The Fishing Day. 183 



man lights his pipe, our tumblers are filled, each man's catch is 

 talked over, and many a discussion takes place on the merits of a 

 superior bait or a favourite hole j and many are the tales told of the 

 weight of fish taken upon such a gravel or at such a staunch. 



Happy as are the recollections of scenes like the present, how- 

 much of that happiness is tinged with regret as we look back upon 

 them, through the dark haze of time ! Many years have now fled, 

 still it seems like yesterday as I recall to my mind the last evening I sat 

 at my old friend's table after a fishing-day like that above described — 

 one of the happiest of that happy party of four brothers, all tried 

 companions in every rustic sport and amusement. Within a year 

 of that evening, our old friend was taken from us, and his place was 

 filled no more. Out of the four brothers, the youngest now sleeps 

 his last long sleep in the old churchyard, against the wall of which 

 the quiet waters of his favourite stream continually ripple — meet 

 resting-place for one whose earliest and happiest days were spent 

 upon its margin, and 



** The others are dwelling far apart. 

 With coldness in each selfish heart. 

 Happiest far that stripling boy 

 Who died in the hours of peace and joy, 

 Who passed in the flush of his beauty's bloom 

 From his * happy village ' to the tomb !" 



The window is open^, and tlie night-breeze as it sighs through the 

 leaves of tlie sycamore at the gate, wafts the perfume of the jasmine 

 and acacia into the room. All is still save the never-varying hum 

 of the distant mill, and the monotonous *^crex, crex," of the corn- 

 crake from the opposite meadow. The moon rides high in the pale 

 blue atmosphere 3 not a cloud overshadows her brightness, and her 

 light silvery beam dances upon the rippling waters of the river 

 which flows on silently at the bottom of the garden. 



The quiet tranquillity of this evening is felt by all, and each, as he 

 silently gazes on the river, seems lost in his own thoughts. The 

 evening is fast waning, and a happy one have we spent, listening to 

 the tales and maxims of our good old friend. His manly features 



