beech-tree as if it were a child, arid the walnut-trees with their corru- 

 gated barks, and the silver bark of the birch. I talk to the birds that 

 eye me slyly, calling them by name. I scramble up banks, and fall down 

 hills that is rare exercise. If I tear my trousers it gives me a positive 

 feeling of self-respect, for so the acrobats do, and boys and fishermen ; 

 and to be of this company is honor enough to be sung by troubadours ; 

 but where are the fishing pole and the line with its pith and point? I 

 laid them down, bless me I know not where Forgetfulness is a sign of 

 genius. Is it not glory enough to be born under the zodiacal sign of the 

 fishes? But where is that pole? To go home fishless and poleless is 

 like going to one's grave unwept. I will hunt that pole, but will now 

 pause to eat a sandwich. A good man who fishes should always take a 

 snack. It is sociable. You eat it yourself, and that has a radiant look 

 of hospitality. If you go fishing alone (which is the real etiquette of 

 fishing), it may seem selfish. But when you sit eating your lunch, that 

 is sociable. Your self-respect and spirit of genuine generosity are now 

 restored. There is a feeling of hospitableness when a lone fisherman 

 fishes out of his pocket a lunch which he has filched (not to say fished) 

 from his wife's cupboard. Besides, you feel self-sacrificing, for you are 

 eating for two to keep up the idea of friendliness And a lunch tastes 

 good under such circumstances. I make my appeal to all candid men, 

 if I am not speaking the truth when I say so. One combines business 

 and pleasure and philosophy in a solitary lunch; and the better the lunch 

 is the more business, philosophy, and pleasure there are. But where is 

 the pole? That is a thing to consider; but deep thought is not con- 

 ducive to good digestion, hence banish thought of the pole. Away, 

 base care ! On with the lunch ! Let hospitality 

 be encouraged ! There is yet a sliver of bread 

 or a piece of chicken to be dealt with. 

 On with the lunch ! And a chipmunk 

 standing inquiringly, and I may say 

 impertinently on end (and I may say 

 on the right end), looks inquiringly 

 at my book and at my lunch and at 

 me. I really have never settled the 

 literary preierences of the chipmunk, 

 though I think I could if I tried. A 

 kingfisher dashes down to the river 

 from a stump where he has been 



