University of Virginia Library

ANGLING.

BY I. M'LELLAN.

BRYANT.

`There is no life so pleasant as the life of a well
governed angler,' exclaimed that experienced prince of
fishermen, old Izaak Walton. `The merchant may be
deprived of his merchandise, and the project of the
political calculator may be thwarted, and the endeavours
of the poor scholar baffled; but the happiness of the
fisher shall be perfect so long as there is plunder in the
standing pool or in the running brook.'

I delight exceedingly, in imagination, to accompany
that gentle old man abroad in his various rambles, and
listen to the enthusiastic panegyrics he is perpetually
bestowing upon the cunning art to which he was wedded;
and am most charmed with his fervor, when, after the
heat and dust of a midsummer day, he sits at the
threshold of the little inn he loved to frequent with his
gossips, and recounts the victories of his rod, while he
enjoys his smoking tankard of `nut brown ale,' with its
inseparable `burnt toast and roasted crab apple.'

He has drawn so delicious a picture of the contentment
and quietness of rural life, of the holy and subduing
influence which the contemplation of beautiful scenes
and quiet pursuits exercise upon the mind, that one is
tempted to renounce the ordinary bustle and business of
men, and assume the garb and the implements and the
demeanour of an angler.

I have not unfrequently, when under the spell of
this gray headed wizard, been lured away into the
wilderness,

Rejoicing to yield myself up entirely to the mysterious
and sombre influence of the place, sometimes reclined
upon a knoll of the yellow moss, I have contemplated
for hours the wonderful beauty and perfection of the
heavens above, and the profound repose and harmony
of the earth around, regarding with delight each individual
feature in the landscape. There is a sensation
of awe experienced in beholding the magnificent and
eternal rock, fissured and weather stained, presenting a
myriad of fantastic shapes, the broken precipice, the
slender pinnacle, and the shattered fragment, and a
thrill of pleasure, in tracing the gloomy and silent glen,
wandering up into the very heart of the hills far beyond
the stretch of the bewildered vision. It is also refreshing
to the eye to penetrate the mysterious depths of the
flood, and observe the motions of its innumerable tenants.
In some places the water lies as clear and transparent
as the noonday atmosphere, so that even the minute
pebbles and shells and sand drifts are disclosed; and in
other places, where the surface is somewhat obscured by
the shadows of the trees, the element rather resembles
the uncertain gloom of the autumnal twilight.

Thus my enthusiastic love for old Walton remained
unabated so long as I was content to feast upon his
`Ancient Treatise,' and bury myself among those pastoral
haunts which he had first taught me to admire;
but at length even these objects began to lose somewhat

of their interest, and I resolved to equip myself with all
that formidable apparatus so indispensable to the art, and
declare myself a sworn `brother of the rod.' Accordingly
the wicker basket, the tapering rod and line, and
cunning tackle were provided, and I opened my aquatic
campaign; not, however, without bearing about me, as
prime counsellor of the cabinet, my illuminated copy of
Walton, and consulting it carefully before venturing any
decisive movement. The day I had selected for my
expedition was precisely one of those quiet, temperate,
and somewhat clouded seasons, half shade, half shine,
which old Walton would not have exchanged for riches;
no, `not for much fine gold.' There was a little obscurity
in the atmosphere, that rendered gloomier the hollow
places underneath the banks where the trout are accustomed
to lurk; and at such times they are known to take
the bait most eagerly, because the gloom of the water
renders them less wary, less liable to detect the shadow
of the sportsman and the cheat of the fly bait. There
was a lazy motion in the southern wind, barely sufficient
to crisp the surface, without violently agitating the tranquility
of the water. Speaking of the wind, old Izaak
very curiously and quaintly remarks, that

I commenced my career by searching one of those
sluggish currents, whose perpetual drowsy murmur exercised,
oftentimes, a wonderfully narcotic influence upon
the senses even of the keen, determined Father of the
Rod himself. In places where its surface lay exposed
to the day, you might look down into its transparent
depths, and be almost persuaded that the reflected image
of the bird or the insect above it, is really a winged
tenant of the stream, so perfectly is every color that lies
on its wing reflected from the transparent mirror. How

delightful is the illusion that presents to the eye countless
images of the inhabitants of the air, apparently living
and sporting with the creatures of another element.
There is a surpassing beauty in such a scene, that
reminds one of those wonderful regions of fairy land, in
the tales of Eastern enchantment.

I secreted myself in an obscure, cunning little thicket,
at the rivulet side, and patiently awaited that happy
moment, when freak, or appetite should seduce some
devoted rover to my angle; but in vain. Not even a
knot of yellow and red liveried perch, whom I at first
contemned as prey too ignoble for my rod, appeared to
regard me with any degree of interest. The loitering
knaves even affected to despise my craftily fashioned
fly, the identical species of bait recommended by the
illustrious Walton himself, and represented by him as
absolutely irresistible to any honest fish. However, a
dastardly fear, I suspect, occasioned this unnatural indifference,
for I detected sundry wistful glances cast
by some of them at my deceitful fly, which incontestably
betrayed their inclination, though their timidity
prevented its gratification. It is now with shame and
confusion that I must confess my utter want of success;
for the perpetual drip, drip, dripping of the current completely
overpowered my senses, and the rod gradually
slid away from my relaxing grasp, and the sound of the
water course became fainter and yet fainter in my ear,
and the perception of surrounding objects more indistinct,
and at last I was completely wandering and lost
in `the Land of Dreams.'

And such is the history of my angling experience.
It is a very delightful thing to search the brook, and
capture the monarch of the stream, in your meditations
over that bewitching `Treatise' of the simple hearted
Izaak Walton. But, in good truth, it is a most

wearying and fruitless pastime; it is searching in vain
for `dainty trout' in our ill-stocked waters, to the total
discomfiture of one's equanimity, and the lamentable
ruin of expensive apparatus.