body, and fpecyally of your foule; for whenne ye purpoos to goo on your dysportes in fyffhynge, ye woll not defyre gretly manie perfones wyth you whyche myghte lette you of your game. And thenne you may ferue Godde deuowtly in fayenge affectuously youre cuftomable prayer, and thus doynge ye fhalle efchew and voyde many vices.”

In later times we find that the gentler fex were invited to share in the pleasures of angling, and Bellman thus fummons his Amaryllis to the sport :—

Waken, thou fair one! up, Amaryllis !

Morning so still is;

Cool is the gale:

The rainbow of heaven,
With its hues seven,

Brightness hath given

To wood and dale.

Sweet Amaryllis, let me convey thee;

In Neptune's arms nought shall affray thee;
Sleep's god no longer power has to stay thee,
Over thy eyes and speech to prevail.

Come out a-fishing; nets forth are carrying;
Come without tarrying,

Hasten with me.

Jerkin and vail in

Come for the sailing,

For trout and grayling:

Baits will lay we.

Awake, Amaryllis! dearest, awaken;

Let me not go forth by thee forsaken;

Our course among dolphins and sirens taken,

Onward shall paddle our boat to the sea.

John Donne, too, in in a manner not unworthy of "Kit Marlowe," has the pretty conceit :

Come, live with me and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove,
Of golden sands and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.

There will the river whispering run,
Warm'd by thine eyes more than the sun;
And there th' enamour'd fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds;
Or, curious traitors, sleave silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes:

For thee thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait;
That fish that is not catch'd thereby,
Alas! is wiser far than I.

There are fome modern anglers who affect to despise the good old rules and maxims of the gentle art laid down by Izaak Walton. The indefatigable Hone has preferved in his "Every Day Book" a letter from a correfpondent who met a successful angler on that beautiful stream in Derbyshire, the Dove, whose basket was filled with the trout which he had taken.

“'I asked him,' fays the writer, if he had read "Walton's Complete Angler." Yes, he had it, and turning to me with an air of immenfe importance, faid, If he was alive now, he could

not take a fingle fifh.' 'No,' I replied, how is that? He could take plenty in his day; and though I do not deny that there may have been great improvements in the art, yet skill then fuccessful would be equally fo now, unless there has been a revolution amongst the fish, and they have grown wifer.' Ay, there you have it,' he added; the fish are wiser, they won't take the same baits.' I inftinctively glanced at the bait then upon the hook of my oracle, and-heaven and earth! it was Walton's favourite bait, the drake fly."

Whatever may be the cause, the sport of angling does not now as a general rule yield fuch good and profitable returns as in old times. At the old Sluice House, in comparatively modern days, fome good fport was to be had; now the genius loci fings,

Ye who with rod and line aspire to catch
Leviathans that swim within the stream
Of this famed River, now no longer New,
Yet still so called, come to the Sluice House.
Here largest gudgeon live, and fattest roach
Resort, and even barbel have been found.
Here, too, does sometimes prey the rav'ning shark
Of streams like this, that is to say, a jack.

If fortune aid ye, ye perchance shall find,

Upon an average within one day,

At least a fish or two; if ye do not,

This will I promise ye, that ye shall have

Most glorious nibbles; come then, haste ye here,

And with ye bring large stocks of baits and-patience.