CONSOLATIONS

A happy heading for this chapter, as I thought, occurred to
me--"Spoiled days." But I retain something of a sense of the
ridiculous, and feared that the title might be capable of
misconstruction, for the amusing story rose to mind of the village
publican who had a spoiled day according to his own declaration. He
rode in a dismal mourning coach to his wife's funeral, accompanied by a
grown-up daughter, and she insisted upon having the window down. The
parent showing signs of uneasiness, the daughter ventured to hope that
he had no objection. "Oh! no," the bereaved husband replied, "keep it
down if you like, my gal, but you're quite spoiling my day."

My intention will, however, be clear, for every one of us must be
acquainted with angling brothers for whom everything seems to go wrong.
Nay, a pretty heavy percentage of even the very first rank have their
bad days, and believe in them with a species of fatalism that of course
helps on the result they dread. Endless are the angler's troubles if
he will but devote himself to developing them. The worst victim is the
man who does not take things patiently, who is ever turning the tap of
impetuosity on at the main, who begins the day with a rush, goes
through it in a flutter, and ends it in alternations of dejection and
rage.

What a charming man So-and-so is, but what a wet blanket he is to
himself and everybody from the common failing. The train is actually
moving, and, as usual, like a whirlwind, he is projected in by the
guard, panting and irritable. You know perfectly well how it has
happened; he got up too late, spluttered over the hot coffee, chivied
the cabman all the way, charged through the porters on the platform,
and here he is. Naturally he discovers that he left his waterproof in
the hansom; he searches in vain for his pipe; he fumes and frets, and
swears he is the most unfortunate wretch on earth. The song birds, the
flowers, the fields, the clear atmosphere touch him never a whit, and
the chances are that he continues through the livelong day as he began.
In running his line through at the waterside he will miss one or two
rings, and only find it out when the collar has been affixed. The
mistake remedied he essays a cast or two, and away goes half of his
rod; he neglected to tie the joints together, and attributes the mishap
to the tackle makers, who did not always provide patent ready-made
fasteners. These blunders, miscalled ill-