The old man was busy in examining the
maw of a trout which he had just killed, to discover by its
contents what insects were seasonable for bait, and was lecturing
on the subject to his companions, who appeared to listen with
infinite deference. I have a kind feeling towards all "brothers
of the angle" ever since I read Izaak Walton. They are men, he
affirms, of a "mild, sweet, and peaceable spirit;" and my esteem
for them has been increased since I met with an old Tretyse of
fishing with the Angle, in which are set forth many of the maxims
of their inoffensive fraternity. "Take good hede," sayeth this
honest little tretyse, "that in going about your disportes ye
open no man's gates but that ye shet them again. Also ye shall
not use this forsayd crafti disport for no covetousness to the
encreasing and sparing of your money only, but principally for
your solace, and to cause the helth of your body and specyally of
your soule."*
I thought that I could perceive in the veteran angler before me
an exemplification of what I had read; and there was a cheerful
contentedness in his looks that quite drew me towards him. I
could not but remark the gallant manner in which he stumped from
one part of the brook to another, waving his rod in the air to
keep the line from dragging on the ground or catching among the
bushes, and the adroitness with which he would throw his fly to
any particular place, sometimes skimming it lightly along a
little rapid, sometimes casting it into one of those dark holes
made by a twisted root or overhanging bank in which the large
trout are apt to lurk.
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