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the self-sacrificing courtesy which distinguishes all true disciples of the gentle art. For, be it understood, it is no mean proof of magnanimity to voluntarily surrender to another the best place to fish. It requires more grace than to give up a sure thing” in Wall street. This latter sacrifice goes no deeper than the pocket; the former touches the core of your highest enjoyment. Whoever makes this sacrifice has the spirit of the good Samaritan. All anglers may not be thus magnanimous, and those who are do not always find their magnanimity appreciated. But such is the experience of all doers of good deeds. Charitable men, and men of kindly sympathies, are as often accused of ostentation as commended for benevolence. No matter if they do try to "do good by stealth and blush to find it fame," there are critics who will pronounce their modesty hypocrisy, and their blushes the flush of anger that their charities are not proclaimed from the house-top. Not so the Judge. He appreciated the well-meant compliment, and gave due expression to the feeling of gratitude which this " offering of friendship" excited in his "manly bosom."

The issue of this little bit of courtesy was much more satisfactory than a similar instance of piscatorial self-sacrifice which I remember. It occurred in the "North Woods," on one of the inlets which

connect the Fulton chain of lakes. I was having excellent sport; almost every cast met with a response, and my creel was becoming unpleasantly weighty with its precious burden. Just as I had reached the margin of a favorite pool from which I had never failed to beguile a half dozen large fish, I observed in the near distance a clever fellow who was passionately fond of the sport, but who, having no skill, had no "luck." "I don't understand it," was his stereotyped bewailment. And just here was his trouble; he did not "understand it." He persisted in whipping the stream with a line of four-fold the proper dimensions, and made his casts with a rod equally out of proportion. I, however, liked his pluck and patience, and seeing my opportunity to do him a favor, I invited him to take my place at the pool into which I was about to cast. Although this happened twenty years ago I have not to this day been quite able to decide whether (remembering the sequel) I did a generous or a foolish thing in thus surrendering my prerogative to one who, however grateful, proved himself illy qualified to make the best possible use of his opportunity. His huge sinker fell into the water with a splash, carrying with it a number-nine hook covered with a full half ounce of wriggling worms, when it was at once seized by a three-pound trout, which in an

other instant was dangling from the limb of a neighboring tree into which he had been elevated by the excited angler. And there he hung for twenty minutes from an inextricably tangled line, which was only recovered, with what depended from it, after such turbulence as to render any further angling in that pool impracticable for the day. But in spite of his awkwardness he saved his trout, was made happy by his success, and overwhelmed me with thanks for my courtesy. The Judge may not have been more grateful, but he entered upon his work with more grace and skill. His first casts were made with becoming caution, as if feeling his way for the open joints in the harness of a crafty witness. He was too wise an angler to drop his fly into the centre of the pool abruptly. Like a wary General, he worked his way to the heart of the citadel by "gradual approaches." A novice would have charged him with undue timidity, just as impatient lookers on sometimes accused him of irrelevancy when cautiously drawing the net of his irresistible logic around his bewildered victim in the witness box during that famous Brooklyn combat of intellectual giants. He knew what he was about then; he knows what he is about now. He was too wise a lawyer to thwart himself by inordinate haste; and he is too skillful an angler to hazard success by undue precipitancy. Foot by foot his casts were

lengthened and swept gracefully across the current of the pool. Foot by foot he worked his way to the objective point, where rested what he coveted more than the verdict of judge or jury. And now, at last, the fly drops gently upon the glistening surface of the dark water, just at the point desired, when there followed a rush and strike, and a momentary pause, as if fish and fisher were alike astounded, and then click, whiz, whir-r-r went the reel, as if harnessed to a lightning train with a thunderbolt for a locomotive. Away went the fish with two hundred feet of line, but stopping at that distance as suddenly as if arrested by a peremptory order of the court. Then came the tug of war; first to hold him—that required muscle; then to bear with him while he sulked - that required patience. The Judge had both, and both were brought into skilful requisition. For ten minutes not a fin stirred; but the taut line, as it resisted the combined pressure of the current and the fish, thrummed like an æolian harp, and made every nerve tingle with delight. As became the watchful angler that he is, the eyes of the Judge were immovably fixed upon his line as it stretched out straight before him. He believed the fish near the opposite bank in a direct line with his rod, and he was looking intently for some sign of life from the spot where he supposed his fish

was sulking, when click! click! whiz-z-z, again went the reel, and a huge fish leaped his whole length out of water a hundred feet above him. "Hello," said the Judge, "there's another fellow!" "No, that's your fish," said the Indian gaffer. "Blazes! you don't say? What's he doing there? He's not within a hundred feet of my line." "It's your fish, sir. The swift current makes your line bend like the new moon." And this was the fact; but the illusion was so perfect that it required several like experiences to convince him that his Indian gaffer was not "fooling him"

occasion.

upon that

After an hour's struggle, and with a skill and judgment which excited the admiration of all who witnessed the contest, the fish was killed and captured. When he kicked the beam at the twenty eight pound notch, the Judge was a proud and a happy man. There are many things he will forget as old Time weaves silver threads amid his auburn locks, but he will never forget his astonishment when that fish showed himself one hundred feet from the point where he was intently watching him.

The next day DUN was awarded the Judge's pool and had his usual luck-making a larger score than any of us, and breaking more rods; not because he had less general skill, but because he

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