The Old Flybook

Is there anything closertoan angler's heart than his flybook? I know of a case where a burglar, among other things, took a flybook. He was arrested and speedily eouvicted and iniprisoned. He cleared things out pretty well in the house, but the omer seeuied to care for notbiug about t- missing fur coats, 6ealskin sacks, silvei-ware and other valuable Lares and Penates, bnt he did bewail the loss of his book of flies. The other things he could buy again, but to get together such an assortment of Taluable flies seemed to hun an iinpossible thing. He had been years collecting them, picking up odd ones here and there, until, for quality and variety, his book could not be excelled. It was a fly storehouse, as it were. No matter where he intended fishing, or whether for trout, bass or salmón, he could always flnd a choice assortment to draw from with which to fill up a suppleiaentary book. Although it was some time ago he yet bewails the loss of that flybook. Many have been the efforts to get track of it, but all in vain. He has gouw to the expense of sending to the prison in a distant city and endeavoring to prevail upon the convict to divulge the hiding place of the book, but without success. A persistent search of the pawnshops and periodical adyertising hare produced no better results. There were flies in that book for trout and salmón in Irish waters, flies for the salmón and trout of the Scotch lakes and the English streams and flies for the salmón of Norway. The favorites from Maine to California and from one end of Canada to another were collected in that wallet - anything and everything, from the feather down midget with cobweb gut to the lordly salmón fly, absolutely irresistible to the lurking salmón deep down. in the icy pools of the Cascapedia. There were flies in that book on which famous bass, trout and salmón had been hooked, each fly earrying with it memories of battles fought from canoes among the rushing, swirling ters.-