spots which a poet or painter would have chosen for the exercise of his art. My old friend would travel miles to one of these favourite places; and there was scarcely a stream or brooklet, far and near, by which he had not stood and mused. There were the broad meadow waters, the deep and narrow forest stream, the rivulet of the hills, the clear gushing brook, and the troubled fall; by all these he had, winter and summer, passed hour after hour, intensely occupied with his sport and unrestrained speculations. When he had arrived at one of these places, and fairly begun his operations, his countenance gradually assumed an expression of the most perfect tranquillity, and he would begin to talk of his experience and the pleasure of the pursuit, till he brought all the fairest branches of art and knowledge to bear the subupon ject. He would first number the wonderful properties of the element which afforded him such delight; wander from the banks of the river, over which he was leaning, to the mighty floods that traverse distant regions,-to the haunted streams of northern glens, or to those which are renowned in story for some great and noble enterprise. He would thence take occasion to narrate some of the many curious facts that were stored up in his me mory; adduce, with a serious and devout air, passages from holy writ, in illustration of his remarks, and moralize with such a serene and benevolent tone of voice, that his discourse was like that music of philosophy of which Milton speaks. I always looked forward to a day's excursion with this, my old and kind instructor, with the highest pleasure; and, as I was somewhat of a favourite, I had frequent opportunities of accompanying him in his rambles. It occurred, however, sometimes, that he determined on going to some distant part of the neighbourhood, and he then made especial arrangements for the excursion, which was generally deferred till the weather should be particularly propitious. The last time I enjoyed with him his favourite pursuit, was on an occasion of this kind. It was in the early part of the autumn, and we had been waiting some days for an encouraging morning. One at length arrived, and we set off before the earliest bird had begun its song. After having left the village, our path lay along the banks of the stream, which we had to follow for some miles, before we could gain the desired spot. The heavy mists of an autumn night were just beginning to be agitated by the stir of awakening day, and their thick masses were coloured here and there with gleams of changing light. As the darkness rolled away, and the quiet yellow-tinted woods, towards which we were journeying, became visible, first one and then another bird twittered a few low notes; and these, with the whisperings of the stream, the sigh of the gale among the old gray willows, and the uncertain murmur of the distant echoes, were well in harmony with the pleasant mystery of the pensive half-veiled landscape. Many were the musings of my old friend as we picked our path through the long dewy grass; and, whether or no it was but imagination, I know not, but I thought he seemed more desirous than I had ever yet found him, though his reflections had often had that tendency, of finding resemblances between seen and unseen things, and seizing on the sweet voices and revealings of nature as illustrations of the knowledge he had gained from a clearer source. We at length arrived at our destination, and, after all due ceremony and preparation, set ourselves down by the side of as clear a brook, and under the sylvan shade of as green a canopy, as could be found in this fair land of landscape. It is almost impossible to watch the silent flow of water for any length of time, without feeling the thoughts steal away into the far future; and when they catch a hue of beauty from surrounding objects, and the mind is at ease, there is no situation perhaps more soothing. Our reflections of course had the different character of youth and age. Mine rested in the fairy world of untried humanity: his were borne beyond the confines of time, and blending the experiences of a long life with the elevated and solemn joy that attends the consciousness of its close. Hour after hour had passed away in this manner, and the deep hush of noon had lulled our little solitary covert into repose. My companion was still sunk in reverie; but, as it was our usual time for repast, I rose to unpack our wallet under the shade. As soon as I had done this, I returned to rouse him, but received no answer to my summons; I called again, and a low sigh made me conclude the heat had overpowered him with drowsiness. At this moment, however, his head sank heavily on his breast, and the angle, which I had never before seen loosened in his hand, dipped low in the stream. The gentle spirit of my old friend had passed away, and Death, the mighty fisher of men, held him, unresisting, in his grasp. H. S. WALTONIAN REMINISCENCES. "Blest silent groves, oh may you be For ever Mirth's best nursery! May pure contents For ever pitch their tents Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains, Which, we may every year Meet when we come a-fishing here." Sir H. Wotton. SCENE I.--The River Itchen, below Winchester. PISCATOR, SOCIUS, and TYRO. Piscator, (soliloquizing). The world may say what they will of an Angler's life-your men of fashion may laugh at it-your men of business may effect to despise it but, for quiet recreation and innocent enjoyment, its parallel is not to be found on earth. O what a pleasant sight it is to view the young fry playing in the silver stream! how sweet to hear the sedges rustling in the breeze, and to listen to the gurgling music of the waters! The rippling current and the placid lake have at all times their peculiar |