Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart In a limpid brooklet the skittish trout darted about in joyous haste like an arrow. 1 stood on the bank and in quiet contentment watched the merry little fish bathing in the clear stream. An angler with his rod stood on the bank and cold-bloodedly watched the fish disporting itself. So long as the water remains clear, I thought, he will not catch the trout with his rod. But at last the thief tired of waiting. Maliciously he muddied the brook, and before I realized it, his rod quivered with the fish writhing on it; and I, my blood boiling, gazed at the victimized creature.