32 A SCOTTISH FLY-FISHER 



birds, and the only entrails which interest him are the 

 entrails of the silk-worm. When he scans the heavens, 

 or taps the barometer, or notes the direction of the 

 wind, he is not in search of auguries ; his purpose is 

 eminently reasonable. 



If the angler would possess his soul 

 in the quiet befitting his pursuit and 

 enjoy a future undistressed by rankling 

 memories of avoidable disaster he should 

 cultivate habits of order and precision. 

 He should be all that, as Mr. Lang him- 

 self admits, Mr. Andrew Lang is not. 

 The author of Angling Sketches — and a few other 

 things — need not be taken too seriously, but whether 

 truth or fiction the Confessions of a Duffer conveys a 

 useful moral. When, for the first time, I read these 

 voluntary revelations of a hopeless inefficiency, I 

 seemed to dream. They were strangely familiar. 

 Staring at me from the printed page I saw an 

 accurate reflection of my own unhappy character ; my 

 absence of mind, my lack of foresight, my tendency to 

 let things drift, trusting in simple — very simple — faith 

 that a kindly Providence would intervene to save 

 me from the consequences of my ineptitude. That 



