'24 PISCATORIAL REMINISCENCES 



" But of your true London anglers, we have 

 always held and said they are at the top of the 

 tree ; they have trained themselves up to the ut- 

 most fineness and delicacy of execution, and in 

 shyest water, where no brother of the angle in all 

 Scotland could move a fin, they will kill fish. 

 Their tackle, of course, is of the most exquisite 

 and scientific kind ; their entire set-out at the 

 river's edge perfect, we should not presume to 

 throw a fly with the least celebrated proficient of 

 the Walton Club." 



THE ANGLER. 



In a morning stroll along the banks of the 

 Alun (a beautiful little stream that flows down 

 from the Welsh hills, and throws itself into the 

 Dee), my attention was attracted to a group seated 

 on the margin. On approaching, I found it to 

 consist of a veteran angler, and two rustic dis- 

 ciples ; the former was an old fellow with a 

 wooden leg, with clothes very much worn, but 

 carefully patched, betokening poverty, honestly 

 come by, and decently maintained. He lost his 

 leg at Camperdown, and this was the only stroke 

 of good fortune he had ever experienced, as it 

 produced him forty pounds per year. His face 

 bore the marks of former storms, but present 

 fair weather ; its furrows had been worn into an 



