Grave was his face, but oft time
No fun his features lacked,
His social glass he dearly loved,

And pleasant jokes he cracked ;
He had the fashion, every year,
Of going to the brook,

With rod in hand, and creel on back,
To get a farewell look.

THE LAMENT,

Swift stream, if e'er thy limpid flow,
Should meet the man I prize,
The angler tell there's tears of woe,
Just flown from Damon's eyes.

And thou, O zephyr, quickly fly,
And lull his soul to rest;
The angler tell thou art a sigh,

Just flown from Damon's breast.

If tears to soothe him nought avail,
Nor sigh can singly move,

Then, both united, tell the tale,

Of hapless Damon's love.

R. G.

THE INVITATION.

The rising sun, with ruddy locks,
Is smiling o'er the sky,

And brightly shine the silvery clouds

With fringe of golden dye;
The lark, among their airy folds,
Is singing shrill and deep,
And with his melting melady,
Has lulled the wind asleep;
While linnets in the dewy bush,
That woos the morning beams,
All lightly sit, as seeming lothe
To break the pearly gems.

Then come, my youthful angler, come,

And put your rod in plight, The wind is fair, the water prime,

All beckon to delight.

With lightsome step and buoyant air,

(Ne'er heed your mighty dream), Come, throw our feath'ry flies upon The pure and rippling stream. Pleasures rare await us there,

We cannot-cannot name;

The birds invite us from the trees,
Come, let us learn of them.

MR. BARKER'S DIRECTIONS FOR FLY

FISHING.

A brother of the angle must always be sped,
With three black Palmers, and also two red,
And all made with Hackles, in a cloudy day,
Or in windy weather, angle you may.

But morning and evening, if the day be bright,
And the chief point is to keep out of sight.
In the month of May, none but the May-fly,
For every month one, is a pitiful lie.

The black hawthorn-fly must be very small,
And the sandy hog's-hair is sure, best of all;
For the mallard wing May-fly and Peacock's train,
Will look like the Flesh-fly to kill trout amain.

The Oak fly is good, if it have a brown wing;
So is the Grasshopper that in July doth sing:
With a green body make him on a middle-sized
hook,

But when you have caught Fish, then play the good Cook.

Once more, my good brother, I'll speak in thy ear; Hogs, red Cows, and Bear's wool, to float Fest

appear;

And so doth your Fur, if rightly it fall

But always remember, make two, and make all.

CANADIAN ANGLING SONG.

The northern lights are flashing,

On the rapid's restless flow; And o'er the light wave dashing, Swift darts the light canoe. The merry anglers come,

"What cheer-what cheer—
We've salmon here."

Hurrah, you're welcome home."

The blythesome horn is sounding,
And the angler's loud halloo,
And joyous steps are bounding
To meet the brisk canoe.
"Hurrah-the angler's come,"
And the dells ring out
To their merry shout,

As they drag the salmon home.

The hearth is brightly burning,
The rustic board is spread;

To greet the sire returning,
The children leave the bed.

With laugh and shout they come―
That merry band

To grasp his hand,

And bid him welcome home.

ANGLING.

When I desire to muse alone
On present things, or things bygone,
When fancy soars on pinion high,
And can an unreal world descry;
To dream, and walk by river's brink,
To argue, ponder, or to think,

For such joys and mental treasures,
Nought so sweet as angling pleasures.
When I desire to move alone,
To brace the mind aud give it tone,
To draw it from its toils and care,
From sorrow sad, or deep despair,
To fix it on those aspects bright
On which its movements shed a light;
Then we recognise the treasures,
Nought so sweet as angling pleasures.

SPRING.

Come, let us laugh, let us angle and sing,

The winter is gone, and here is the Spring;

We care not a feather

For wind nor for weather,

By night and by day,

We'll fish and we'll play,
Comparing our flies together.

S. S.