ON THE BEACH AT DAYTONA. D1 
of patience. To the best of my recollection, 
I never saw him catch a fish there; and I 
really came to think it pathetic, the persis- 
teney with which he would stand, with the 
water half way to his knees, leaning for- 
ward expectantly toward the breakers, as 
if he felt that this great and generous ocean, 
which had so many fish to spare, could not 
fail to send him, at last, the morsel for which 
he was waiting. 
But indeed I was not long in perceiving 
that the Southern climate made patience a 
comparatively easy virtue, and fishing, by a 
natural consequence, a favorite avocation. 
Day after day, as I crossed the bridges on 
my way to and from the beach, the same men 
stood against the rail, holding their poles over 
the river. They had an air of having been 
there all winter. I came to recognize them, 
though I knew none of their names. One 
was peculiarly happy looking, almost radiant, 
with an educated face, and only one hand. 
His disability hindered him, no doubt. I 
never saw so much as a sheep-head or a drum 
lying at his feet. But inwardly, I felt sure, 
his luck was good. Another was older, fifty 
at least, sleek and well dressed. He spoke 
