iously passed a life of
study and preparation, and that he merely gave the honey to the world
which he had hived in his youth, bringing to the task a mind polished and
matured by judgment and experience. But, generally speaking, we rather
expect reason than rhyme from an elderly gentleman; and when the reverse
is the case, the pursuit fits them as ridiculously as would a humming-top
or a hoop. Yet there are many who, having passed a life in the sole
occupation of making money--the most unpoetical of all avocations--that
in their retirement entertain themselves with such fantastic pranks and
antics, as only serve to amuse the lookers-on. A retired tradesman, it
is true, may chase ennui and the 'taedium vitae,' by digging and planting
in his kitchen-garden, or try his hand at rearing tulips and hyacinths;
but if he vainly attempt any other art, or dabble in light literature or
heavy philosophy, he is lost. Old Foozle was one of those who, having
accumulated wealth, retire with their housekeepers to spend the remnant
of their days in some suburban retreat, the monotony of whose life is
varied by monthly trips to town to bring tea and grocery, or purchase
some infallible remedy for their own gout, or their housekeeper's
rheumatism. Unfortunately for his peace, Old Foozle accidentally dipped
into a tattered tome of "Walton's Complete Angler;" and the vivid
description of piscatorial pleasures therein set forth so won upon his
mind, that he forthwith resolved to taste them. In vain were the
remonstrances of his nurse, friend, and factotum. The experiment must be
tried. Having more money than wit to spare, he presently supplied
himself with reels and rods and tackle, landing-nets and gentle-boxes,
and all the other necessary paraphernalia of the art.

Donning his best wig and spectacles, he sallied forth, defended from the
weather by a short Spencer buttoned round his loins, and a pair of
double-soled shoes and short gaiters. So eager was he to commence, that
he no sooner espied a piece of water, than, with trembling hands, he put
his rod together, and displayed his nets, laying his basket, gaping for
the finny prey, on the margin of the placid waters. With eager gaze he
watched his newly-varnished and many-coloured float, expecting
every-moment to behold it sink, the inviting bait being prepared
'secundum artem.' He had certainly time for reflection, for his float
had been cast at least an hour, and still remained s