patience is not here," it will be said, "where is it?" See him, immovable, tobacco consuming; he sits on his camp-stool, permitting his eyes to creep from side to side as he follows the float from above him to below him through the long hours. Here decidedly is patience. I would premise that I know nothing of pole-fishing; I speak here of fly-fishing. But in any case the pole-fisher is no example of patience. The word implies uncomplaining endurance of evil. The pole-fisher has no evils to endure. What has he to complain about? To what wrongs should he give utterance? He has no wrongs, no great disasters, no small worries cumulative of effect. If the fish feed, he has sport; if not, not. In either case he is ideally placed. He is thoroughly comfortable. He sits at his ease in his punt. The water never rushes into his waders. The trees, the hay, lend greenness to his landscape, not terror to his casting. The current gives his forearm exercise; does not ruin his cunningest throw. The wind passes over him, and it is gone; but it has fanned him, not taken his only serviceable pattern. The action of the stream removes, from time to time, the paste or what not from his hook, thereby giving him something to do. The word "drag" is not in his vocabulary. Who could not be 'patient' under such conditions? Yet I have
