THE ANGLER 



green fields and pleasant waters. Now 

 he may brood his thoughts, and dream 

 dreams ; but while he angles, the com- 

 plete angler is not a contemplative man. 



II 



The rivers roaring between their 

 brimming banks ; the brooks babbling 

 over their pebbled beds and cross-stream 

 logs that will be bridges for the fox in 

 midsummer ; the freed waters of lakes 

 and ponds, dashing in slow beat of waves 

 or quicker pulse of ripples against their 

 shores, in voices monotonous but never 

 tiresome, now call all who delight in the 

 craft to go a-fishing. 



With the sap in the aged tree, the 

 blood quickens in the oldest angler's 

 veins, whether he be of the anointed 

 who fish by the book, or of the common 

 sort who practice the methods of the for- 

 gotten inventors of the art. 



The first are busy with rods and reels 

 that are a pleasure to the eye and touch, 

 with fly-books whose leaves are as bright 

 with color as painted pictures, the others 

 rummaging corner-cupboards for mislaid 

 lines, searching the sheds for favorite 

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