OUR OPENING DAY. 3 



that angling is not the thing it was when Piscator overtook 

 Venator and Auceps on the road to Ware ; Auceps on his 

 way to look at a hawk at Theobald's, Venator to join in an 

 otter hunt at Amwell, and Piscator, the avowed brother of 

 the angle, to pursue his gentle art, sitting and singing under 

 the high honeysuckle hedge, while the showers fell gently 

 upon the teeming earth, and gave a sweeter smell to the 

 lovely flowers that adorned the verdant meadow. Hawking 

 no longer takes place at Theobald's ; there is no necessity 

 for rising before the sun to meet the otter pack on Amwell 

 Hill ; and the times are gone when the Hertfordshire milk- 

 woman would offer the passing angler a syllabub of new 

 verjuice, a draught of the red-cow's milk, and her honest 

 Maudlin's sweetly sung song. 



The modern Waltonian, nevertheless, has, on the whole, 

 little cause to grumble at the change which has come about ; 

 there still remain pleasant haunts and moderate chances of 

 sport, and if he be unable to kill roach at London Bridge 

 and fill his basket within an hour's walk of town, increased 

 facilities by rail and steamboat bring opportunities within 

 his reach never before enjoyed. In the great law of com- 

 pensation upon which the world is said to move the modern 

 Waltonian shares. The mines, manufactories, and mills do 

 their best to pollute the few fish-breeding rivers that are left 

 to us ; but there is a keen spirit of preservation abroad, and 

 all over the country influential associations are continually 

 imitating the noble example set them by the Thames 

 Angling Preservation Society. 



Taking us the country through we are a very numerous 

 body ; year by year additional recruits avow their conver- 

 sion to the " Contemplative Man's Recreation." Some of 



