66 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



hate all moping and owlishness, and measure my attach- 

 ments according to the latitude of a Christian counten- 

 ance. Come, take a provoker to mirth, honest 

 Timothy ; and thou, Hackle, is thy palate out of 

 humour, man, or hath the sober fit seized thee ? 

 Drink ! Bah ! this world will run to wreck for sheer 

 want of jollity ! 'Tis fancied becoming, now-a-days, 

 to wear the visage of a death's-head, and look apostolic- 

 ally demure and Santon-like to whine and grunt over 

 God's mercies, and use weak water to deluge our wits 

 withal ! Some men seem born only to see their coffins 

 made, and deal ice among their fellows. We have 

 none of the rare, old, Bacchanal souls among us the 

 prime wits of three gone centuries ! Alas, no ! they 

 are run out and become extinct. Where is the twink- 

 ling humour of the eye, that we remember our grand- 

 fathers to have had the right comic setting of the 

 mouth, and puckering of the cheeks ? Where is the 

 tongue always agog the droll gait and gesture the 

 endless fund and wallet-store of rich and racy anec- 

 dote, snatch and stave, jest and merriment ? Oh I 

 your modern men do and dare nothing ! They can 

 mimic no better than elephants, and when they 

 laugh, 'tis after the fashion of hyenas ; they white- 

 wash their faces, deeming it sage-like to look pale 

 and spectral ; they are cold, cautious, narrow, and 

 knavish full of glooms, frets and heart-aches, galled 

 livers and consumptions. Out on them that cannot 

 find flowers and honey on the field of life, but must 



