ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 3 



unhallowed hands upon the once-honoured relic. 

 The heir-loom of our club is indeed no more. We 

 made enquiries after its fate, and found that the 

 crazy fabric had given way under the sirloin of a 

 bloated magistrate. Fire, the devourer, has in all 

 probability consumed the craft of its ponderous 

 framework the massive limbs, with their relief of 

 gorgeous imagery. 



But the old, thin-haired man, its occupant, have 

 we forgotten him ? Not so. Well we recollect the 

 spare bending figure of our Saturn the visage with 

 its lustreless eyeballs, wrinkled cheek, and thin, 

 sharp nose. Well we recollect the lofty, solemn 

 forehead, which Time had reverenced. It was a 

 feature of much dignity in our aged ancestor, and 

 contrasted strongly with the other sunken and al- 

 tered pertinents of his countenance. The freshness 

 of youth, which had deserted them, remained with 

 it. Care, whose witchcraft tells sadly upon the 

 brows of some men, laurelled though these be, 

 across his had laid not a finger. That forehead ! 

 We speculate upon it even to this day. It was a 

 portion of the genius of the past. Under its shell 

 had been organized the fabrics of a master intellect ; 

 fancy and reason had laboured at the forge below its 

 cavern. But it was of the past! The argument 

 was over the effect had perished with its cause. 

 It was of the past! The subtle thought the splen- 

 did conception the wit, eloquence, and poetry, 

 were each of the past ! 



