That an ex-president (Sir Humphry Davy) of the Royal Society should write a book on field sports may at first sight appear rather _unphilosophical_; although it is not more fanciful than Bishop Berkeley's volume on tar water, Bishop Watson's improvement in the manufacture of gunpowder, Sir Walter Scott writing a sermon, or a Scotch minister inventing a safety gun, and, as we are told, _presenting_ the same to the King in person. Be this as it may, since our first acquaintance with the "prince of piscators," the patriarch of anglers, Isaak Walton, it has seldom been our lot to meet with so pleasant a volume as _Salmonia, or Days of Fly Fishing_, to whose contents we are about to introduce our readers. In our last number we gave a _flying_ extract, entitled, "Superstitions on the Weather," being a fair specimen of the very agreeable manner of the digressions in the above work, which is, perhaps, less practical than it might have been; but this defect is more than atoned for in the author's felicitous mode of intermingling with the main subject, some of the most curious facts and phenomena in natural history and philosophy so as to familiarize the angler with many causes and effects which altogether belong to a higher class of reading than that of mere amusement. All this, too, is done in a simple, graceful, and flowing style, always amusive, and sometimes humorously illustrative--advantages which our philosophical writers do not generally exhibit, but which are more or less evident in every page of Sir Humphry Davy's writings. _Salmonia_ consists of a series of conversations between four characters--Halieus,[3] Poietes, Physicus, Ornither. In the "First Day" we have an ingenious vindication of fly fishing against the well-known satire of Johnson[4] and Lord Byron, and the following:-- _Halieus._--A noble lady, long distinguished at court for pre-eminent beauty and grace, and whose mind possesses undying charms, has written some lines in my copy of Walton, which, if you will allow me, I will repeat to you:-- Albeit, gentle Angler, I Delight not in thy trade, Yet in thy pages there doth lie So much of quaint simplicity, So much of mind, Of such good kind. That none need be afraid, Caught by thy cunning bait, this book, To be ensnared on thy hook. Gladly from thee, I'm lur'd to bear With things that seem'd most vile before, For thou didst on poor subjects rear Matter the wisest sage might hear. And with a grace, That doth efface More laboured works, thy simple lore Can teach us that thy skilful _lines_, More than the scaly brood _confines_. Our hearts and senses too, we see, Rise quickly at thy master hand, And ready to be caught by thee Are lured to virtue willingly. Content and peace, With health and ease, Walk by thy side. At thy command We bid adieu to worldly care. And joy in gifts that all may share.