PREFACE. 



" I will write a sort of a Book on Fishing," 

 said I to my friend Mr. Lobworm ; when a 

 fresh breeze from the gentle south swept over 

 the meadows, "stealing and giving odours," and 

 reminded me of the many calm and pleasant 

 hours I had spent by the margin of some 

 crystal stream. 



" You really had better do no such thing," 

 replied Lob. — He was a man of few words. 



"Your very polite reason, if you please?" 



" Why, the subject is utterly exhausted ; 

 ninety-nine books have been written upon it 

 already, and no man was ever the wiser for 

 any one of them, although many are clever 

 and entertaining, and moreover abound in ex- 

 cellent instructions." 



" Hold ! you forget dear old Izaak," said I, 

 "whose dainty and primitive work, the emana- 

 tion of a beautiful mind, has made many a 

 man both wiser and better ; for it is dictated 



