58 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



hate all moping and owlishness, and measure my 

 attachments according to the latitude of a Christian 

 countenance. Come, take a provoker to mirth, 

 honest Timothy; and thou, Hackle, is thy palate 

 out of humour, man, or hath the sober fit seized 

 thee? Drink! Bah! this world will run to wreck 

 for sheer want of jollity! 'Tis fancied becoming, 

 now-a-days, to wear the visage of a death's-head, 

 and look apostolically demure and Santon-like to 

 whine and grunt over God's mercies, and use weak 

 water to deluge our wits withal ! Some men seem 

 born only to see their coffins made, and deal ice 

 among their fellows. We have none of the rare, 

 old, Bacchanal souls among us the prime wits of 

 three gone centuries ! Alas, no ! they are run out 

 and become extinct. Where is the twinkling humour 

 of the eye, that we remember our grandfathers to 

 have had the right comic setting of the mouth, 

 and puckering of the cheeks? Where is the tongue 

 always agog the droll gait and gesture the end- 

 less fund and wallet-store of rich and racy anec- 

 dote, snatch and stave, jest and merriment? Oh! 

 your modern men do and dare nothing ! They can 

 mimic no better than elephants, and when they 

 laugh, 'tis after the fashion of hyenas ; they white- 

 wash their faces, deeming it sage-like to look pale 

 and spectral ; they are cold, cautious, narrow, and 

 knavish full of glooms, frets and heart-aches, galled 

 livers and consumptions. Out on them that cannot 

 find flowers and honey on the field of life, but must 



