ground-bait. But, as we at this moment feel an un- 

 pleasant sensation in the stomach, we must be 

 excused from entering further into this subject at 

 present, which is disgusting to both man and beast, 

 and tolerable only to a cockney angler. Were such 

 enormities perpetrated on a Sunday in Scotland, 

 the offender would be " jure lapidatus" justly stoned; 

 and a cannibal; with his mouth smeared with blood 

 and brains, would soon be smelt out and torn to 

 pieces by the shepherd's collies, as a worrier of 

 sheep; and on good grounds too, for does he not 

 look like a wolf, an unclean ravening animal, in the 

 face? 



The Lea, in the neighbourhood of Ware, is memo- 

 rable as being the scene of the fishing exploits of 

 "honest Izaak Walton;" but an angler of his stamp 

 is as unlikely now to be seen stretching his legs up 

 Tottenham Hill, on a fine fresh May morning, as 

 an otter-hunter walking on to take his morning 

 draught at the Thatched House, Hoddesdon, in his 

 way to meet a pack of otter dogs at Amwell Hill. 

 Two-horse coaches, leaving Bishopsgate Street every 

 hour, for "Tottenham! Edmonton! Waltham! Hoddes- 

 don! Ware!" as the cads, with uplifted finger, an- 

 nounce, were not known in the days of Walton; and 

 the angler who then wished for a day's amusement 

 twenty miles from town, was obliged to use his own 

 legs. The vulgarity of walking twenty miles, even 

 if a person were able, is, in the present age of refine- 

 ment of omnibuses, cabs, rail-roads, and steam- 



