8 . A BOOK ABOUT THE GARDEN. 



above the stream, now dropping, plumb and ponderous, 

 down testing in every way, not only book, and line, 

 and rod, but buman pluck and skill at last defeated, 

 gaffed, and brought ashore ! Then spake he glowing 

 words of trout and grayling, perch and monstrous 

 pike. He showed me flies, which the oldest, wiliest, 

 most abstemious fish could not find in his heart to 

 pass, rushing blindly to his mournful doom, just as 

 one sees some ancient bachelor go mad for Miss in 

 her teens. For several he had special names. That 

 was " The Barmaid " sure to charm the topers of the 

 deep ; this was " Syren ; " there " Bonne-bouclie ; " 

 and here was " Look-and-Die." He gazed as fondly 

 on his Limerick hooks as though they were Irish 

 eyes. Then he showed me knots which were never 

 loosened, and nooses which were ever free. He 

 taught me how to gather and throw the castnet ; and 

 I, his pupil apt, caught my first cast his lamp, 

 cigars, and whiskey. Finally he adjured me, by his 

 rods, to fish fish always, and be blessed. 



" Pescatore," I answered sweetly, " in this alone 

 our hearts conspire, that if I do, I'm blest. Your 

 line is not mine, friend. My angle has been obtuse, 

 my fishing common plaice, from my youth. I shall 

 never be a judicious Hooker. I get entangled in the 

 branches of trees, my kingfisher ; I bring ashore 

 decaying sticks, and long, green, trailing weeds. 

 And when, at last, the long-sought crisis comes, and 

 the float, supine and motionless so many dreary 

 hours, awakes to active life : and my happy heart 

 beats in unison, pit-a-pat, with its rise and fall, 

 until down it goes, disappearing in the deep ; and I 



