Song Birds and Water Fowl 



the summer boarder. In my mortification and 

 disgust I could only maintain my self-respect 

 by adopting the views of an English writer, and 

 dub the angling art as " the cruelest, the cold- 

 est, and the stupidest of pretended sports." I 

 have a mean suspicion that the one who penned 

 this noble opinion had been gluing his eyes 

 on a "bob" so long, without a nibble, that 

 he waxed furious, and swore he would have 

 nothing more to do with fish-lines. 



Just as many a person retains a trace of his 

 childhood's fear of the dark, so a large portion 

 of mankind appear to shrink from autumn, as if 

 there were something frightful about it ; so 

 that, in consequence, even the sights and sounds 

 peculiar to that season become exceedingly un- 

 welcome to them. Possibly such people are in 

 the majority, and in that case they must not be 

 called peculiar, while that stigma is left attach- 

 ing to the fortunate minority who give a hearty 

 welcome to the nightfall and to the waning 

 year. Apart from the inevitable and powerful 

 association of times and seasons, I am positive 

 there is no sound in all of nature's gamut 

 more absolutely free from mournfulness and 

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