592 AMERICAN ANGLER'S BOOK, 



in a sly game of heads and points with crooked pins, to while 

 away the time. But Captain Ellis, appreciating this state of 

 " public feeling," like a considerate brother, strikes up — with 

 only a slight nasal twang in his big manly voice — that grand 

 old hymn, 



" When all thy mercies, my God, 

 My rising soul surveys, 

 Transported with the view I^m lost 

 In wonder, love, and praise." 



All join in, and, as the hymn closes, the minister enters. 

 The gospel of peace and salvation is preached, and we say 

 amen to the closing prayer, that it may accomplish that 

 " whereunto it is sent." 



The service over, there is kindly greeting of neighbors ; 

 perhaps some talk about " craps" and lumber, and then the 

 homeward walk. 



After dinner and a nap, we take a walk to the falls, or the 

 pigeon-roost ; and on our return, as we come down the creek, 

 we see the diverging circles dimpling the still pools as the 

 Trout quietly rise and take in the little yellow ephemera that 

 fly over us, and settle on the water. 



In the evening one of the brethren reads from his pocket 

 edition of Walton, the discourse on thankfulness, delivered 

 by Father "Izaak," to his friend Venator, as he was journey- 

 ing towards Tottenham High-Cross; which we here insert 

 for the perusal of all anglers, who " Kemember to keep the 

 Sabbath day holy." 



" Well, Scholar, having now taught you to paint your rod, 

 and we having still a mile to Tottenham High- Cross, I will, 

 as we walk towards it, in the cool shade of this sweet honey- 

 suckle hedge, mention to you some of the thoughts and joys 



