THE FISHER'S CALL.

"The moor-cock is crowing o'er mountain and fell,
And the sun drinks the dew from the blue heather-bell;
Her song of the morning the lark sings on high,
And hark, 'tis the milk-maid a-carolling by.

Then up, fishers, up! to the waters away!

Where the bright trout is leaping in search of his prey.

"O what can the joys of the angler excel,

As he follows the stream in its course through the dell! Where ev'ry wild flower is blooming in pride,

And the blackbird sings sweet, with his mate by his side. Then up, fishers, up! to the waters away!

Where the bright trout is leaping in search of his prey.

""Tis pleasant to walk at the first blush of morn,
In Spring when the blossom is white on the thorn,
By the clear mountain stream that rolls sparkling and free,
O'er crag and through vale, its glad course to the sea.
Then up, fishers, up! to the waters away!

Where the bright trout is leaping in search of his prey.

"In the pools deep and still, where the yellow trouts lie,
Like the fall of a rose-leaf we'll throw the light fly;
Where the waters flow gently, or rapidly foam,
We'll load well our creels and hie merrily home.
Then up, fishers, up! to the waters away!
Where the bright trout is leaping in search of his prey."

Quakers. During the honey-moon it
would be indeed cruel to disturb
what cannot, without some violence
done to language, be called a tête-à-
tête, nor yet a dos-à-dos; but no
angler ever does so, and walking
rodless along the banks, delights to
hear the Naiads singing their hyme-
neal. The silent people of the flood
are gregarious-they can hardly help
being so-but not social-they are
strangers to sympathy-to them the
sensibilities of the heart are unknown
-and never were they seen to shed
a tear. Look down into a lucid pool
on a hot day, and there they lie, of
all sizes, panting with open mouths
and gills, but taking no notice of one
another; so that you may drop a
noose over the heads of ever so many
in succession, and the seely things
never miss the scales that a moment
before were sparkling by their side.
Far be it from us to blame them for
their apathy-such is their nature-
but we not only blame you, but are
tempted to break your head, for bo-
thering us with your preachments
about cruelty, when you might per-
haps be more useful, and certainly
much safer at home, at a blanket-
hunt. Stephen Oliver is severe on
Byron, and a lackadaisical anony-
mous commentator on his lordship,
for some silly lines in Don Juan
abusive of old Izaak. Hear Words-
worth on Walton:-

lightful art of angling. When I think
of his description, in the Excursion,
of the trouts which a boy has caught,
laid on a blue slate stone, I almost
fancy that I see them in reality, as I
have seen them so often. The colours
of a newly-caught trout are never
seen to such advantage as when the
fish is displayed on a smooth wet
Cooper, the next time he
slate.
paints trout, may take a hint from
Wordsworth."

Do you remember the passage? It occurs near the close of the eighth book of the Excursion. The Poet, the Recluse, and the Pedlar, after their mountain-walk, accompany the Rector in the afternoon to his mansion,

"a reverend pile, With bold projections and recesses deep; Shadowy, yet gay and lightsome as it stood

Fronting the noon-tide sun."

They are met first by the rector's daughter

"Light as the silver fawn, a radiant girl;

and entering, they behold her mother,

"He gazed with admiration unsuppressed
Upon the landscape of the sun-bright vale,
Seen, from the shady room in which we sate,
In softened perspective; and more than once
Praised the consummate harmony serene
Of gravity and elegance-diffused
Around the Mansion and its whole domain ;
Not, doubtless, without help of female taste
And female care. A blessed lot is yours!'
He said, and with that exclamation breathed
A tender sigh ;-but, suddenly the door
Opening, with eager haste two lusty Boys
Appeared, confusion checking their delight.
-Not Brothers they in feature or attire,

But fond companions, so I guessed, in field,
And by the river-side-from which they come,
A pair of Anglers, laden with their spoil.
One bears a willow-pannier on his back,
The Boy of plainer garb, and more abashed
In countenance,-more distant and retired.
Twin might the Other be to that fair Girl
Who bounded tow'rds us from the garden mount.
Triumphant entry this to him!-for see,

Between his hands he holds a smooth blue stone,
On whose capacious surface is outspread
Large store of gleaming crimson-spotted trouts ;
Ranged side by side, in regular ascent,
One after one, still lessening by degrees
Up to the dwarf that tops the pinnacle.
Upon the Board he lays the sky-blue stone

With its rich spoil;-their numbers he proclaims;
Tells from what pool the noblest had been dragged;
And where the very monarch of the brook,
After long struggle, had escaped at last―
Stealing alternately at them and us

(As doth his Comrade too) a look of pride.
And, verily, the silent Creatures made
A splendid sight, together thus exposed;
Dead-but not sullied or deformed by death,
That seemed to pity what he could not spare.

"But oh! the animation in the mien
Of those two Boys! Yea in the very words
With which the young Narrator was inspired,
When, as our questions led, he told at large
Of that day's prowess! Him might I compare,
His looks, tones, gestures, eager eloquence,
To a bold Brook which splits for better speed,
And, at the self-same moment, works its way
Through many channels, ever and anon
Parted and reunited; his Compeer

To the still Lake, whose stillness is to the eye
As beautiful, as grateful to the mind.
-But to what object shall the lovely Girl
Be likened? She whose countenance and air
Unite the graceful qualities of both,

Even as she shares the pride and joy of both?

"My grey-haired Friend was moved; his vivid eye
Glistened with tenderness; his mind, I knew,
Was full; and had, I doubted not, returned,
Upon this impulse, to the theme-erewhile
Abruptly broken off. The ruddy Boys

Did not withdraw to take their well-earned meal;
And He-(to whom all tongues resigned their rights
With willingness, to whom the general ear

Listened with readier patience than to strain

Of music, lute or harp,-a long delight

That ceased not when his voice had ceased)-as one
Who from truth's central point serenely views
The compass of his argument,-began
Mildly, and with a clear and steady tone."

Strange how a man of Mr Jeffrey's fine feelings and faculties should have laughed-publicly-at that very picture as something childish, and beneath the dignity of poetry! In

itself the picture is perfectly beautiful; but they alone who know the whole poem can feel the pathos of the sympathizing contemplation of such happiness by the poor Recluse.

If the distemper in his heart and brain could have been cured by any sight on this earth, here he would have been made whole. Cured it could not be but like a current of air and light passing through a dim

which are in the immediate neighbour hood, are all good trout streams, and seldom fail to afford the angler who is skilful in his art, excellent sport. That no one, however, may give himself unnecessary trouble, the regular water-thrasher is respectfully warned off, as his active

trouts in those streams are not to be had by knocking them on the head with a codhook, feathered like an arrow to give greater certainty to the blow. If an an

gler of this stamp is, notwithstanding,

and vapoury place, a pure delight labours will be only thrown away. The breathed itself through his unresisting spirit-so pure and so sweet that it awakened no painful remembrances-no desponding anticipations-but possessing him wholly with the present, made him for the time almost as happy a man as the friends around him though he knew that their happiness was enduring-his but a soon-departing dream!

"Gleanings in Glendale" are as good as a Day in Coquetdale. It always gives us pleasure to hear of a Christian having been pursued by a bull. Such we feel to be the chief charm of the following extract. A painter on a portable three-legged stool is more than that animal can stand. A mineralogist is a monster he can on no account tolerate. A poet he may let pass-but not if he be in recitation, and belong to the Lake school. Then he is furious with him, as at sight of an old woman in a red cloak. Do you trust to intimidate him by your eye? Then must you indeed have a squint. Instantly-at the first low growl-don't wait till you see him tearing up the turf with his hoof, and aloft in the sky the tuft of his tail-fly. Recollect a quagmireand into it should you sink to the chin. Or "Opossum up a gum tree." Oh! Heaven pity you if you take to the plain!

determined on fishing, let him amuse himself in bobbing for eels at the mill-tail above Wooler Bridge, where his labour will be less, and his reward greater.

"A visit to Chillingham Castle, to see the wild cattle, ought not to be omitted when in the neighbourhood, as the distance from Wooler is only six miles. It is unnecessary to describe the form of those beautiful animals here, for a single glance at Bewick's admirable engraving of the Chillingham bull will give a more perfect idea of it than a dozen pages of dull description. Though they are generally shy, and retreat on the appearance of strangers, running off to a considerable distance, and then facing suddenly about, yet they ought never to be approached but in company with the keeper, otherwise the curious observer may happen to be put in great bodily fear, even though he should escape without bodily harm. Mr

an active member of the Wernerian Society of Natural History, nearly fell a martyr to his love of science in September last. He had advanced near the herd for

the purpose of making some particular observations, when a gruff, grisly-footed, sharp-horned bull, offended at the intrusion, turned upon the inquisitive naturalist, and coursed him over the park in gallant style,' as they say at Melton-Mowbray, and was gaining ground, when the chase ran to earth in a conduit adjoining the Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit park wall. It may be as well to add here, ungula campum !"

by way of a caution, that the ford over the Till above Chatton is at all times not

Pursued by thunder, lightning, very good, and when the water is high, and an earthquake! Tost! tost! tost!

"Should matrimonial, or any other business or pleasure lead the angler,

In spring's sweet prime, or summer weather,' to the neighbourhood of Wooler, which, as a certain legal luminary well knows, is on the direct road to Coldstream, let him by all means, if not too much hurried, stay a few days at the Tankerville Arms; one of the best inns, with the best of landlords, in the north of England. The Till, the Glen, and Wooler Burn,

dangerous; therefore no jolly anglers,' when they

Have dined off a haunch, and drank deep of old wine,'

should attempt it, unless they are prepared for either fate :-to land safe, at the expense of merely a good ducking; or to be fished up in a salmon net, somewhere about Tillmouth, a fortnight after. The dangerous character of the Till as a 'deadly water,' is expressed in the following old lines, which every gentleman should call to mind before he puts his horse to the ford in a flood:

Tweed says to Till,

• What gars ye rin sae still?'

Sae still as I rin, and sae fast as ye gae, Where ye drown ae man, I drown twae.'

"Should the angler be fond of antiquarian researches, let him, some clear sunshiny day, when the fish will not bite, ascend the curious hill near Wooler, called the Yevering Bell, and make his own observations on the ancient remains still existing on its summit, and form his own conjectures as to their former design, and the people by whom they were erected. When fishing up Wooler Burn, it will also be worth his while to walk across the country from Langley ford to the Druidical remains a few miles west of

Ilderton.

"Glendale is a part of the country to which I am exceedingly partial, and where I delight to spend a week or two in the summer season. Here have I often arose to follow the windings of the stream, cre the sun's morning rays had dispersed the mist which hung round the brow of Cheviot, and often lingered at eve till his last beams had ceased to gild its top, walking

homeward in solitude,

all. The nostrils of fish are in general large, and we suspect their sense of smell is acute. Dumeril, indeed, thinks, that from the structure of the nostril, fishes cannot smell at all, and that their nostrils perform a function similar to tastejust, by the by, as ours do-for as Thomson speaks of " tasting the smell of dairy," so may any body who chooses speak of smelling the taste of haggis." But we hold with Professor Rennie in his Alphabet of Scientific Angling, (which do not borrow but buy,) that Dumeril's supposition is gratuitous and improbable-if he mean that fishes bona fide taste with their noses-in which case, to act with any moderate degree of consistency-they assuredly should squeak (squeak they sometimes do) through their ears, and hear with their mouths. Be that as it may, we are inclined to believe that fishes may be attracted to dinner by the scent of the dishes, as we have seen them in a pond come

When night had wrapt the world in spectred wambling along to that meal at the

gloom,

And silence listened to the beetle's horn.'

Many a pleasant hour have I passed in this neighbourhood, winding up the amusements of the day with a friendly crack' over a bottle of wine or a tumbler of toddy, with a few brethren of the angle at the Cottage' at night."

A lively scene follows in the "parlour of the Tankerville Arms looking into the garden-present, Mr WILLIAM REED and Mr RICHARD RODDAM, Northumbrians, and S. O. Waiter clearing away and preparing to draw the window curtains." The conversation is exceedingly animated -and we only miss the Rev. Mr Todburn, who pleased by instructing us in much gentle lore in the first chapter-" a Day in Coquetdale." Will Reed is a fellow of fun and fancy, and makes a remark we do not remember to have heard made before, though it is so natural and just that it must meet ready-made conviction in the mind of every man. Anglers should never have long noses-they are liable to get a dip in the cold water when their owners are looking for cad-bait."

The party then discuss the subject of "scents," and we agree with them in thinking, that if a man cannot catch fish without using scent, he will never catch them at

sound of a bell. But we never tried to ensnare them by "a pleasing titillation of their olfactory nerves." Stephen thinks it likely that fish are partial to certain scents, but is sceptical of their use in angling. "Beau Nasty," says Stephen, "who rubs himself with musk or civet before he goes to a party, would not relish either of those odoriferous substances with his sandwiches or his wine. Cats are fond of the smell of mint, yet they do not, like some of their elderly owners, prefer its infusion for breakfast; and a lady's daintyfed lap-dog delights to roll himself on the putrid carrion which he will not eat. "Speaking of scents," says Roddam, "puts me in mind of a gentleman that was staying here on a visit about a twelvemonth ago. He was a great angler in his way, and had a large book of flies, as finely bound as Lady -'s prayerbook, and half-a-dozen little bottles, containing different kinds of scent, to tempt the trouts with. He was eager to get the marrow of a heron's thighbone, and Jemmy the waiter, who supplied him with half-a-pound of goose-grease, under the name of his favourite ointment, received half-asovereign in return for the valuable present. This must have been our friend the Cockney, whose life we