heard a pole-fisher say appalling things just after losing what he declared to be a specimen bleak.
But, whatever the pole-fisher may be, I say that the fly-fisher is not patient. He is persevering, but he is not patient. The ass is patient under the raining blows of the callous club. Uncomplaining, the ass endures evil. The fly-fisherman is not thus. If evil comes upon him he is not found uncomplaining. Let his flies begin to crack off. The first time it happens he will repair the damage without exhibition of anger; listen to him when the sixth has passed from him down the wind. True, he will persevere in attaching flies until his box, hat, and coat have yielded up the last tattered wing, the last rusty hook; but though he endures, he complains bitterly. But if you would listen to him, you must be concealed. If he knows you are there he will say nothing. Putting a fearful restraint upon himself, he will say nothing, for he values his reputation for patience above his own comfort. Only hide, and you shall hear things.
One of the marked characteristics of the angler is his love of solitude. He is for ever impressing this upon other people. "Company," he will say, "is, in its way, very well; but not when one is fishing. To meet a comrade for lunch at some
