where you left your things! And I have had great luck in fishing, and 
a great day of sport. ‘What luck?” say the people leeringly as | 
pass. ‘‘Fine,’’ I answer bravely. ‘‘Where are the fish?’’ they insinu- 
atingly ask. ‘I threw them back,’’ I reply. So brave is truth. To 
refrain from catching the fish is the most delicate and generous way 
of throwing them back. The fish are there and truth is vindicated; 
and I go home with my heels on the ground, but my head in the sky 
and hang my day's fishing up with my fishing pole. And the rose is 
fragrant yet, and the trees cast their shadows across my face, and the 
river ripples and flashes brightly a perpetual pleasure. I am glad | 
went fishing, and had good luck. 
Sweet was the meadow scent, 
And blue the sky, 
When we a-fishing went, 
My rod and I. 
Cares staid at home in bed 
While we went free; 
And scurvy care ts dead 
To such as we. 
Green was the summer land, 
The air was balm; 
Fair the bleak pine-trees stand; 
My heart was calm. 
Out on the river's rim, 
My spirit sings 
Roundels of praise to Him 
Who summer brings. 
So while fair morning drifts, 
Fishing I go. 
Down through the green wood's rifts 
Warm sunlights glow. 
Glad laughter takes my hcnd 
And holds it tight, 
As through this summer land 
I stray till night. 
