nd dull must be the heart of him that leaps not to their sound;
Merry from the stubble whirrs the partridge on her wing,
And blithely doth the hare from her shady cover spring;
But merrier than horn or hound, or stubble's rapid pride,
Is the sport that we court by the gentle river side.

Our art can tell the insect tribe that every month doth bring,
And with a curious wile we know to mock its gauzy wing;
We know what breeze will bid the trout through the curling waters leap,
And we can surely win him from shallow or from deep;
For every cunning fish can we a cunning bait provide,
In the sport that we court by the gentle river side.

Where may we find the music like the music of the stream?
What diamond like the glances of its ever-changing gleam?
What couch so soft as mossy banks, where through the noontide hours
Our dreamy heads are pillowed on a hundred simple flowers?
While through the crystal stream beneath we mark the fishes glide,
To the sport that we court by the gentle river side?

For as the lark with upland voice the early sun doth greet,
And the nightingale from shadowy boughs her vesper hymn repeat;
For as the pattering shower on the meadow doth descend,
And far as the flitting clouds with the sudden sunbeams blend;
All beauty, joy and harmony, from morn to eventide,
Bless the sport that we court by the gentle river side.

Well, here we are once more at the charming little village of
Shawbury. How often, both as a boy and a man, have I wandered by the
banks of the river Roden. What changes have taken place since my early
rambles! Long familiar forms, companions in my fishing expeditions,
have vanished; the mind fondly cherishes their memory, and recalls
past hours of cheerful intercourse. We will put up the horse and
carriage at the Elephant and Castle Inn and stroll away to the river.

Ah! here is a capital place. Now, Master Willy, there is no tree to
interfere with your throw, so cast in just near that spot, quietly,
carefully, anxiously; if there is a fish there he cannot resist your
green drake. I recommend him the artificial before the fat natural
fly. As Christopher North says--"Devouring ephemerals! Can you not
suffer the poor insects to sport out their day? They must be insipid
eating--but here are some savoury exceedingly ... they carry _sauce
piquante_ in their tails. Do try the taste of this bobber--but any of
the three you please." There, hold f