NATURE NOTES. 
170 
but it has been recognized by the skilful artist who shows it us 
on his canvas, and our remembrance of it is awakened when of 
a winter’s evening in the fire on the hearth the blue flames play 
amidst the cinders. 
Botany cannot be omitted from the ken of the fishermen ; in 
early days he will often catch his flies in trees, and soon will he 
begin to distinguish one from another and their capacity for 
retaining the flies he has unfortunately lodged in their branches. 
He will notice the aggravating flower that grows on the side of 
rushes so prone to catch his fly. He will observe the component 
parts of peat, and learn from bog-oak of the former existence of 
forests, and notice the very formation of bogs. 
Lastly, he will be led to the study of man. There is a 
certain fraternity amongst all anglers, and if strangers when 
they meet they soon fall into agreeable conversation, they have 
a common topic to discuss, and a very dear and engrossing one. 
Every fisherman is an enthusiast ; with him are no half measures. 
To catch trout requires all man’s wits; if ever there was a lazy 
and sleepy trout he has long been improved out of existence, at 
any rate on waters open to the public — the survival of the fittest 
has done away with him. So it comes that a man that tahci 
trout cannot be a dullard ; moreover, he must be natty with his 
fingers, the manipulation of his line tackle requires this ; he must 
have patience and perseverance ; and all fishermen are brothers 
and genial men, they enjoy a happiness unknown to others. 
The fisherman’s intercourse with nature is joyful, and as I 
hope I have shown instructive, and when his day’s work is over 
his joys are not ended. Speaking gastronomically, the good 
things of this world may be counted on the fingers; dainty dishes 
are few, and a dish of fresh trout nicely cooked is one of them. 
Giles A. D.\ubeny. 
BIRDS IN A GARDEN. 
^NE of the chief delights of a country garden consists in 
the wild birds that make it their home. Without the 
birds a garden might indeed be beautiful, but could 
not be gay. Over it would brood a perpetual melan- 
choly. Spring, unaccompanied by bursts of triumphal music, 
would bring no thrill of hope to the heart ; summer, for all its 
wealth of roses and lilies, would be but a St. Martin’s summer 
— a fair silent picture, not a vivid, soul-inspiring drama — and 
would from the first contain a prophecy of winter’s decay and 
death. 
Nothing can surpass the charm of the bird’s song in early 
spring. After a long period, it may be, of frost and bitter east 
wind, there is a sudden change, and the air grows soft and mild. 
You wake early one morning and hurry out into the garden. 
