MARCH IN BROADLAND. 33 



The last of the rooks has gone home to his roost, the sparrows have got over 

 their squabbling for perches and prestige in the ivy, the larks have settled in the 

 wheatfield, and the partridge is calling his mate in the brushwood, as we enter the 

 Broadland station, well satisfied with our exploits and glad to escape the rain that 

 has begun to pelt down in a drenching shower. As we rattle along Piscator waxes 

 chatty and even eloquent over the praises of Broadland; and the habits and char- 

 acteristics of its finny inhabitants are expatiated upon at length. ' What sport,' 

 he queries, ' can be so harmless or delightful, so gently exciting, without tendency 

 to revelry and riot, requiring so little exertion of body or incurring such a minimum 

 of risk ? What a trifling expense does it run one to, and what can be more condu- 

 cive to health and one's general well-being ? One gets free from the foul atmos- 

 phere of the shop and office, away from the worry and cares of business ; and, mind 

 you this, a man up to his armpits in business and the worries of every-day life 

 must have relaxation and recreation, or a break-down will come sooner or later. A 

 man may here turn his back upon toiling and moiling, and enjoy Nature in her 

 quiet beauty and retirement to the full. His surroundings and gentle pursuit 

 banish dull care away for the time being, and he returns home to his duties invig- 

 orated and none the worse able to meet life's disappointments and reverses, as well 

 as better able to appreciate its blessings. I say Hooray! for the life of an angler, 

 and success to the general craft ! ' 



Our friend's eloquence so far carries him away that, oblivious of what his creel 

 contains, his hand comes down upon it with a bang, when lo! in a confused heap 

 tumble tins, tackle, fish, and wildfowl, and upon the top of them fall rods and 

 himself as well, as he makes a rush to prevent this consummation. He has barely 

 placed things in equilibrium when the face of the ticket-collector appears at the 

 carriage window, and a stentorian voice utters the orthodox and stereotyped, ( Tick- 

 ets, gents, please ! ' 



