St. Paul's, London), and the incomparable Sir Henry Wotton (Provost of Eton College), who was a great lover of angling, and would frequently say thereof that it was, after his study, a rest to his mind, a chearer to his spirits, a diverter of sadness, a calmer of unquiet thoughts, a moderator of passions, a procurer of contentedness, and that it begot habits of peace and patience in those that profess and practise it.

There can be no doubt, despite the denunciations of Byron and the cynical remarks of the great lexicographer Dr. Johnson, that angling and fishing are delightful amusements; many a man passes a thorough happy day by the side of a trout stream in England or Wales-nay, some take pleasure in a Thames punt moored off Richmond-bridge or Isleworth; while for perfection of sport nothing can exceed the Scotch rivers; and grateful ought the fisherman to be, who can enjoy the privilege of killing a fine salmon on the banks of the Spey.

Let me conclude with the lines of the water-poet Stoddart, who thus describes the joys of a fisher's life:

"Through sun-bright lakes,
Round islets gray,

The river takes

Its western way;

And the water-chime

Soft zephyrs time,

Each gladsome summer day.

"The starry trout,

Fair to behold,

Roameth about

On fin of gold;

At root of tree

His haunts you may see,

Rude rock or crevice old.

And hither dart

The salmon gray,
From the deep heart
Of some sea-bay;

And herling wild
Is here beguiled

To hold autumnal play.

"Oh! 'tis a stream
Most fair to see,
As in a dream

Flows pleasantly;

And our hearts are woo'd
To a kind, sweet mood,

By its wondrous witchery."

SPRING.

No longer Boreas continues to blow,

The meadows no longer are covered with snow,
No longer the ice is congealed on the lake,

Even Winter himself does his kingdoms forsake.

Through the groves, in the meadows, the birds sweetly sing,
And all Nature smiles at the coming of Spring.

The angler, no longer restrained by the frost,
Sets out for the brook: o'er his shoulder is toss'd

The light basket. His rod's in his hand-'tis his best;
By no anxious cares is his bosom oppress'd.

He smiles as he views the lark sail on the wing,
For all Nature welcomes the coming of Spring.

No longer the flowers are bowed down by the blast;
But they raise their plumed heads, now the winter has pass'd;
The swallow returns from the climes of the East;
'Midst the violets now does the humming-bee feast.

To Flora the Graces their offerings bring,
For all Nature welcomes the coming of Spring.

LANGTON.

277

DOWN

AND

UP AGA I N.

BY GREVILLE F.

"The ruling passion strong in death-of the fish."

"A man who shows himself too satisfied with himself is seldom pleased with others, and they in return are little disposed to like him."-Rochefoucault.

CHAPTER III.

Amongst the Gods Cupid ranks as an angler. His father Vulcan forged his hooks for him, and Venus, with a mother's fondness for her child's amusements gave him a store of lures infallible for their guileful purpose. Instead of being represented with a bow and arrows he should be depicted with a rod and line, and he is never more successful than when his prey is floating together heedless of danger upon the glassy surface of the murmuring stream, or wandering hand in hand along the margin of the silent lake. His lines-sometimes of silk and sometimes of worsted-occasionally pass through wedding-rings, but are too often permitted to trail on the muddy shore, and all fish alike, whether "odd" or "flat" are caught by him and paired like soles. Sometimes, however, he makes a false cast, and like mortal anglers, loses his fish, which perhaps my next contribution will serve to illustrate.

"I was staying," said Lawrence Whichelo, "at my uncle's seat at Mortstall, the dashing river Wharf running, leaping, and whirling within sight of my chamber through the forest trees. Upon its banks I passed the greater part of those hours which were not dreamed away in company with Laura Desmond at the Manse, and it was only a gallant struggle with a salmon or grilse could draw my thoughts away from that period which was destined to make the dear, dear girl my wife.

"My fondness for fishing was a constant theme for Laura's playful banter, and she would tell me at times, with an affectation of seriousness, she wished she could be turned into a red-fleshed creature with bright silver scales, that she might have the pleasure of coquetting with my fly, rising short-the puss had got the slang of the craft from me-and drive me frantic upon the bank with disappointment. 'But then, dear Lawrence,' she would add, with an arch smile, you know that I could not long resist the temptation of the hook and its gaudy covering-not for the worth of the lure, my own dear one, but that by its means I should be drawn closer and closer to you."

"This sort of thing always ended by a huge hug from me, and an affectionate glance over her shoulder at my fishing-tackle, ever ready and at hand for a change in the weather, so that any jealousy on

U

the part of Laura, I can fairly say at this distance of time, was founded upon reason. But then, at that period I thought but little of myself, and wondering how anybody else could see anything in me, I entirely overlooked the devotion of my affianced, and thus the babbling river got so great share of my attention.

"But Laura was determined to put an end to this state of things. She declared she would have more of me than I was inclined to give; and if I would not share with her the company at the Manse, the only alternative she said she had learned from Mohammed and the mountain; she would go with me a-fishing; in a word, she would fish herself.

"This was a poser. In vain I spoke of the treacherous character of the banks of the river, the rocks and boulders of its bed she would have to surmount, the probability of her being pulled into a deep and horrid pool by some leviathan salmon, and there whirled round and round under water until not a bit of her vetebræ was left. It was of no use. Either I must give up three whole days in the week besides Sunday entirely to her, and fish and do what I liked with the rest, or she would turn angler, and what is more, she cried defiantly-and beat you at your own game.

"A day or two after this threat, Laura was by my side, putting her fly and caste and winch and rod together, carrying the line through the rings and mastering every usual preliminary, as though she had been at it all her life. My proffered assistance, to tie a water-knot, was firmly but good-humouredly waved, and I saw with unfeigned astonishment that she had armed, or rather legged herself, with strong lace-up ankleboots. What, however, was my surprise, when at the stream she took up the rod fully prepared for the piscatory tournay, to see her, instead of whipping off the fly at her first attempt, make a graceful semicircle with her rod, the line follow the curve in unison until the instant that it should be turned, come with a grand sweep forward, and the fly being checked at the right moment flutter over the rippling tail of the current, and fall as light as a butterfly upon the water!

"Not a word had Laura ever told me of her practice-of her perfection in the art. Not an allusion to the subject, even when I had been as I had thought tiresomely recounting my gains and losses to her, had she ever hazarded any remark beyond the occasional use of some term of the art, which I, poor simpleton, had fancied she had picked up from me. I know not how to describe my feelings at this discovery. They were far from amiable, and I knew it; but for the life of me, I could not surmount the dominant one of absolute annoyance that I should be thus as it were pitted against my own fiancee, a girl to whom I had prated and boasted of my wondrous powers to charm the tenants from their homes amongst the deep. But thus far my chagrin was kept within bounds, until a rise of a fine fish at Laura's fly drew my attention to her full handsome and commanding figure. All spleen, every touch of rivalry was gone, and all again was love and admiration. She was mine-wholly, entirely mine, without a thought to detract from the profoundest unselfish adoration;-for she had lost the salmon and part of her cast by the most clumsy of acts.

"I thought my best plan was to affect ignorance, so I went on throwing, gradually getting further away from the spot where the accident

occurred, taking a delight, I must confess, in the victory I was gaining over my lovely rival, for before she could have repaired her loss I had taken a handsome well-run fish of about 9lbs.

"Now it occurred to me that the quietest and most dignified way of showing my vast superiority over poor Laura, would be to carry this fish by the place where she was at work putting on new gear, and without any remark lay it amongst the long grass a little higher up. This feeling which I then boyishly supposed grand, noble, and magnanimous, I am now compelled to acknowledge was small and despicable.

"As I passed the spot where I had left Laura, I looked around and could see nothing of her. I became alarmed and rushed down the banks, peered in nervous horror into the pool the bottom of which I could see from my position in every direction. Again I mounted the bank and ran frantically up the river-no Laura! I shouted her name at the top of my voice-no reply but the echoes of the woods. Could she be playing me some trick? No, that was not her character; she detested anything approaching to a practical joke that would give pain to another. How thoughtful of her amiable nature had I suddenly become! Stay, where is her tackle, her creel, rod, and fly-book? They were carelessly thrown upon a piece of rock when I left her. Yes, here they are. What means this?-the rod broken, the line cut into fifty pieces, the flies in an irretrievable tangle, the case shattered, and even the lid of the creel wrenched off, the strap drawn from its abiding place and thrown on yonder bush! Had she been attacked by some villain? impossible! I heard no cry, no scuffle, and if a wanton outrage had been committed stealthily in so short a time, wherefore this wreck of tackle?

"Not an instant was to be lost, and scarcely knowing what I did, I ran with the speed of desperation to the Manse, some two miles off. Here I threw open the wicket-gate, and, taking a short but forbidden cut over lawn and flower-beds, came violently against the door, which hitherto being always open in the day-time I was not now prepared to find closed against me. I rang violently at the bell. A servant came round from the side-door. Jane,' said I, 'for God's. sake send Ned and Joe with me: I have lost Miss Laura somewhere down by the river. Make haste; I will run back; there is not a moment to lose she may be drowned or murdered,

:

or

"Lawks, sir,' replied the girl, staring at me with all her eyes, but most provokingly making no attempt to call the men'Lawks, sir! you be terribly put on. Deary, deary me! where's your hair a going to? where's your hat? and your coat's all torn. Dinny you think you had better see the Doctor's chap?'"

Perhaps

"This was beyond bearing; she took me for a madman. I looked like one. I knew that Jane was fee'd by that emptypated ass, Viner Vidler, a cousin of mine, to get letters carried from him to my cherished-my lost darling. The girl, however, continued:

"You needn't put on so 'bout Miss Laura; she be in her room, an well enough but as all I can hear, she has had the last sight of and all your nasty meannesses. It is no use, Mister Lawrence; she

won't see you.

"I had gone again to the bell.

you

"That's her orders; and she told me to say, if you called, that you could go back to your fishing now as long as you liked, and that if she ever caught a big salmon again she would forgive you for turning your back upon her to let her lose it.'

"I gave a long whistle, and felt great relief. Laura, then, at all events was safe, and this was a bit of temper. Rod broken, line cut to atoms, flies entangled at the risk of her delicate fingers, basket dislidded, and its owner sunk into sulks. Well, it might have been worse, whispered Philosophy: I'll e'en go and gather up the spoil of this fray, and leave Time's wondrous balsam to do the rest.

"As I turned slowly back to the river my reflections upon the occurrence of the last hour took another direction, and I meditated long and painfully over this extraordinary ebullition of passion; I bethought me that if this fair and unruffled tempered creature was only a small volcanic Vesuvius after all, likely to throw up brimstone and ashes at any unprepared moment, what would become of that cottage so often foreshadowed at the foot of the hill, if a shower of larva came suddenly down and spoiled the pretty furniture and all that? But as I was not accustomed then to think much, as a little of that sort of thing tied me up like the bunch of flies in question, I soon gathered together the scattered tackle, and was again as blythe and happy as ever, missing and killing peel and salmon-trout, or in an earnest struggle with the monarch of the waters.

"I saw no more of Laura for two years, and then she was Mrs. Vidler. Our interview was of the most common-place kind, open and candid. We compared notes, and found that however fond we were of each other, it was mere affection-the liking of boy and girl-nothing more. She had learned to know what true love was since then; and had she really loved me at the time of my want of chivalry in reference to the loss of the salmon, instead of returning to mope and bite her lips at the Manse, she boldly assured me she would have given me a sound box of the ears.

"That salmon was my salvation. Another blessing is then due to fly-fishing."

"I thank you, Whichelo," said I, "for that interesting bit of your social experiences; and as you appear to have lost a wife by the loss of a salmon, I will tell you how the present Colonel Hibbert obtained one through a trout.

"The facts are as I have heard them more than once: the name, I need not say, is assumed. The Colonel-he was only a poor adjutant then-had many rivals to contend with; for Miss Spencer was not only beautiful, but she was young, and an heiress. This brought her many admirers; and Hibbert, if he was anywhere, was only amongst the tail of her worshippers. At the time that the fortunate turn of events occurred, Miss Spencer was staying with an uncle at Barcot Park, in Hampshire; and here Hibbert came, under the false pretence of angling, at least for fish.

"Lord Stodworth's (the uncle of the heroine) home-fishing was good. His stream was not a large one, and the trout seldom reached a pound-and-a-half, but they were nicely fed fish, and there were plenty of them. Sometimes, after a flood, when the subsiding water was a little coloured, Hibbert caught a two-pounder in this or that