188 The American Angler 
make them an attraction. It seems to 
me that bass must have a circulating 
library of all fishing books, and take all 
the trade papers, and search out al! the 
finimbrums of the tackle shops. After 
we have contrived all winter long, and 
concocted elaborate devices for their en- 
trapment, they seem to be up to all of 
it before we have been among them a 
fortnight. Winter is unco short for a 
perfect preparation to circumvent this 
intelligent fish; that ready wit of theirs, 
and that contempt of danger are the 
reasons why the gods love them so; and 
also the reason why so many of them 
die young. 
NATURE'S REST. 
O’er the lake’s dark, mirrored face, 
Shedding silvery light, 
Moonbeams flitting, wanton chase, 
Spirits of the night. 
Pebbled shore now gently lapping, 
Sportive ripples play; 
Music soothing, soul enwrapping, 
Tuneful harmony. 
Ghostly, shadowy, towering high, 
Watchful, ever wake, 
Hemlocks loom against the sky, 
Guardians of the lake. 
Whispering winds stir forest leaves, 
Rustling boughs caressed, 
Lazily their bosom heaves, 
Breathing peaceful rest. 
Hark! from yonder mist-veiled hill, 
Borne on zephyr’s wing, 
Mournful note of whip-poor-will, 
Night bird’s wary king. 
Fleecy clouds flit o’er the sky, 
Luna bright disclose, 
Watching e’er with kindly eye 
Nature’s deep repose. 
