CHAPTER I. 
THE POETRY OF ANGLING. 
SECTION FIRST. 
“The patient angler threads the wind- 
ing brook, 
Tempting the dainty trout with gilded 
bait ; 
And ever and anon, as fleecy clouds 
Pass o’er the sun, the fish voracious 
darts 
From the cool shadows of some mossy 
bank, 
Swallows the bait with one convulsive 
act, 
And learns too late that death was at 
the feast ; 
While the glad sportsman feels the 
sudden jerk, 
And plays his victim with extended 
line, 
Swiftly he darts, and through the glit- 
tering rings 
The silken line is drawn with ringing 
sound, 
Till, wearied out with struggling that 
but serves 
To drive the barbed weapon deeper 
still, 
He seeks his quiet shelter ‘neath the 
bank, 
And thence in triumph to the shore is 
borne, 
A prize that well rewards a day of 
toil.” 
TuE question has been discussed by hundreds of enlight- 
ened minds, from King Leopold to Bill Kromer—from men 
highest in the sciences and most exalted in the state, to the 
lowest in worldly means and position, as to who can ade- 
