The Republican journal., 1900-04-05

''Make cast, make cast" cried the
trapper ''Lengthen the line and make e
cast to the far edge Of the pool where yon
bubbles be in line If the Lord sends We
trout he ought to send We. he will take
| twenty years from yer head to the bot
tom of the river with him
Then and there, on the ledge that juts
into the Racquettes tide just below the
mouth of Cold River, did the Church of
i Common Sense become incarnate. AS
! Ole Bull would stand posed before the
i expectant thousands when he lifted his
bow, vibrant, erect, graceful, stood the
| old divine ready for the cast. In an in
: slant came the motion of the arm, the
/ turn of the wrist that all anglers know
I but no words may describe, and up went
j the flies into the air flew backward and
then shot straight ont over the whrling
] tide. Downward they tinated, lighted
/ like vagrant feathers amid the bubbles,
| and
| "Salvation.' screamed the doctor. "a
trout A front such as rarely seen hung
in the air three good feet above the flies
and bubbles. Tail fiat and big as a SHIN
gle, mouth open, belly red as a stormy
sunset, fins like a rainbow, the huge
sides dotted with shot of leddest rose-so
hung, in full sight for a moment above the
dark stream, then fell with mighty flash
and gone.
Cast agin, cast aein 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
PhaTisees, yelled the trapper.
Oh, the passage of time, Oh, the bur
den of years. Oh, tie cares and 'he
troubles that whiten the head. How they
fade! How they fall. How they fly from
us, friends, wien we stand, rod in hand,
on the edge of deep whirling pool, with
a trout such as that IN the depth 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
depth. The nervous old wrist struck quick
and struck true, and the twisted silk
shrunk to the strain and The water flew in
tine mist from the braius. SO strong was
the stroke and SO heavy was the fish.
Then down, downward he plunged, full of
force, full of fire, line breaker, a rod
smasher is he, and through the strong,
swirling current he tears like 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 face, the flush Of the heck, he
CLEAN in the eye, the set look of the
mouth. the white hair flying free. Tl4en
see the great fish on the bank, the two
white headed men bending over it; hear
then laughter; see their ciasped 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 your brother angler, that hangs IN
my memory over this big ledge on the
Racquette, just below where the cool cur
rent of the Cold River flows in?
Many things have we lost and many
changes have come to me, as to thee, with
the years. Faces which ere to our eyes
like stars to dark skies have faded from
sight; voices whose greetings and farewells
made music to our ears sound no more,
and hands that clasped ours warm and
true we in the throng of to- day reach for
in vain, seek and find not. But the rivers
on which we boated, the lakes where we
camped, the streams that we tished, 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 mem
DRY 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 reddens to its setting; and that gloam-
ing which we trust will bring forth anew
the sweet stars that have faded, as we sit
hoping and waiting, comes silently on.
by w. II. H. Murray, in the New York
World.