because there is nothing to do, nothing to occupy their minds, nothing to save them from ennui after the novelty wears off. The busy, active man can secure rest only by diverting the muscular and nervous energies in new and unaccustomed channels. This may be accomplished, in a measure, by cards, chess, music, reading, etc., as purely intellectual recreations; while riding, driving, boating, yacthing, archery, shooting, etc., furnish ample means for muscular skill and exercise; but angling brings into play both the mental and physical capacities. To be a good angler requires good judgment, much patience, rare skill, a full share of endurance, and a lively imagination; the latter quality is not absolutely essential, but it helps mightily when "luck" is bad, and on it depends the æsthetic and poetical features of the art.

But the persons who are disposed to "take time" to indulge in these or similar recreations, in our country, are quite limited. In England, it is considered part of a gentleman's education to know how to ride, to row, to shoot, to sail, and to cast a fly, and he is the better for it, morally, physically, and intellectually. In our own country it is too often considered "a waste of time" to acquire or practice these manly and healthful accomplishments. Our girls may learn music, and dancing, and painting, as means and acquirements necessary to the securing of a husband, but any attempt on the part of our boys to learn any of the manly sports, in a regular and systematic way, must be frowned down as opposed to all our ideas of thrift and economy, and a gross misuse of "time." What we need is more muscular Christianity; we would then have sounder minds in sounder bodies.

A few weeks taken from the fifty-two composing the

year, and devoted to angling, shooting, boating, or "camping out," would not be missed in the long run from the business man's calender, but, on the contrary, would return an interest, which, though it could not be computed by any rate of per centage, would be sensibly felt and realized in a clearer brain, a stronger body, and a better aptitude for business. The clergyman would acquire broader views of humanity, and preach better sermons. The physician would better appreciate, and oftener prescribe, Nature's great remedies, air, sunshine, exercise, and temperance. The lawyer's conscience would be enlarged, and his fees possibly contracted. The poet's imagination would be more vivid; the artist's skill more pronounced. Nerve would keep pace with muscle, and brawn with brain.

I have purposely avoided any allusion to the Gipsy blood inherent in our veins, or the savage traits yet manifest in our flesh, and their liability to crop out, as evidenced in our love for Nature and Nature's arts. I do not look at it in that light. I claim that the more enlightened and civilized a nation becomes, the more it is interested in the works of Nature and her laws; that the more progress we make in the arts and sciences, and all the achievements of a high state of civilization, and the more artificial and advanced we become in our ideas of living— the more readily we turn for rest and enjoyment, for recreation and real pleasure, to the simplicity of Nature's

resources

"Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her."

Angling is an art, and it is not beneath the dignity of any one to engage in it, as a recreation. It is hallowed by "Meek Walton's heavenly memory," and has been

practiced and commended by some of the best and truest and wisest men that ever lived; for, as Father Izaak says: "It is an art, and an art worthy the knowledge and practice of a wise man." Did the art of angling require an apologist, I could here produce evidence, in precept and example, of good and wise men of all ages, from the days of the Fishers of Galilee down to the present time, upholding and commending the moral tendencies and the healthful influences of the art of angling, and its virtue of making men better physically, intellectually, and spiritually.

"O, sir, doubt not but that angling is an art," says Piscator to Venator, "is it not an art to deceive a Trout with an artificial fly? A Trout that is more sharp-sighted than any hawk you have named, and more watchful and timorous than your high-mettled merlin is bold?"

Is it not an art to glide stealthily and softly along the bank of a stream to just where the wary Bass or timid Trout is watching and waiting, ever on the alert for the slightest movement, and keenly alive to each passing shadow; to approach him unawares; to cast the feathery imitation of an insect lightly and naturally upon the surface of the water, without a suspicious splash, and without disclosing to his observant eyes the shadow of the rod or line; to strike the hook into his jaws the instant he unsuspectingly takes the clever ruse into his mouth; to play him, and subdue him, and land him successfully and artistically with a willowy rod and silken line that would not sustain half his weight out of the water? Is not this an art? Let the doubter try it.

"Doubt not, therefore, sir, but that angling is an art," says Walton, "and an art worth your learning. The

question is, rather, whether you be capable of learning it ?"

Exactly so, Father Izaak; the question is, not merely "to be or not to be," but whether one is " capable" of learning it; for though any one may become a bait-fisher, it is not every one that can learn the fly-fisher's art; for, continues Walton, "he that hopes to be a good angler, must not only bring an inquiring, searching, observing wit, but he must bring a large measure of hope and patience, and a love and propensity to the art itself; but having once got and practiced it, then doubt not but angling will prove to be so pleasant, that it will prove to be, like virtue, a reward to itself."

CHAPTER XIX.

CONDITIONS WHICH GOVERN THE BITING OF FISH.

"So I have observed, that if it be a cloudy day, and not extreme cold, let the wind sit in what quarter it will, and do its worst, I heed it not.”—IZAAK WALTON.

To seek to know all the conditions, positive and hypothetical, qualifying and exceptional, which govern the "biting" of fish, is about as vain and discouraging a pursuit as the search for the philosopher's stone.

To know, positively, before leaving one's office, countinghouse, or workshop for a day's outing, that it is the day of all others of the season, and that the phase of the moon, the conditions of sky and atmosphere, the direction and force of the wind, and the temperature and condition of the water are just right to insure success, and to know just what bait or fly to use, and in what portion of the stream to fish, under these conditions; implies a state of knowledge that can never be attained by ordinary mortals; and though we are created, "little lower than the angels," it involves a pursuit of knowledge under such extreme difficulties, that even prescience and omniscience are but ciphers in the total sum, for it leaves out the most important factor in the calculation-the fish itself.

Yet it is in just this hope of reducing the matter to the certainty of a mathematical proposition, that some anglers are continually puzzling their own brains, and taxing the patience of their angling friends.