28 A M E R r C A N A N G L E R'S B K , 



possessed, ;ind quoting a few sad words from Wliittier's 

 Maud Muller, I only say '• it might have been." 



Many anglers, such as Sir Humphrey Davy and Sir Joshua 

 Reynolds, besides some of my own acquaintance, have sought 

 its cheering influences in advanced life. I know of one whose 

 early manhood and maturer years were spent on the boister- 

 ous deep, and who, though now past eighty, is still an ardent, 

 but quiet angler; and when no better sport can be found; 

 he will even fish through the ice in winter for Roach. No 

 doubt his days have been lengthened out, and the burden of 

 life lightened, by his love of angling. 



But how sweetly memories of the past come to one who 

 has appreciated and enjoyed it from his boyhood, whose 

 almost first penny, after he wore jacket and trowsers, bought 

 his first fish-hook; whose first fishing-line was twisted by 

 mother or sister ; whose float was the cork of a physic vial, 

 and whose sinkers were cut from the sheet-lead of an old tea- 

 chest ! Thus rigged, with what glad anticipations of sport, 

 many a boy has started on some bright Saturday morning, 

 his gourd, or old cow's horn of red worms in one pocket, and 

 a jack-knife in the other, to cut his alder-pole with, and 

 wandered "free and far" by still pool and swift waters, 

 dinnerless — except perhaps a slight meal at a cherry tree, or 

 a handful of berries that grew along his path — and come 

 home at night weary and footsore, but exulting in his string 

 of chubs, minnows, and sunnies, the largest as broad as his 

 three fingers ! He almost falls asleep under his Saturday 

 night scrubbing, but in the morning, does ample justice to 

 his "catch," which is turned out of the pan, crisp and brown, 

 and matted together like a pan-cake. 



In my school days, a boy might have been envied, but not 

 loved for proficiency in his studies ; but he was most courted, 

 who knew the best fishing-holes ; who had plenty of powder 



