primal objects, but that it adds most essentially to the delights of a summer excursion. Since Wordsworth and John Wilson set up their “Angler’s Tent” on the banks of Wast-Water, “at the head of that wild and solitary lake, which they had reached by the mountain-path that passes Barn-Moor-Tarn from Eskdale,” making an angling excursion of seven days amongst the mountains of Westmoreland, Lancashire, and Cumberland, having “their tent, large panniers filled with its furniture, provisions, etc., loaded upon horses, which, while the anglers, who separated every morning, pursued each his own sport up the torrents, were carried over the mountains to the appointed place, by some lake or stream, where they were to meet again in the evening;” and that solitary trade, Mid rural peace in peacefulness pursued, Through rocky glen, wild moor, and hanging wood, White flowering meadow, and romantic glade; since Sir Humphry Davy went angling and philosophising in the mountain tarns, and along the trout and salmon streams not only of Scotland and Ireland, but of France and Switzerland, the enthusiasm for angling has grown into a grand and expansive passion. We have our “Anglers in Wales,” our “Anglers in Ireland;” Stephen Oliver has flourished his lines over the streams of the north, Jesse over the gentle and majestic Thames. The only wonder is, that, as our countrymen walk to and fro through all known regions of the earth, we do not hear of anglers in the Danube--the Ister--the Indus--the Joliba,--of trolling in La Plata, and fly-fishing in South Africa and Australia. All that will come in its own good time: meanwhile let us remind our country friends of the further blessings which await them, even should all the rapid streams of our mountain rivers and rivulets, Loch Leven trout, Loch Fine herrings, and salmon pulled flouncing from the crystal waters of the Teith or the Shannon, to be crimped and grilled by most delicious art, satiate them before the summer is over. The 12th of August approaches! the gun is roused from its slumber--the dogs are howling in ecstasy on their release from the kennel--the heather is burst into all its crimson splendour on the moors and the mountains, and grouse-shooting is at hand once more!