THE ANGLER'S SABBATH. 



How peacefully the Sabbath dawns on the weary angler ! 

 Whether he is sojourning within sound of the hoarse break- 

 ers, or amongst the mountains of a rugged Trout country. 



If at some ocean watering-place, after his refreshing bath 

 in the surf, and his breakfast, if there be no place of public 

 worship near, he whiles away the day as he best can. Strolling 

 along the sea-shore, picking up smooth-worn shells and bright 

 pebbles, and scaring the little snipe that follow the retreating 

 rollers to catch the marine insects they leave, or ply their 

 spindle-shanks shoreward, as they are chased up the beach 

 by the incoming surf. Or he walks along the bay-shore, 

 flushing the curlew and willet, and startling the colonies of 

 busy little fiddler crabs on the muddy flats, each one appa- 

 rently shouldering its big hind- leg, as it scrambles away to 

 its smoothly-burrowed hole. 



If in a Trout country, the day is ushered in with the sing- 

 ing of birds, and God's blessed sunshine lighting up the sides 

 of the hills, and pervading his heart. If he rises late, it is 

 because he is stiff from wading the rough stream the day 

 before ; perhaps he has a few bruises on his shins, but a good 

 breakfast and a little exercise after it, supple his joints and 

 rejuvenate him. The creels have been washed, and hang 

 against the sunny side of the house, and the rods rest in the 

 outer angle of the chimney, or on wooden pegs along the 

 sides of the porch. The sight of the biggest Trout at break- 



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