CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING JACKET 



Yet there seems to be a natural course or progress 

 in pastimes. We do not now speak of marbles — 

 or knuckling down at taw — or trundling a hoop — or 

 pall-lall — or pitch and toss — or any other of the 

 games of the school playground. We restrict ourselves 

 to what, somewhat inaccurately perhaps, are called 

 field-sports. Thus Angling seems the earliest of them 

 all in the order of nature. There the new-breeched 

 urchin stands on the low bridge of the little bit 

 burnie! and with crooked pin, baited with one un- 

 wri thing ring of a dead worm, and attached to a yarn- 

 thread — for he has not yet got into hair, and is years 

 off gut — his rod of the mere willow or hazel wand, 

 there will he stand during all his play-hours, as for- 

 getful of his primer as if the weary art of printing 

 had never been invented, day after day, week after 

 week, month after month, in mute, deep, earnest, pas- 

 sionate, heart-mind-and-soul-engrossing hope of some 

 time or other catching a minnow or a beardie ! A tug 

 — a tug! With face ten times flushed and pale by 

 turns ere you could count ten, he at last has strength, 

 in the agitation of his fear and joy, to pull away at 

 the monster — and there he lies in his beauty among 

 the gowans and the greensward, for he has whapped 

 him right over his head and far away, a fish a quarter 

 of an ounce in weight, and, at the very least, two 

 inches long ! Off he flies, on wings of wind, to his fa- 

 [4] 



