring forth anew the
sweet stars that have faded, as we sit
hss;ss4:s-ss and waiting, comes silently on
w II n Murray =, New York World