seller enjoined
silence upon me, but I did not heed the injunction, for I must, indeed,
have been a mere wooden effigy to hold my peace amid that picturesque
environment of hill, valley, wood, meadow, and arching sky of clear
blue.

It was fortunate for me that I had my "Noctes Ambrosianae" along, for
when I had exhausted my praise of the surrounding glories of nature, my
bookseller would not converse with me; so I opened my book and read to
him that famous passage between Kit North and the Ettrick Shepherd,
wherein the shepherd discourses boastfully of his prowess as a piscator
of sawmon.

As the sun approached midheaven and its heat became insupportable, I
raised my umbrella; to this sensible proceeding my bookseller
objected--in fact, there was hardly any reasonable suggestion I had to
make for beguiling the time that my bookseller did not protest against
it, and when finally I produced my "Newcastle Fisher's Garlands" from
my basket, and began to troll those spirited lines beginning

Away wi' carking care and gloom
That make life's pathway weedy O!
A cheerful glass makes flowers to bloom
And lightsome hours fly speedy O!

he gathered in his rod and tackle, and declared that it was no use
trying to catch fish while Bedlam ran riot.

As for me, I had a delightful time of it; I caught no fish, to be sure:
but what of that? I COULD have caught fish had I so desired, but, as I
have already intimated to you and as I have always maintained and
always shall, the mere catching of fish is the least of the many
enjoyments comprehended in the broad, gracious art of angling.

Even my bookseller was compelled to admit ultimately that I was a
worthy disciple of Walton, for when we had returned to the club house
and had partaken of our supper I regaled the company with many a
cheery tale and merry song which I had gathered from my books. Indeed,
before I returned to the city I was elected an honorary member of the
club by acclamation--not for the number of fish I had expiscated (for I
did not catch one), but for that mastery of the science of angling and
the literature and the traditions and the religion and the philosophy
thereof which, by the grace of the companionship of books, I had
achieved.

It is said that, with his feet over the fender, Macaulay could
discourse learnedly of French poetry, art, and philosophy. Yet he
never visited Paris that he did not experience the most exasperating
diffic