point on the bank, previously chosen, is delightful. To spend half an hour in idle, pleasant chat makes a welcome break in the business of the day. But when I am actually fishing," he says, "I like to be quite alone." I wonder if it has ever occurred to his non-angling hearers that he may have more reasons than one for his love of solitude? They probably think that he wishes to attune his soul to nature. Not a bit of it! He wants to be able to swear at his ease. Ordinary swearing thrives on companionship; but angling calls for extraordinary swearing, and for this one must be alone. Up to a point swearing is a pleasant and amusing exercise; beyond that point it becomes ridiculous. But to be ridiculous there must be someone to do the ridiculing. An angler in his greater moments of expansion ceases to have any sense of humour, and cannot himself provide the audience necessary to perceive his own ridiculousness. If, then, someone is standing by when one of these great moments comes to him, he is unable to expand, or, if he expands, he becomes ridiculous, and in either case he is uncomfortable. Therefore he declines companionship; therefore he prates about his communion with nature, his love of remote and solitary places, of the broad, empty meadows and the long, silent reaches. Therefore he demands the companionship of the innocent birds and the
