"In using the fly the object is to imitate the movements of the natural insect as nearly as possible. To drop the line naturally on the water, and then to keep the fly endued with life, is the stratagem. From the moment the fly touches the water the angler should keep his eye on it. Trout often feed a little under the surface; they do not always break when they rise, but quietly suck in the fly."-Charles Hallock.

le, and catches his fish the artificial fly, and he is in A fisherman, sir, uses uches them any way; so he generally a noisy fellah,

"An angler, sir, uses the finest scientifically-trout, for instance—' mostly a quiet, well-behaved gent any kid of 'ooks and lines, and gets them it's all one to 'im, and he sir, something like a gunner.” ”—Doctor Bethune.

"Bemoving your fly upon the water, or casting it into the water: ›u yourself, being also alwaics moving down the stre ́i.' -Izaak Walton.

"When once alarmed, trout will never bite."-Seth G 16.

66

'Fly-fishers are usually brain-workers in society. Along the banks of purling streams, beneath the shadows of umbrageous trees, or in the secluded nooks of charming lakes, they have ever been found, drinking deep of the invigorating forces of nature-giving st and tone to over-taxed brains and wearied nerveswhile gracefully wielding the supple rod, the invisible leader, and the fairy-like fly.”—James A. Henshall, M.D.

"It is generally true that if a trout is pricked by a fly-hook he will not rise to it again."-W. C. Prime.

"CHRISTOPHER NORTH.-Would you believe it, my dear Shepherd, that my piscatory passions are almost dead within me ; and I like now to saunter along the banks and braes, eyeing the younkers angling, or to lay me down on some sunny spot, and with my face up to heaven, watch the slow changing clouds !"

"SHEPHERD.—I'll no believe that, sir, till I see 't—and scarcely then-for a bluidier-minded fisher nor Christopher North never threw a hackle. Your creel fu'-your shootin'-bag fu'-your jacket-pouches fu', the pouches o' your verra breeks fu’-half-adozen wee anes in your waistcoat, no' to forget them in the croon o' your hat, and, last o' a', when there's nae place to stow awa ony mair o' them, a willow-wand drawn through the gills of some great big anes, like them ither folk would grup wi' the worm or the mennon-but a' gruppit wi' the flee-Phin's delight, as you ca't,-a killen inseck-and on gut that's no easily broken-witness yon four pounder aneath Elibank wood, where your line, sir, got entangled wi' the auld oak-root, and yet at last ye landed him on the bank, wi' a' his crosses and his stars glitterin' like gold and silver amang the gravel! I confess, sir, you're the King o' Anglers. But dinna tell me that you have lost your passion for the art; for we never lose our passion for ony pastime at which we continue to excel."

THE LURE.

BY

“BOURGEOIS.”

AMONG the delightful summer resorts of Colorado Estes Park may be justly considered one of the most attractive. It is now easy of access. Seven years ago it began to be frequented, the trail having given way to the wagon road. Before the days of easy ingress, I had cast my lures upon the waters of the Thompson and Fall River, with gratifying success.

In the summer of 1875, the Governor, the Governor's mother, and myself, determined upon Estes Park for a six weeks' vacation. With this end in view, in the latter part of July, I sent off the team loaded with the camp outfit.

Two days after we took the morning train for Longmont, on the Colorado Central, and had an early lunch at the tail end of the wagon just outside the town. Before noon we were on the fifteen-mile drive into the cañon of the St. Vrain, for camp.

By sunrise the following morning we had started, with twenty miles to make over a new road part of the way, and no road at all in places, and the places were many. However, we had to hitch on to the end of the

tongue but once, to snake the wagon over an otherwise impassable boulder. The rock stood a foot out of ground, stretched entirely across where the road was to be, and at an angle of 45°. The team could barely get a foothold upon the top, when the traces were let out full, and the double-tree hooked on the end of the tongue. The horses understood their business, and upon a word settled their shoulders into the collars together, the breeching gradually lifted as their knees bent a little; without a slip their iron-shod hoofs held to the hard granite, and we were up as deftly as a French dancing master would raise his hat to a lady. In travelling in the hills there is nothing so gratifying as a team whose pulling powers you can swear by; a balky horse is an engine of destruction or death; if you know his failing, shoot him before you reach the foothills.

As the sun dropped behind the range, lighting up the high peaks with his golden rays, and the pines were beginning to take on tints of darker green, we reached the head of the Park, and within three miles of our camping ground. To the right of us "Olympus," with the dying sunlight dancing on his granite head, to the left Long's Peak, with patches of snow here and there, towering godlike above the surrounding giants. Before us, Prospect Mountain with its rugged front far reaching above its robes of green, while around its base and toward us came leaping the beautiful mountain stream for two miles through the meadow-hued park, with scarce a willow upon its banks. What a place to

cast a fly! Aye, indeed it is; and what a place it was to catch trout. But we must move on around Prospect Mountain to Ferguson's for camp, which we make on a little eminence near a great spring and close by the cabin where we know we shall be welcome.

A late supper disposed of, and the Governor stowed away in the blankets, Ferguson and I fall talking at his broad fire-place about Horse Shoe Park and Fall River; of course trout are plenty there; he had been up the day before and knew whereof he spoke; yes, there were quite a number of tourists in the park, but the streams were not "fished out." He rather thought that with "a pole" to every rod of the stream the fishing improved; at least for him.

Our genial friend who obeyed Joshua in the long ago, was out of bed next day sooner than I. Dick, the pony, gave me a cheerful good morning as I put in an appearance and changed his picket pin. I received his salutation as a good omen.

Breakfast over and Dick saddled, it was eight o'clock. We had five miles to go. I strapped my rod and creel to the pommel, and with a caution to the Governor's mother not to let him fall into the spring, Ferguson and I were off. There was no occasion to hurry; if we reached the beaver-dams in Horse Shoe Park by ten o'clock we would be just in time. Experience had taught me that the two hours before noon, and after five o'clock were the hours for success.

Our route was a "cut off" without any trail, but