2 AN ANGLER'S LINES. 



wherein are worms, lovely big fat brandlings, 

 acquired with much labour and no little dis- 

 comfort from the depths of a farm -yard heap, 

 of particularly evil odour. One by .one, for two 

 long hours, have I sacrificed their fellows on 

 the altar of angling with never a sign that 

 the offering is accepted, and still, in my crass 

 foolishness, the martyrdom goes on. Then 

 wisdom returns, and I clamber out of the boat 

 and beg a slice of bread at the house. Con- 

 verted into paste, a piece is lowered into the 

 pond and, instantly, the porcupine quill travels 

 slantwise, dips, dips again, and is gone. A 

 short struggle, and a carp, not exceeding big 

 but big enough to need the net, is lifted out 

 and lies flopping in the bottom of the boat. 

 It is not my purpose to detail the taking of 

 the sib. weight of fish that follows, the 

 " catch " will not rank in piscatorial annals, but 

 it points my exception when the adage is right. 

 O you poor departed worms, if you were at one 



end, I was at the other! 



And now, having placed the rod in its case, 



