4 WATERSIDE SKETCHES. 



these fine days, when English anglers hold a grand 

 Waltonian fete at the Crystal Palace, or, being nearer the 

 scene of AValton's perambulations, in Alexandra Park, the 

 world, I venture to say, will be not a little astonished at the 

 numbers who will take part in the demonstration. Angling 

 fraternities with various names and mottoes flourish in many 

 a town ; aye, in the most dismal and poorest -quarters of 

 London's City. For angling literature there is a healthy 

 and perpetual demand. 



The town fishing club somehow is treated with a derision 

 it hardly deserves by the fortunate gentleman who is able to 

 kill salmon in Norway or Ireland, deer in Scotland, and 

 trout in Wales ; its members are regarded with contempt 

 by the lordly sportsman who would faint at the sight of a 

 lobworm, and be aghast at the notion of ground-bait. This 

 is neither fair nor considerate. The city-pent Cockney, 

 poor fellow, must do what he can, and the shabby appren- 

 tice who walks from Shoreditch to Tottenham, bait-can in 

 hand, every Sunday morning, and is content with such 

 results as his humble rod and line may bring, may be at 

 heart — why not ? — as true a sportsman as the happy indi- 

 vidual who goes forth with a couple of keepers at his heels, 

 and the costliest tackle and finest streams at his command. 



But a truce to prosing, at least for the present, for here is 

 the Waltonian's home. You may see that we are a very united 

 family, and not ashamed to avow ourselves followers of 

 quaint, pure-hearted Izaak Walton. We aim, in our several 

 ways, to emulate his spirit, which was eminently unselfish. 

 We are unknown to the world, but we know each other, 

 and hold as a primary article of faith that the man who 

 possesses a good fishing-rod, a stout walking-stick, and the 



