ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 167 



year's anglings, Doctor; I am sorry for it, and vet 

 glad! 



Swivel. Well do I comprehend thee, Bill, for sor- 

 row and gladness are in me also, blended into that 

 affection which men call melancholy ; perhaps 'tis 

 the place we stand in that awakens it, this fastness, 

 of which, saith one, 



" In the valley of life is the garden of death, 

 Mourner on mourner entereth 

 That Eden of woe, and on its sward 

 Layeth the burden of his regard. 

 Mourner on mourner! another train 

 Bringeth the earlier back again; 

 They have chosen his home, and borne his bier, 

 And watered his turf with a human tear. 



" It is a strange and solemn spot ! 

 Friendship, and faith, and feeling, forgot ! 

 Folly findeth wisdom there, 

 Walking the tombs with a sombre air; 

 And awed into thought are the giddy, and they 

 That have fostered pride fling the bantling away." 



What epitaph, Otter, are you and Leister decy- 

 phering? 



Otter. That of an honest man and an angler, one 

 of the old members of our fraternity. 



May. Peace be to his ashes! 



Otter. Amen ! Bill. I knew the old man well ; 

 he was my earliest instructor in the gentle art! 

 You remember him, Leister, when we were yet boys, 

 how he loved us, I have his rod still, and a ster- 



