Class Tc) 3 ^ i -5 ' 
 
 Book._ SJo 
 
 Goipghtl^" IlLO_ 
 
 CJ>FyRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
SPECKLED TROUT 
 
 Fishing Lines 
 
 AND OTHER VERSE 
 
 BY 
 JAMES H. HOADLEY, D.D. 
 
 AND 
 
 A WORD OF ANTICIPATION 
 
 BY 
 REV. TERTIUS VAN DYKE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THEO. E. SCHULTE 
 
 1920 
 

 Copyright, 1920 
 by James H. Hoadley 
 
 ©C(.A570151 
 MAY 26 1920 
 
7 
 
 To 
 
 Alexander C. Soper, 
 
 and 
 
 Mary Pope Soper, 
 
 loyal and loving friends of a lifetime, this 
 
 little volume is affectionately dedicated 
 
Written by the poet upon a blank leaf in a copy 
 of "The Compleat Angler'. 
 
 "While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, 
 
 Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign! 
 
 Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line 
 
 Unfolding, did not fruitlessly export 
 
 To reverend watching of each still report 
 
 That Nature utters from her rural shrine. 
 
 Meek, nobly versed in simple discipline — 
 
 He found the longest sunmier day too short, 
 
 To his loved pastime given by sedgy Lea, 
 
 Or down the tempting maze of Shawford brook — 
 
 Fairer than life itself, in this sweet Book, 
 
 The cowslip-bank and shady willow-tree; 
 
 And the fresh mead — where flow, from every nook 
 
 Of his full bosom, gladsome Piety!" 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 Vli 
 
Wordsworth, in referring to Lord Clifford, says: 
 
 "Love had he found in huts where popr men lie, 
 His daily teachers had been woods and rills, 
 
 The silence that is in the starry sky — 
 
 The sleep that is among the lonely hills." 
 
 viu 
 
A WORD OF ANTICIPATION. 
 
 "P VERYONE needs that simple joy in life that 
 finds its most natural expression in devotion 
 to some form of outdoor recreation. Especially 
 is this true of those who have great responsibil- 
 ities. The man who is not in love with God's cre- 
 ation may be a good man but he lacks that vital 
 power which only appears in company with such 
 devotion. We face the peril of becoming withered 
 and musty when we forget that the wonderful 
 events of the Gospel took place on hillsides and 
 beneath green trees, on the lake shore and by the 
 river bank under the open sky. 
 
 Nothing is more contagious than enthusiasm, 
 and no enthusiasm is more contagious than the 
 sane and wholesome delight that springs from the 
 simple and unconscious communion with God in 
 Nature. The efficiency expert may write down the 
 fisherman as ^an unproductive element in the 
 social structure'. It's little the peaceful fisherman 
 cares! He knows the "vital feelings of delight" 
 and the "solemn glee" that are enlarging his heart 
 within him, and he can afford to look on all men 
 with a tolerant and friendly eye. 
 
 ix 
 
I like to remember the remark of that great 
 preacher and teacher^ Dr. Hugh Black, who said: 
 "If you can catch a salmon you can preach a ser- 
 mon". There seems to be some mysterious con- 
 nection between fishing for fish and fishing for 
 men. And it is not without its lesson (for him 
 who is willing to learn) that so many strong 
 Christian lives have been refreshed and recreated 
 and wisely disciplined by the gentle^, albeit some- 
 times strenuous^, art of angling. 
 
 Being the son of my father I was born, as it 
 were, with a rod in my hand and an irresistible 
 instinct for a stream in my heart. And so I am 
 glad to Join the little expedition that is ready to 
 start out under the guidance of Dr. Hoadley, 
 veteran minister and angler, to fish in the waters 
 of memory. 
 
 GOOD LUCK ! brother fishermen. A trout or 
 two, a handful of wildflowers, and a bird song by 
 the stream 1 
 
 Tertius van Dyke. 
 
INTEODUCTION. 
 
 '^HE unpretentious verses in this little volume 
 i. were written from time to time years ago by 
 a busy New York City pastor, who, from 'early 
 childhood had been an ardent lover of the "gentle 
 art." His earliest recollections as a bare-footed 
 country boy were connected with "going-a-fishing," 
 when his outfit consisted of a common string for a 
 line, and a bent pin for a hook and a twig of alder 
 for a rod. 
 
 It was his good fortune early in life to have for 
 his friends a few men who loved trout-fishing; and 
 in the company of these ardent fishermen he spent 
 many happy days in acquiring his love for the art. 
 
 In those early days more than fifty years ago 
 trout were very abundant in the streams of North- 
 ern and central New York and especially on the 
 boarders of the Adirondacks. 
 
 Nearly every summer when on his annual vaca- 
 tion for the past forty years, and often for a week 
 or two in the Spring, the writer of these verses has 
 spent many, many happy hours on the streams and 
 lakes on the border of the Adirondacks where good 
 trout fishing is still to be found— if one knows 
 v\'hore to look for it. 
 
 XI 
 
Fly-fishing was practiced by comparatively few 
 fishermen fifty years ago. Most of those who 
 "went fishing/^ both old and young, used the angle- 
 worm for bait. As a matter of fact nine-tenths of 
 the men and boys who go trout fishing, still fish 
 with a worm. Far be it from me to decry this good 
 old-fashioned method of fishing. Some of the hap- 
 piest days of my life were spent in catching trout 
 with a worm ; and by "happy days" I mean, days so 
 full of intense delight and real enjoyment that one 
 forgot even to eat, and the lunch that was carried 
 in the pocket was either taken home, or disposed 
 of on the way back, unless one was too tired to eat 
 after a day^s wading through the alders. 
 
 To the end of time there will be two methods 
 of fishing for trout. Fishing with a worm, and 
 casting the fly ; and these two classes have two dis- 
 tinct objects before them. The great majority of 
 fishermen, especially those who fish with a worm, 
 go fishing for fish ; and the extent of their joy and 
 satisfaction depends in a large degree on the 
 "luck'^ they have, — upon the number and size of 
 "the catch." Those who go for fish alone, cannot 
 justly be called fishermen, any more than one who 
 goes to the market to buy fish, can be called a 
 fisherman. 
 
 The enthusiastic fly fisherman is not so much 
 after results as he is after the pleasure of casting. 
 His delight is not fish but fishing. He is satisfied 
 to get a few as a result of his skill. His fish may 
 
 Xll 
 
cost him ten dollars a piece, and they often do. Ho 
 is content because he has got what he went for — the 
 joy of casting — plus all the other joys from com- 
 munion with nature in the great fresh, exhilarat- 
 ing out of doors, along the streams and in the 
 woods, among the hills. Half the delights of trout 
 fishing come from getting near to nature^s heart. 
 The trees, the shrubs, the flowers, the mosses, the 
 grass, the very stones of the brook, have a message 
 for the true fisherman. There is "a sermon in the 
 stones." He would not be a true disciple of Isaac 
 Walton if he did not love nature and her various 
 moods and sounds. The laughter of the brooks 
 and the sighing of the winds, and the singing of 
 the birds, and the hum of bees and insects, and the 
 aroma of the wild flowers and the woods — all have 
 a message for his soul; and it's always a message 
 of peace and contentment, and joy, and thanks- 
 giving that God has permitted him to be a fisher- 
 man. . 
 
 No man can be called a true fisherman who does 
 not love fishing far better than he loves fish. To 
 be a true fisherman he must enjoy and delight in 
 the art itself. To be a true descendant of Isaac 
 Walton he must be content and happy to fish all 
 day in the rain, or wading in the ice cold brook, 
 and return home at night with a very meagre 
 catch — nay ! he must be so in love with the trout- 
 brooks that his soul is satisfied with just fishing, 
 content to fish all day and many days and have no 
 
 xiii 
 
luck at all. The true fisherman is not only the hap- 
 piest man but he is the most hopeful and expectant 
 man among mortals. He is always sure of "better 
 luck" tomorrow, or next time. He never gets dis- 
 couraged or disheartened. His ardor seems to be 
 fed by discouraging luck. His faith is sublime ! 
 He is sure of the future. His motto is ever that of 
 Browning — "the best is yet to be V 
 
 This unbounded, unlimited hope and expectancy 
 is characteristic of all true fishermen. It is especi- 
 ally characteristic of the fly-fisherman. He differs 
 from the worm-fisherman in many things. When 
 he takes out of his case his beloved fiy-rod (made 
 by such expert rod makers as the late William 
 Mitchell, once so famous and well known in New 
 York) and opens his fly book to inspect its con- 
 tents, and oils his reel, and tests his line, in his 
 imagination he is sure of getting many a rise in 
 those well known pools or along those well known 
 streams so dear to his heart, the next time he goes 
 for his sport. He "hopeth all things." 
 
 To hook two or three fine trout; to match his 
 human skill against the instinctive efforts of the 
 sly and cunning trout, — at last to land him, — 
 though it takes an hour to do it — this is delight 
 such as none can know who has not acquired the 
 art. It is simply delicious ! 
 
 The Eev. Dr. Henry Van Dyke, an enthusiastic 
 lover of "the gentle art," has truly pictured the 
 
 xiv 
 
aim of the genuine fly-fisherman in the last verse 
 of his admirable poem— "An Angler's Wish." 
 "Only a trout or two, to dart 
 From foaming pools, and try my art ; 
 No more Fm wishing — old-fashioned fishing, 
 And just a day on nature's heart !'' 
 ^ Such a real fisherman says to the man with the 
 worm, "You go ahead and fill your basket if you 
 can. I will follow and whip the stream ; and tho' 
 you may get more fish, you'll not get more real 
 sport than I, though I succeed in landing not one- 
 tenth as many as you. I'm not going for fish, — 
 you are, I'm going fishing." Any true fly fisher- 
 man had rather catch a few fine, speckled beauties 
 with a fly than to catch a score or even a basket full 
 with a worm. 
 
 But it must not be imagined for one moment 
 that there is no real joy in fishing with a worm. 
 There is real joy; and every skillful fisherman who 
 invariably uses a worm can testify that some of the 
 happiest days of his life have been spent along the 
 alder brooks, or beaver meadows. Memories of such 
 days on such trout-brooks never die; — they are 
 almost sacred. Isaac Walton declares — 
 
 "The last fish I caught was with a worm." 
 One of our foremost American poets. Prof. Clin- 
 ton Scollard of Hamilton College, expresses per- 
 fectly the "sturdy patience" and contentment of 
 the persistent fly-fisherman, in his little poem — 
 "The Angler" — when, in the last verse, he says : 
 
 XV 
 
"Companioned by a keen desire, 
 His sturdy patience does not tire; 
 Through waning hours, in sun or rain, 
 He smiles, content with meagre gain; 
 Breathing the perfect calm that broods 
 In nature's secret solitudes, 
 Gleaning from river, wood and sky, 
 A deep and broad philosophy/' 
 
 The writer of the following verses has had a 
 varied experience in trout-fishing, and bass fishing 
 also. Pie has cast his hook in many waters. Years 
 ago, the first year after the Railroad reached the 
 Rangley Lakes, at Bemis, Maine, his brother said 
 to him, "Will you go to the Rangely Lakes with me 
 for a couple of weeks in May, as soon as the trout 
 season opens, after the ice goes out?" "I surely 
 will," was my quick and glad response. We were 
 made comfortable at the Upper Dam Hotel. We 
 fished in the famous pool under the Dam; in the 
 stream of rapid water between the Lakes; at the 
 mouth of one of the famous spring-brooks entering 
 the lower lake ; and in other desirable places. 
 
 Such large brook trout (salmo fontenalis) I 
 never before had seen. The writer landed one with 
 much difficulty that weighed four pounds and two 
 ounces. Some much larger than this, weighing 
 eight and nine pounds, are caught in this famous 
 pool. But while the Eangely Lake fishing is phen- 
 omenal, one gets no more real pleasure out of it 
 
 xvi 
 
than from the trout-brooks and spring-holes in the 
 Adirondacks — nor as much. 
 
 Ten years ago I fished for trout in the Yellow- 
 stone Eiver just as it leaves the Yellowstone Lake. 
 So abundant are the trout in these waters, and so 
 readily do they rise to any sort of a fly, cast by any 
 sort of a fisherman, or no fisherman, that all the 
 delight of real angling is wanting. In an hour's 
 time ten or a dozen large trout were taken, two at 
 a time, and both landed, which made the sport — no 
 sport. It required no more skill to secure trout in 
 the Yellowstone, than it did to secure them in 
 Washington Fish Market, and it cost a hundred 
 times as much for the trip. 
 
 It's a good thing for any man, — especially pro- 
 fessional man, — to have a hobby, — some pastime 
 or sport that takes him out-of-doors into God's sun- 
 shine. Golfing in these days is such a hobby, and 
 this wonderful game has brought health and joy 
 into many a life that formerly was shut up in an 
 office or study eight or ten hours a day, with scarc- 
 ely any exercise in the open air. But golfing is a 
 sport for a few, comparatively, and not for the 
 multitude. Fishing, in some of its various forms, 
 is opened to all men, — and women too. I have met 
 a few of the latter who were as skillful in casting 
 a fly as any male fisherman. Some years ago the 
 "pool" at the Upper Dam, between the Rangely 
 Lakes used to have a goodly number of ladies in 
 
 xvii 
 
the casting boats, and some of them were rewarded 
 with a splendid "catch." There are scores of hob- 
 bies that take you out-of-doors into the woods and 
 the fields, but not one of them can compare with 
 that of the enthusiastic fisherman. Fishing is a 
 sort of sixth sense. Many are born with it — almost 
 anyone can acquire it, if properly cultivated. 
 
 The desire or instinct to fish is not confined to 
 the fresh- water streams and lakes; the seas have 
 the same lure. The fishing-boats that dot the 
 waters of the Atlantic coast with their white sails, 
 from Chesapeake Bay to Labrador, are navigated 
 by a race of sturdy fishermen who take delight in 
 even this sort of fishing, and who at the same time 
 have done their full share in adding to the wealth 
 and prosperity of our Nation. These fishermen of 
 the sea love this life of danger and exposure quite 
 as well, in their way, as do the fishermen of the 
 Lakes and streams. 
 
 A proof that man by nature is a fisherman is 
 seen almost everyday on our Piers and Docks along 
 the water front, or on the often over-crowded boats 
 that make regular excursions in the summer "to 
 the fishing banks" outside the lower bay. These 
 same fishermen will sit for hours in the hot sun, or 
 even in the rain, on the string-piece of the Dock, 
 or along the river or shore, even though their catch 
 is meagre ; and they will come back to their fishing 
 day after day, often neglecting other and more 
 necessary iand important work. They love it so I 
 
 xviii 
 
The only experience the writer has had of sea 
 fishing, or that which comes the nearest to it, was 
 at the mouth of the James Kiver where it enters 
 into Chesapeake Bay, between Old Point and Nor- 
 folk. It was "good sport" and very enjoyable, but 
 at best it could not be compared with fishing for 
 speckled trout either with a fly or worm. 
 
 The kind of fishing that approaches in interest, 
 casting for speckled trout, is bass fishing with a fly, 
 or with any kind of bait, for that matter. A two- or 
 three-pound bass can put up the liveliest fight of 
 any fish that swims in either salt or fresh water. 
 
 For more than half a century trout fishing has 
 been a favorite pastime with American clergymen, 
 and large numbers have not only become expert 
 fly-fishermen, but they have acquired a love for 
 trout-fishing, which, in some instances, has become 
 a passion. Fifty years ago the little volume issued 
 by "Adirondack Murray," as he was called (a well 
 known Congregational Clergyman) created quite a 
 sensation and Avas read by a large number of people 
 with absorbing interest. 
 
 May it not be that one of the chief reasons why 
 clergymen have become lovers of the "contemp- 
 lative art," is due to the fact that fishing is an 
 Apostolic pastime. It occupies a most important 
 place in the New Testament, and is repeatedly re- 
 ferred to in the Old Testament. It is an interest- 
 ing fact that of all created things over which man 
 
 XIX 
 
was to have dominion^, — the first to be mentioned 
 was the fish; for in the first Chapter of Genesis 
 we read — "and God said, Let us make man in 
 our own image, after our likeness; and let them 
 have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over 
 the birds of the heaven, etc." 
 
 May it not be possible that our Lord himself was 
 an occasional fisherman. We read that on the shore 
 of the lake of Galilee he invited his disciples to 
 partake with him of the fish which he himself had 
 no doubt caught, and had cooked upon a "fire of 
 coals." They accepted His invitation to dine with 
 Him, after they had brought more fish from the 
 miraculous draught which they had just taken 
 from the Lake, at His suggestion. We have the 
 account in John 21 : 9 — 13, "So when they had got 
 out upon the land, they see a fire of coals there, and 
 fish lay thereon and bread. Jesus saith unto them, 
 Bring of the fish which ye have now taken. Simon 
 Peter therefore went up and drew the net to land, 
 full of great fishes, a hundred and fifty and three, 
 and for all there were so many, the net was not 
 rent. Jesus said unto them, Come, and break your 
 fast. And none of the disciples durst inquire of 
 him, Who art thou ? Knowing that it was the Lord. 
 Jesus Cometh, and taketh the bread and giveth 
 them and the fish likewise." 
 
 The Reverend Wm. K. Eddy of the American 
 Mission of Sidon^ Syria, in an article by him, says, 
 
 XX 
 
"As an occupation fishing has been honored by the 
 selection of its followers as Apostles ; by being the 
 object of Jesus' special favor on two occasions ; and 
 chosen as the type of earnest, skillful, soul-saving." 
 "And Jesus said unto them, come after Me and I 
 will make you to become fishers of men'' Mrk.l :17. 
 ''■* And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not ; for hence- 
 forth thou shalt catch men." Luke 5 : 10. 
 
 The fish was an object of idolatry in the ancient 
 world. The Philistines worshipped Dagon the fish- 
 God, which was represented by the body of a man 
 and the tail of a fish. The fish early became a 
 sacred symbol to the Christians. This was due to 
 the fact that the Greek word Tx^^? (fish) is 
 formed by the initial letters of the four Greek 
 words used in the Confession of the Christian's 
 faith. Viz. : — "Jesus Christ. Son of God. Saviour." 
 (TY]|aou(; XptdTO? Bsou Ylhq ScoTYjp) 
 
 The hook and line in fishing have been used 
 from remote ages. No mention however, is made 
 of the rod, as fly-fishing is said to have been un- 
 known to the ancients. How much they missed ! 
 
 Every Spring as the days begin to lengthen, and 
 the sun warms the earth, all true fishermen begin 
 to hear the call of the trout-brooks; and as blos- 
 som-time comes this call gets louder and louder 
 until it is irresistible. Robert Page Lincoln voices 
 "the call of the brooks" in his fine poem — "Fishin' 
 Time," the last part of which reads : — 
 
 xxi 
 
"Oh, it^s thus when Spring is on us, an' the 
 
 sun is warm and high — 
 It is thus when we are wishin' and when 
 
 fishin' is our cry. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Dig some wums, it's time I'm fishin', 
 it's 'bout time I'd wet my line ; 
 
 I can fell it creepin' o'er me, an' 
 I'm gettin' so's I pine ! 
 
 When the ice upon the big lake 
 
 gits all saggin' down and wet — 
 
 Dig sum wums, its time I'm fishin' 
 and its time to cure this fret !" 
 
 Two verses from Dr. Henry Van Dyke's unsur- 
 passed little poem "An Angler's Wish," expresses 
 the fisherman's longing for the brooks in the 
 Springtime. 
 
 "When tulips bloom in Union Square, 
 And timid breaths of vernal air 
 Go wandering down the dusty town, 
 Like children lost in Vanity Fair; 
 
 * * 
 Then weary seems the street parade. 
 And weary books, and weary trade: 
 I'm only wishing to go a-fishin', — 
 For this the month of May was made !" 
 
 James H. Hoadley. 
 New York, 1920. 
 
 xxii 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 ^EARLY all the "fishing poems'' in this little 
 volume, and a number of the others, first ap- 
 peared in The Independent, at the time when 
 Dr. Wm. Hayes Warp, the distinguished scholar 
 and critic, was Literary editor. The writer was 
 then a young man and he was greatly encouraged 
 by the fact that so able and keen a critic and 
 scholar as Dr. Ward, accepted his verse for publi- 
 cation. These unpretentious verses would never 
 have been gathered together in this volume, had it 
 not been for the urgent request of many of the 
 author's friends. For the past thirty years a num- 
 ber of these poems have been copied, appearing 
 again and again in the newspapers throughout the 
 Country, East and West. 
 
 For permission to reprint some of these poems 
 in this volume I am indebted to The New York 
 Independent Corporation; The New York 
 Daily Tribune, and other local periodicals. For 
 this permission I desire to thank them. 
 
 For carefully reading the proof sheets and for 
 his helpful suggestions, I desire to express sincere 
 thanks to my friend the Rev. Tertius van Dyke of 
 New York, who, like his father. Dr. Henry van 
 
 xxiii 
 
Dyke, has all his life been an enthusiastic trout 
 fisherman. Most of all I thank him for the "Word 
 of Anticipation" which he was kind enough to 
 write for this little volume of fisherman verse. 
 
 I am also indebted to my friend, Mk. Theodore 
 E. SCHULTE of New York, the well-known Book- 
 seller and Printer, for bringing out this little vol- 
 ume in such an attractive form. 
 
 J. H. H. 
 
 xxiv 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 A Word of Anticipation ix 
 
 Introduction xi 
 
 Foreword xxiii 
 
 "I Go A-Fishing" 3 
 
 A Three Pound Trout 4 
 
 I Go A-Hunting q 
 
 Trouting 7 
 
 Life g 
 
 The Fishing Parson 9 
 
 A Trouting Idyl 1 4 
 
 Well Doing 16 
 
 Death 1 7 
 
 A Liar in Weight 18 
 
 Speckled Beauties 20 
 
 Well Done 21 
 
 The Fisherman 22 
 
 De Profundis 23 
 
 Words and Deeds 24 
 
 Go Work Today 25 
 
 Peace . , 26 
 
 Satisfied 27 
 
 Memories 28 
 
 The Trout Rod on the Wall 30 
 
 Rest 32 
 
 XXV 
 
Lost 33 
 
 The Woods 34 
 
 Trouting With a Fly 35 
 
 A Trouting Picture 36 
 
 Take Down the Rod 37 
 
 Oh ! Mystery of Life and Death ! .... 38 
 
 The Bobolink 39 
 
 The Trout Brooks Are Calling 40 
 
 A Trouting Song 41 
 
 A Fisherman's Scales 43 
 
 The Angler's Longing 44 
 
 Appendix 45 
 
 XXVI 
 
SPECKLED TROUT 
 
 Fishing Lines 
 
 AND OTHER VERSE 
 
"I GO A-FISHING." 
 
 «'Epx6iie6a xat t)[A£(? juv aot)).— John xxi, 3. 
 
 ^ MOUNTAIN brook, a shady nook, 
 
 A ripple, 
 A rod and fly— "He's very sly." 
 "Be careful V 
 
 A sudden dash, a little splash — 
 
 "Don't strand him I" 
 A turn, a bout, a splendid trout — 
 
 "Now ! land him I" 
 
 Three hungry men, a frying-pan 
 
 Capacious ; 
 A crispy brown, no such in town — 
 
 Delicious ! 
 
A THREE-POUND TROUT. 
 
 ' I 'HE pool was broad, and cool, and deep ; 
 
 And on its surface shifting 
 Were specks of foam, and twigs, and leaves, 
 Around an eddy drifting. 
 
 The alders on the further side 
 
 Hung low upon the water ; 
 And just above o^er rocks and logs 
 
 It foamed, then rushed with laughter. 
 
 With slender rod and silken line. 
 
 And hackle gray for leader, 
 I crept along with gentle tread, 
 
 So watchful and so eager. 
 
 I took my stand. Back went the rod. 
 
 I held it firm and steady; 
 And then I cast. The hackle gray 
 
 Skipped lightly o'er the eddy. 
 
 A sudden rush, a splash, a turn — 
 
 The water foaming, boiling. 
 "Click ! click !" the line went spinning out. 
 
 "Now, steady ! For he's toiling." 
 
 Up toward the rocks he rushes wild. 
 
 He turns again. "Be ready !" 
 He slacks his speed, and, pulling hard, 
 
 He circles round the eddy. 
 
And now a stubborn course he takes. 
 
 No matter how I coax him, 
 He will not move; but there he stays. 
 
 In vain I try to hoax him. 
 
 Now quick as thought he leaps in air. 
 And, scattering spray around him, 
 
 He shakes himself with all his might. 
 In vain; the line has bound him. 
 
 He darts to right, he darts to left, 
 
 He sets the reel a-spinning; 
 But still the silken cord holds on — 
 
 The fisherman is winning. 
 
 An hour has past; his force is spent. 
 
 In vain has he contended. 
 "That landing-net ! Be careful now V* 
 
 "There ! Lift him out !" 'Tis ended. 
 
 Three pounds two ounces and a half 
 
 He weighed. We dressed and cooked him; 
 
 But none who ate knew such delight 
 As I, the one who hooked him. 
 
I GO A-HUNTING. 
 
 ((OuTOc; -^v yiytxq xuvyj^o^ svavTt'ov Kupt'ou)). 
 
 — Genesis x, 9. 
 
 npWO men with guns upon the downs, 
 • A setter, 
 
 A low morass, with tangled grass — 
 
 None better. 
 A quaiFs shrill cry, "We're coming nigh/' 
 
 "Be ready !" 
 "Let out the dog ! Jump o'er the bog !" 
 
 "Now! Steady!" 
 A brace of birds, a flow of words 
 
 At supper; 
 And birds will come and birds will go 
 
 Forever. 
 
TROUTING. 
 
 r^ ENTLY ! 
 
 He is wary, 
 Alwa3^s looking out. 
 
 "Slowly ! 
 
 Or you'll lose your trout." 
 
 "Slyly V 
 Cast your fly 
 Above that eddy. 
 
 "Quickly ! 
 You'll have him ! Steady !' 
 
 Safely 
 Into the net 
 At last he has come. 
 
 Jolly! 
 O'er the meadows home. 
 
LIFE. 
 
 'Ev TTlJTSt ^W Xfl TOU UtOU TOU 0£OU. — GaL. 11^20. 
 
 T IFE is not living 
 
 Just for to-day; 
 Life is not dreaming 
 All the short way. 
 
 To live is to do 
 
 What must be done ; 
 To work and be true. 
 
 For work is soon done. 
 
 ^Tis living for others, 
 
 To lighten their load ; 
 'Tis helping your brothers 
 
 And trusting in God. 
 
THE FISHING PARSON. 
 
 T N a quiet village, far away, 
 
 The pulpit was vacant many a day. 
 
 Candidates came from far and near, 
 Every Sabbath for nearly a year. 
 
 Some were too awkward ; some preached with ease ; 
 But no one was able them all to please. 
 
 At length there came from a distant place 
 A man of unusual power and grace. 
 
 His frame was strong and his eye was clear, 
 And all were pleased who came to hear. 
 
 " 'This is our man !" said the elders all, 
 And old and young united to call. 
 
 The call was accepted and early in May 
 
 The new parson came, with his household, to stay ; 
 
 But after the toil of settling down 
 
 In his pleasant home in the little town 
 
 The parson was one day seen to stroll 
 Across the street, with basket and pole. 
 
And take his way, o'er field and brake. 
 To a rip'ling stream that entered the lake 
 
 Just below the town. "What does it mean?" 
 Asked the gossips and all who had seen. 
 
 ''A fishing parson!" exclaimed the men. 
 "How could we so deceived have been?" 
 
 The spinsters said : "'Twas a shame and sin" — 
 "A parson to be engaging in 
 
 Such worldly sports !" Twas late in the day 
 When the parson took his homeward way, 
 
 With well-filled basket and, better still, 
 A glowing cheek and a healthful thrill. 
 
 Caused by the blood that flowed through his veins 
 As torrents flow after summer rains. 
 
 Some said, with boldness : "They never more 
 Could respect and love him as before." 
 
 **A fishing parson! Who ever heard 
 Of a fishing man preaching the Word ?" 
 
 Thus spake the elders and deacons and all, 
 And before them at once the parson they call. 
 
 "A painful duty," the eldest said, 
 "Devolves on us," and he shook his head 
 
 10 
 
In a serious way. "Never before, 
 For eight and seventy years or more, 
 
 "Have we as a church been called upon 
 
 To reprove our pastor for what he has done. 
 
 You went a-fishing the other day ! 
 We think it unseemly in every way. 
 
 " 'Twill injure the cause with the young and the 
 
 gay. 
 'Tis scandalous ! What have you to say ?" 
 
 A smile came over the parson's face, 
 
 As he rose to respond, with becoming grace. 
 
 He spake of Peter and his brethren three, 
 Who once were fishermen on Galilee. 
 
 "These were the men that the Master chose 
 To carry his gospel to friends and foes." 
 
 He spake of Bethune and he spake of Todd — 
 ''Fishing parsons T but men of God. 
 
 "Fishing parsons !" aye ; but better men 
 To preach the Word and wield the pen 
 
 The Church has not known for many a day. 
 They loved to preach, they loved to pray ; 
 
 Nor their Lord the less because as well 
 They loved the mountain-stream and dell. 
 
 11 
 
"And as for myself I can boldly say 
 I preach the better from day to day, 
 
 "For the strength I gain in my walks about, 
 While casting my fly for the speckled trout. 
 
 "And when in the forest, alone, oppressed, 
 God speaks to me and I am blest." 
 
 No more was said; but as time rolled on 
 The pews of the church filled, one by one. 
 
 And as never before, from far and near 
 The people flocked to the church to hear 
 
 "The fishing parson!" for so he was known 
 By boys and girls and men full-grown. 
 
 And at length the meeting-house, which before 
 Had held them all, with room for more. 
 
 Became so crowded that 'ere the Fall 
 An effort was set on foot by all 
 
 To build a new house, with ample room 
 For all the people who wished to come. 
 
 And though the years rolled swiftly by 
 The fire still glowed in the parson's eye; 
 
 And he often said, in his pleasant way. 
 As he labored on from day to day. 
 
That his power to work with a steady plod 
 Was due to his love of the basket and rod. 
 
 The parson lived long, and rejoiced to think 
 Of the souls that were saved from Ruin's brink. 
 
 True fisher of men! he had tried to be — 
 As faithful as those of Galilee. 
 
 'Twas at eighty and three, and preaching still, 
 And serving his Master with heart and will. 
 
 That the welcome summons at last was sent 
 To call him home from banishment. 
 
 And this they cut on his tombstone deep. 
 When he at last had "fallen on sleep" : 
 
 "Here lieth the fishing 'parson!" and then 
 ''His Master made him a fisher of men" 
 
 13 
 
A TKOUTING IDYL. 
 
 A LINE, 
 
 A hook, 
 
 A rod, 
 
 A brook, 
 A man absorbed in fishing. 
 
 A cast, 
 
 A bite. 
 
 "A trout?'' 
 
 "You're right ! 
 For this I have been wishing." 
 
 In camp 
 
 To lie. 
 
 With trout 
 
 To fry. 
 Farewell to cares and sadness ! 
 
 No care. 
 
 No strife 
 
 In such 
 
 A life. 
 What health and rest and gladness 
 
 14 
 
Then come 
 
 With me. 
 
 Away 
 
 We^l flee, 
 And spend a month together. 
 
 By stream 
 
 And lake 
 
 Sly trout 
 
 We^l take. 
 And sleep in stormy weather. 
 
 15 
 
WELL-DOING. 
 
 •yniNK the good, 
 
 And not the clever; 
 Thoughts are seeds 
 
 That grow; forever 
 Bearing richest fruit in life. 
 Such alone can make 
 The thinker 
 Strong to conquer in the strife. 
 
 Love the good, 
 
 And not the clever. 
 Noble men ! 
 
 The world can never 
 Cease to praise the good they've done. 
 They alone the true 
 Who gather 
 Harvests which their deeds have won. 
 
 Do the good. 
 
 And not the clever, 
 Fill they life 
 
 With true endeavor; 
 Strive to be the noblest man. 
 Not what others do; 
 But rather 
 Do the very best you can. 
 
 16 
 
DEATH. 
 
 "pNEATH is not ceasing 
 
 Ever to be. 
 Death is not sleeping 
 Eternally. 
 
 To die is beginning 
 
 Keally to be. 
 Freed from all sinning 
 
 Immortally. 
 
 'Tis passing from darkness 
 
 Into the light; 
 Just putting off weakness, 
 
 Putting on might. 
 
 17 
 
THE LIAR IN WEIGHT. 
 
 X-JE had fished in all waters for bass and for 
 
 trout, 
 On stream and on lake the country throughout; 
 
 He had fished with a fly ; 
 
 He had fished with a bait ; 
 But alas ! for his fame, he's a liar in weight. 
 
 There are liars in numbers and liars in size, 
 Who talk, in a way that seems wonderful wise. 
 
 Of the things they have done ; 
 
 But what they relate 
 Is but tame when compared with this liar in 
 weight. 
 
 He had never caught small fish, this liar in weight ; 
 The trout are all large ones that nibble his bait ; 
 
 He resents with disdain. 
 
 And almost with hate. 
 Such small accusations — this liar in weight. 
 
 Three-pounders were common, four-pounders not 
 
 rare; 
 And he'd tell, in a way to make a man stare. 
 
 Of a ten-pounder, once, 
 
 In a northeastern state, 
 That he captured alone — this liar in weight. 
 
 18 
 
To compete with this liar, when once he begins, 
 Is out of the question, for he always wins. 
 
 The best competition. 
 
 Either early or late. 
 Is nowhere compared with this liar in weight. 
 
 The liar in numbers may catch the most trout. 
 Or the liar in place know the best place about ; 
 
 But when you begin 
 
 About size to relate, 
 You're left in the shade by this liar in weight. 
 
 19 
 
"SPECKLED BEAUTIES." 
 
 A /TID wealth of bloom. 
 
 When sweet perfume 
 On every breeze is blowing; 
 
 And farmer-boys, 
 
 With shout and noise 
 The early crops are sowing; 
 
 And whistling quail 
 
 Down in the swale 
 At day-dawn shrilly calling — 
 
 Through orchards gay 
 
 At break of day, 
 'Mid apple-blossoms falling; 
 
 Through dewy grass. 
 
 And low morass. 
 Where trout-brook gently floweth, 
 
 With rod and fly. 
 
 And spirit high. 
 The happy angler goeth. 
 
 From morn till night. 
 
 So deft and light. 
 He whips the pool and eddy, 
 
 Now in — now out. 
 
 He plays his trout, 
 With cunning hand and steady. 
 
 gentle art ! 
 
 So dear to heart. 
 When worn with cares and duties, 
 
 Just for a day 
 
 To steal away 
 And cast for speckled beauties. 
 
 20 
 
"WELL DONE !" 
 
 'Bene, serve hone et fidelis." — Matt, xxv^ 21. 
 
 "NJOT what you say, 
 Or wish or hope, 
 While through the darkness 
 
 Here you grope ; 
 But what you do 
 
 And what you are 
 In heart, and thought 
 And character — 
 This only makes you great; 
 
 And this, 
 If clothed in Jesus's righteousness. 
 Will open Heaven's gate. 
 
 Sell all, and buy 
 
 This precious gem, 
 And wear it as 
 
 A diadem. 
 A heart that's clean, 
 A mind that's pure 
 Will prompt to deeds 
 Which shall endure. 
 So God will own you as his son, 
 
 And say 
 To you, when ends life's little day: 
 "Well done !" my child, "Well done !" 
 
 21 
 
THE FISHERMAN. 
 
 T 
 
 'HE fisherman! 
 The fisherman! 
 Ah ! hear him shout and sing ! 
 His heart is gay, 
 As now to-day. 
 He greets the opening Spring. 
 
 "Ho ! ho ! for trout !" 
 Oh, hear him shout ! 
 
 Equipped with rod and line, 
 He wades the brook 
 And casts his hook 
 
 For speckled trout so fine. 
 
 He^s left his care 
 
 Behind him there. 
 Within the dusty town, 
 
 To roam about 
 
 And in and out 
 Where alder brooks wind down. 
 
 Oh, what delight, 
 
 From morn till night, 
 The fisherman doth find ! 
 
 They only know. 
 
 Who with him go 
 And leave their care behind. 
 
 22 
 
DE PROFUNDIS. 
 
 T laughed and tried to quench my grief, 
 
 In mirth I sought to find relief, 
 My faith was naught but unbelief; 
 
 To laugh — 
 Was but to mock my sorrow. 
 
 I wept because my grief was great, 
 I felt its load— a mighty weight. 
 
 heart so crushed and desolate ! 
 
 To weep — 
 Was but to soothe my sorrow. 
 
 1 prayed for help in agony, 
 To Him who hung on Calvary, 
 
 He heard and quickly answered me! 
 
 To pray — 
 This only healed my sorrow. 
 
 23 
 
WORDS AND DEEDS. 
 
 npHEY do the least 
 
 Who talk the most; 
 Whose good designs 
 Are all their boasts; 
 For words are dew. 
 
 They do the most 
 Whose lives possess 
 
 The sterling stamp 
 Of righteousness ; 
 
 For deeds are true. 
 
 And if the heart 
 
 Be pure and good 
 The life will be 
 
 Just what it should — 
 Not dew but true. 
 
 24 
 
"GO WORK TO-DAY." 
 
 ^ work to-day r' the Master saith. 
 
 Waste not thy time repining ! 
 Fill every hour with earnest deeds. 
 While bright the sun is shining. 
 
 What though ye do not see the fruit, 
 
 Yet still continue sowing; 
 For night and day — asleep, awake — 
 
 The grain is ever growing. 
 
 To-morrow's work may not be yours. 
 Nor yours the joy of reaping. 
 
 "Go work to-day/' and leave the seed 
 Safe in the Master's keeping. 
 
 That seed shall to the harvest come. 
 Though you in death are sleeping. 
 
 Others shall reap what you have sown. 
 Work on, and cease thy weeping! 
 
 25 
 
PEACE. 
 
 THE QUIET HOUK IN THE WOODS. 
 
 T sought for peace and did not rest; 
 But sought it east and sought it west. 
 I searched with all my might. 
 I sought as one who seeks for gold: 
 In tropic heat^ in arctic cold; 
 And longed both day — and night 
 For peace. 
 
 But when at last, in hopeless grief, 
 I turned to Christ to find relief, 
 
 And ceased to look abroad, 
 I found in Him my righteousness ; 
 He with His peace my soul did bless; 
 
 And now I walk with God 
 In peace. 
 
 26 
 
SATISFIED. 
 
 "My people shall be satisfied with my goodness, 
 saith the Lord." — Jere. 31 : 14. 
 
 'Ky4"Y people shall be satisfied." 
 
 This is His word to me 
 
 While in the llesh. 
 Each day He doth my soul refresh. 
 
 I need not wait the race to run. 
 
 If He abide in me 
 
 From sun to sun. 
 And I in Him, — 'tis Heaven begun ! 
 
 Not more can I be satisfied. 
 
 E'en though I stand complete 
 Before His throne, 
 
 And know He owns me as His own. 
 
 27 
 
MEMORIES. 
 
 T^ID you ever stand in a clover field 
 
 While the bees were busy about your feet, 
 And the air was heavy with rich perfume 
 Of the purple blossoms fresh and sweet? 
 For the bees they work 
 
 While the Summers last; 
 And the clover blossoms 
 Fade so fast. 
 
 Did you ever Avander in sunny June. 
 
 With your basket and rod, by an Alder brook; 
 And cast your fly for the gamiest fish 
 That was ever taken with line and hook? 
 For trout are wary 
 
 And timid and shy ; 
 But you can lure them 
 With a fly. 
 
 Did you ever live in an open camp, 
 
 For days and weeks by a forest stream, 
 Floating for deer where the lilies grow, 
 Or sleeping at night without a dream? 
 For the nearer one gets 
 
 To Nature's dear breast. 
 The greater the joy 
 And the rest. 
 
 28 
 
Did you ever climb a mountain high, 
 
 And sit in the silence that dwelleth there, 
 Above the forest and under the sky, 
 Alone with yourself in the upper air? 
 For the mountains lift 
 
 The spirit of man 
 Near to the source where 
 Life began. 
 
 Did you ever stand in the city street, 
 
 As its living stream went pouring by, 
 And long for the fields and Alder brooks. 
 The open camp, and the mountain high? 
 For memories live 
 
 And can never die; 
 Live, when in the grave 
 We shall lie. 
 
 If Nature and you are strangers still. 
 And her language you cannot read. 
 Then your eyes are blind, and can never see 
 The treasure she holds for human need. 
 For Nature and you 
 
 In love must be 
 Before her beauty 
 You can see. 
 
 29 
 
THE TROUT-ROD ON THE WALL. 
 
 '"PHIS slender rod of mine; 
 This delicate silk line, 
 And the creel; 
 This landing net, these flies 
 Of every shape and size; 
 With the reel. 
 
 Now hanging on the wall, 
 Such memories recall 
 
 Of the past; 
 That I live them o'er again, 
 And rejoice as I did when 
 
 1 made a cast. 
 
 I am once more a boy — 
 I feel a thrill of joy 
 
 At the sight 
 Of the sparkling mountain brook 
 Where I cast the tempting hook; 
 
 Stepping light. 
 
 I can see the shady pool, 
 Underneath the alders cool — 
 
 Bending o'er. 
 Specks of foam about an eddy, 
 Circling round with motion steady 
 
 To the shore. 
 
 30 
 
Now I see the beauty rise, 
 As the artificial flies 
 
 Strike the pool. 
 I can hear the water boil, 
 And the crazy reel uncoil 
 
 From the spool. 
 
 Ah ! he^s out upon the bank ! 
 And the specks upon his flank — 
 
 How they shine ! 
 ! none but anglers know 
 Why my eyes with tears overflow, 
 As I think of days gone by, 
 Of the rod, and reel, and fly. 
 
 And the line. 
 
 31 
 
KEST. 
 
 "For ye are not as yet come to the rest and to 
 the inheritance which the Lord your God giveth 
 you."— Deut. 12: 9. 
 
 A FTER the work of the day, 
 After the toil doth cease 
 Cometh the rest and the joy 
 Of sleep — sweet balm of peace! 
 
 After the struggle with sin. 
 After the conflict and strife, 
 Cometh the joy of Heaven — 
 The rest of endless life. 
 
 32 
 
LOST 
 
 /^N through the woods with reckless pace — 
 On, over rocks — through bogs and streams; 
 
 With glaring eyes, and palid face — 
 
 A demon — not a man — he seems. 
 
 "Oh, God ! Fm lost ! whence do I roam !" 
 "Oh, children ! wife ! my home ! my home ! 
 
 Around the blazing cottage fire 
 
 Cluster a group of children bright, 
 
 Watching in silence for their sire^ 
 
 Far on into the frosty night. 
 
 "'Oh, mother ! why does father wait ?" 
 "Why does he stay from home so late?" 
 
 A heap of bones and tattered shreds 
 Of clothing, 'neath the leaves and mould, 
 A hunter finds, as light he treads. 
 Years after, through the forest old. 
 
 Oh, children ! wife ! Oh hearts that yearn ! 
 
 Thy lost will never more return. 
 
 83 
 
THE WOODS. 
 
 "pROM City's din — from roar and rush 
 
 Of traffic; from the busy mart 
 Of trade, with all its strain, I to 
 The woods repair ; and there, beneath 
 The cool shade of dim old forest, 
 Find rest and peace for which I long. 
 The air, rich with perfume of pine 
 And balsam, is heavy laden. 
 The sluggish blood new life regains; 
 And to the weary soul there comes 
 A peace and calm, so sweet and blessed, 
 The joy of which, like the Gospel 
 Of God's dear Son, no one can know 
 Save those who taste its blessedness. 
 
 84 
 
TROUTING WITH A FLY. 
 
 A 
 
 slender rod, 
 A tiny fly, 
 
 A skillful hand, 
 
 And movement sly — 
 
 A splash — a strike, 
 
 A clicking reel. 
 
 The rod as though 
 
 Damascus steel. 
 
 Bends and springs — 
 
 He's firmly caught — 
 
 "Now give him line. 
 
 And hold him taut ! 
 
 What a beauty ! 
 
 See him spin ! 
 
 That landing net? 
 
 Now ! reel him in !" 
 Do you know what this means, do you? 
 If not, then let me assure you, 
 
 Casting a fly 
 
 For speckled trout 
 Affords the best and choicest fun. 
 That man from nature ever won. 
 
 35 
 
A TROUTING PICTUEE. 
 
 A FOREST, dense with spruce and pine, 
 
 A fisherman with pole and line: 
 And winding down between the hills 
 A mountain brook with laughing song 
 Hurries and rushes swift along 
 Fed now and tlien with trickling rills. 
 
 Up through the openings, here and there 
 The sky so bright and blue and fair 
 Delights the eye. How sweet the sight ! 
 Above, around, on every hand 
 
 The giant trees like sentinels stand. 
 Their arms all reaching up to light. 
 
 Along the bank, on either side. 
 Scattering perfumes far and wide 
 Bright forest flowers gleam on the sod, 
 While farther back along the hill. 
 The purple asters blooming still, — 
 And back of all, the golden-rod. 
 
 Here, in the balmy August days. 
 
 With sky undimmed by smoke or haze. 
 
 Wanders the fisherman at will. 
 
 And as he casts his wary fly 
 Upon the water, quick or sly. 
 His heart with life and joy doth thrill. 
 
 36 
 
TAKE DOWN THE ROD. 
 
 T^AKE down the rod, unreel the line. 
 
 Examine creel and hook, 
 For Summer days have come again, 
 
 And now for mountain brook ! 
 The winter's snow and ice are gone, 
 
 The fields are dressed in green; 
 And cowslips sweet and daffodils. 
 
 Along the banks are seen. 
 
 The young lambs in the pastures 
 
 Are playing round the sheep. 
 Once more upon the orchard slopes 
 
 The blossoms wake from sleep; 
 The fragrant air that sweeps the plain. 
 
 Is redolent of spring; 
 And in the woods and by the streams, 
 
 Robins and Blue-birds sing. 
 
 Come! leave awhile the toil and care 
 
 That vex and try the mind. 
 Take now the trusty rod and line. 
 
 And rest, in angling find. 
 The wary trout in pool and riff. 
 
 Are foraging for flies; 
 They wait the Angler's tempting cast — 
 
 They're ready now to rise. 
 
 37 
 
0! MYSTERY OF LIFE AND DEATH! 
 
 "Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt re- 
 turn."— Gen. 3 : 19. 
 
 "CEOM God and Mother Earth I came, 
 To live and breathe life\s little day, 
 God's vital breath — the living flame — 
 United with earth's cumbrous clay. 
 
 I lie upon my Mother's breast, 
 And thing of God and think of man: 
 Unceasingly I long for rest 
 E'en here within this little span. 
 
 I rise and tread my Mother's breast — 
 I rise to work for God and man ! 
 And thus alone I find my rest — 
 In serving God by serving man. 
 
 When laid beneath my Mother's breast 
 Within the earth from whence I came. 
 The cumbrous clay shall be at rest — 
 Myself with God — a living flame. 
 
 0, mystery of life and death ! 
 
 0, Mother earth ! 0, Father God ! 
 
 Am I not more than dust and breath? — 
 
 Immortal through th' Eternal Word! 
 
 38 
 
THE BOBOLINK. 
 
 T WALKED the street of the city, 
 
 The day was mild and fair, 
 'Twas early June, and a brightness 
 Filled heart and sky and air. 
 
 The street was dry and dusty 
 
 Without a shrub or a shade, 
 
 There was naught to remind of the country, 
 
 With its meadows and wood and glade. 
 
 But as I walked slowly onward. 
 Not thinking of what I heard. 
 There rippled from out an open door. 
 The thrilling song of a bird. 
 
 I stopped, ^twas the song of a Bobolink ! 
 And there, in the city street, 
 Methought I could smell the clover 
 And the breath of the meadows sweet. 
 
 song! so musical — so thrilling — 
 song ! so rippling sweet ! 
 How dear thou art Bobolink ! 
 Thy meadow song we greet. 
 
 39 
 
THE TROUT BROOKS ARE CALLING. 
 
 'T'HE Trout Brooks are calling, 
 
 Away, ! away ! 
 The blossoms are falling, 
 
 'Tis May, ! ^Tis May ! 
 The Wild Birds are singing, 
 
 "We're here, ! we're here !" 
 The forests are ringing 
 
 With gladness and cheer, 
 The Wild Flowers are blooming, 
 
 Along the cool brook, 
 The warm air perfuming 
 
 In each cozy nook. 
 The Sly trout are jumping 
 
 In eddy and pool, 
 (My old heart is thumping — 
 
 'Tis hard to keep cool ! ) 
 ! cast the fly lightly 
 
 By alder and brake. 
 And hold the rod tightly. 
 
 The "beauties" to take, 
 The Trout Brooks are calling, 
 
 ! heed them to-day I 
 Where blossoms are falling 
 
 Away, ! away ! 
 
 40 
 
A TROUTING SONG. 
 
 T^HE days they are growing: the west wind is 
 blowing. 
 The week will be fine, and the sport will be 
 sweet. 
 For to=morrow we're going where trout brooks are 
 flowing, 
 Then call us up early the sunrise to greet. 
 Our tackle is ready. We'll hold the rod steady 
 
 As we cast the deft fly on the foam covered pool : 
 For the trout they are jumping. "Don't you hear 
 my heart thumping ?" 
 For I've lured him and hooked him ; — 'Tis hard 
 to keep cool ! 
 
 Then hurrah for the mountain ! Hurrah for 
 the fountain ! 
 And hurrah for the Angler so happy and 
 free ! 
 His cares are behind him; the blues cannot 
 find him; 
 He's as joyous and gay as the bird on the 
 lea. 
 
 41 
 
The cool stream he's wading, his basket he's lading 
 With the bright speckled beauties from out the 
 deep pool. 
 Away with all sadness! His heart thrills with 
 gladness, 
 And he shouts like a boy who is just out of 
 school. 
 '^^Step lightly ! Be steady ! That foam covered eddy 
 
 Is the home of a beauty just ready to rise ! 
 Cast lightly a hackle ; — look out for your tackle ! 
 You've hooked him at last — a magnificent 
 prize !" 
 
 Then hurrah for the mountain etc. 
 
 The years they are going, like the stream that is 
 flowing ; 
 And soon they'll be gone, and the trout-rod laid 
 by. 
 So let us be merry, and let us be cheery. 
 
 And cast while we may the deft little fly ! 
 What joys have been ours, mid sunshine and 
 showers. 
 By lake and by stream in days that are past. 
 who could forget them ! who would regret 
 them ! 
 Those days — they shall live while memories last ! 
 Then hurrah for the mountain etc. 
 
 42 
 
A FISHERMAN^S SCALES. 
 
 'T^HERE came one day to a happy home, 
 
 The precious gift of a baby-boy; 
 And the mother's heart was full to the brim- 
 And overflowing — with mother joy. 
 
 They borrowed the scales of a fisherman, 
 (And though it "very fishy" sounds,) 
 
 When placed on the scales of the fisherman, 
 The dear baby weighed thirty-six pounds. 
 
 43 
 
THE ANGLER^S LONGING. 
 
 T'VE cast my hook for speckled trout, 
 
 Since childhood's sunny days 
 I've wandered up and down the land 
 
 In unfrequented ways; 
 I've fished in river, lake and stream, 
 
 With chub and worm and fly; 
 And now, that I'm growing old 
 
 'Tis hard to say '"good-by." 
 
 0, happy, happy days of youth, 
 
 And manhood's strength and prime; 
 They linger in my memory still. 
 
 Like some familiar rhyme. 
 Alone with nature I have had 
 
 Joys such as none can know 
 Save those who love the streams and woods 
 
 As nothing else below. 
 
 And now, before the message comes 
 
 To summon me away. 
 One final visit would I make 
 
 Where leap the trout to-day; 
 There lightly cast once more the fly 
 
 And see the beauties rise. 
 To gladden this old heart of mine 
 
 And kindle these old eyes. 
 
 44 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 TZAAK WALTON the famous author of the im- 
 mortal book ''The Compleat Angler' was born 
 at Stafford in August 1593. Though much of his 
 life was spent in London^ his body was buried 
 beneath the huge Cathedral at Winchester. This 
 vast Minster was completed and consecrated July 
 15, 1093. It is said to be the second largest 
 Church in Europe, being 556 feet in length. It is 
 of vast proportions. The great columns of its nave 
 are more than 100 feet feet in height. Beneath its 
 floor are the ashes of ancient kings and queens, 
 nobles and poets, and bishops, heroes and states- 
 men. 
 
 Upon a slab in the floor, surrounded by this il- 
 lustrious company of the great men and women 
 of England, the following inscription may be 
 found : 
 
 Here resteth the body of 
 
 Mr. Izaak Walton, 
 Who died the I5th of December, 1683. 
 
 Alas ! Hee's gone before. 
 Gone, to return noe more, 
 
 Our panting Breasts aspire 
 After their aged Sire, 
 
 Whose well-spent life did last 
 Full ninety Years, and past. 
 
 45 
 
But now he hath begun 
 That which will nere be done, 
 
 Crowned with eternal Blisse, 
 We wish our Souls with his. 
 
 Votis modestis sic ferunt liberi. 
 ("Thus with modest vows his children wept.") 
 
 Walton never claimed to be an expert ily fisher- 
 man: but during the last forty years of his life 
 his passion for the "gentle art" was the result of 
 his skill in the use of the live worm, the frog, and 
 the grasshopper. Had he lived in modern times he 
 no doubt would have been expert in the use of the 
 fly-rod. 
 
 The following recently discovered information 
 with regard to Izaak Walton is copied from a Lon- 
 don paper of date March 1920 : 
 
 "It was known that Izaak Walton died in Winchester 
 Close — the house of his son-in-law. Dr. Hawkins — but it 
 was not known till a recent discovery made by Canon 
 John Vaughan of Winchester Cathedral, which was Dr. 
 Hawkins' house. It was in this house that the famous 
 author of the "Compleat Angler" lived his last seven 
 years. There he made his will and there he died. He 
 was buried in the south transept of the Cathedral. 
 
 "At the time of his daughter's marriage," says Canon 
 Vaughan, in the Cornhill Magazine "Izaak Walton was 
 in his eighty-fourth year; but he had still some seven 
 years (1676 — 1683) to live, and we may think of him as 
 spending this closing time — 
 
 'Serene and bright, 
 
 And calm as is a Lapland night,' 
 
 with his daughter and Dr. Hawkins, partly in the house 
 
 46 
 
up Dome Alley in Winchester Close, and partly in the 
 old rectory at Droxford. 
 
 On August 9th, 1683, Izaak Walton began to make 
 his will, being, he says, "This present day in the nine- 
 tyeth year of my age, and in perfect memory, for which 
 praysed be God." The will was clearly made in the 
 Close, and not at Droxford, for he speaks of himself as 
 "I, Izaak Walton, the elder, of Winchester." 
 
 "In very affectionate terms does the old man mention 
 his 'sonne-in-law. Dr. Hawkins, whom,' he says, 'I love 
 as my owne sonn.' In addition to substantial property, 
 he leaves to him and to 'my daughter, his wife,' a num- 
 ber of little mementoes, including a ring each, with these 
 words — 'Love my memory. I. W. obiit — ' To Dr. Haw- 
 kins he also gives 'Dr. Donne's Sermons'." 
 
 "With regard to his burial he writes, *I desire my 
 buriall may be neare the place of my death and free 
 from any ostentation or charge, but privately'." 
 
 47