kins, and it appeared that she had let the candles drop flat down, and set her clothes alight. There was tremendous confusion; people rushed in, and among them E-, and the fire was put out. Mr. Jenkins was ordered off to Number Two Exercise Ground, and went, staring horribly. "That's how we do it!" he cried, as he ran out, and, taking a thick hunk of bread-and-butter out of a breast pocket, he crammed it down his throat whole. As E- and I left the room together, I asked him how he liked this sort of thing. Why, he said that he held himself very upright, and put his brains to some very strong test about twice a week, to make sure that everything was quite taut, and that all the screws were fast! He also dipped for my benefit just by the way into the personal history of Jenkins. He was the son of an Attorney at ——, and had a little money of his own. In fact, he had had £100 a year, but he lost £50 of it to some sharper on the other side of the water, or, as he always put it, "four miles and a half over Westminster Bridge." "He is rather a precision," said E- to me, "for, mind you, if you talk to him about it being four and a half miles over there, he'll correct you, and say that that must be a different place altogether." ?" I asked him. "And Mrs. "Oh," said he, "she was a gentleman's daughter, who went wrong, and it turned her head. She fancies she's in so-and-so for having been naughty, and that having been a gentlewoman by birth, she is entitled to a light. Sometimes she takes it into her head that she is Cleopatra, and that she is in so-and-so for flirting with Mark Anthony, when he had a wife at home all the time. She burns those candles all day long, so we've got to put her to bed pretty early, for it's deuced expensive work, and she won't burn anything but the wax-she calls it gas. What would Mark, the wicked dear, say, if he called, and saw her using tallow ?" L VOICES FROM FLOWERLAND, BY EDMUND M. SOUTHWELL. No. 3.-" THE SONG OF THE ROSE." O Love, I am the Flower of Love, My presence, O true Love, to Thee, O Love, my Love, at break of day, I wake to live again for Thee, O Love, what if Thou can'st not know And Life is sweet, but love shall yield When Love from Life's last Harvest-field NOTES FROM AN ANGLER'S DIARY. A WEEK NEAR LUDLOW, ON THE ONNY AND the Teme. THE joy of a school-boy, when the "Dulce domum" has been sung, and he is on his way to his paternal "Lares," is only equalled by that of the weary pedagogue, who can also throw aside his books and his cares for a time, and seek among the green fields a fresh stock of health and energy for future intellectual campaigns. One of the latter class am I, and though quite unused to writing piscatorial essays, I cannot refrain from making a few notes of a little fishing excursion, which it has been my good fortune to enjoy. On Monday, June 25th, emerging from the Shropshire "black country," I took the rail, via Colebrookdale, Buildwas, Much Wenlock, and Craven Arms, to Ludlow a trip which in itself ought to be enough to put any one in a good humour for a week. The picturesque scenery through which we passed, I must not stay to describe; in the afternoon I reached the old town of Ludlow; and for objects of antiquarian interest, as well as for natural beauty of situation, where is its fellow? I was soon comfortably domesticated in "The Feathers " Hotel, discussing a pink trout and a well cooked cutlet, in the old oak-pannelled room, where King James II. once held a leveè. A stroll round the town, including the Castle walks and the Church-yard, recalled many pleasant memories tinged with sadness. I had been a school-boy here five and thirty years ago. Every shop and house-front seemed familiar to me, but the inhabitants! There was another generation "that knew not Joseph." Here and there a grey-headed man touched his hat to me with an enquiring look. "Tempora mutantur" indeed, if for "tempora" we may construe "the temples of the head." I met a gentleman, whom I remembered as having been the Adonis of the town in former days; handsome still is he, but with silvery grey locks, and his upright figure a little bent. One or two comely matrons also I met, who reminded me most strikingly of Auld lang syne." But enough of this; with a peculiar choking feeling in the throat, and a sensation of moisture in the eye, I returned to "mine inn," and after the solace of a rare glass of whisky and a cigar, I glanced at my fly-book, and set things right for the morrow, and so turned in for the night, Tuesday, the 26th, a wet morning. I missed my train from Onibury, but resolving not to be baulked, I set out on foot, (some 4 or 5 miles) to the W- farm, where I had permission to fish. As I went, the rain cleared off, and the weather became all that could be desired. "Spes alit agricolas," saith the poet, but hope is the very life and spirit of the "piscator." Arriving at length at the river side, I began, with beating heart, to cast my flies on the beautifully rippling waters. Nor had many minutes elapsed, before I had fast hooked a heavy fish. At first I was puzzled by his sullen circling down in the deep. I had forgotten the prevalence of large chub in this stream. My three first fish were chub, and large ones too; one over 3 lbs. could scarcely lie in my basket. I find that the chub, like the rest of the finny race, objects decidedly to leave his native element; but he is most amenable to reason, (especially when the argument is a hook in his nostril,) and can be easily guided between most dangerous rocks, or stumps of fallen willows; he will not come up to the surface, until he is obliged, and will make vigorous downward plunges again and again; but he is a tough-lipped fellow, and seldom escapes. Occasional showers crossed the valley, not heavy enough to be disagreeable, and selecting trouty-looking ripples, with the "cock. a-bondhu" and "governour" I soon began to allure the "dappled darlings," (I don't think Kingsley would feel hurt at this application of his words ;) so that before the day was over, three brace of nice trout were added to the chub aforesaid. On my way to a neighbouring station, I called at the post-office, a little village shop, and hanging my basket on a scale, found that it turned 12 lbs. weight. The evening was spent in pleasant converse with an old gentleman, who had sympathy with the hopes and joys of an angler; and at the same time a keen relish for trout when cooked. We breakfasted together most mornings during the week, chiefly on the spoils of my basket; and my mornings and evenings spent with so genial a companion, added not a little to the pleasures of my visit to Ludlow. Wednesday, 27th, hot and bright; I spent the morning in the Castle and the Church, and went by mid-day train to Onibury; it was too hot to fish as yet, so I called on an old acquaintance, and lunched with him, and at 4 p.m., went down to the river. I caught four fish, three chub and one trout; but the latter was the trout of the week. The Onny generally has a gravelly bed, but I came to a spot where two white rocks stood up in a rapid current, and I could not resist casting my line between them; in less time than I take to write it, a large trout had taken the fly, and leaped into the air, shewing me what a fine fellow he was, and warning me that he was hooked but lightly; dropping into the water, he dashed down the stream. I feared for my line against the rocks, so raising my rod I jumped in and waded after him; I found an amazingly deep hole just below, and there he gradually expended his strength, until at length, with my back leaning against the rock, I managed to get my landing-net behind him and under him, and then pressing the mouth of the net against my body, for fear of losing my prize, I waded back to the bank, and placed in my basket a beautiful two-pounder, in magnificent condition. This success made me fish late, but I did nothing more except lose a large chub. I missed my train, and so taking a bye lane, I walked homewards across the race-course. Here I could not but pause to recall some memories of my boyhood. At four o'clock on many a summer morning had I been allowed to ride a gallop on one of my uncle's race-horses, until I came home from school too heavy for such a privilege. Here had I seen the famed Jack Mytton and the Charltons wagering with hosts of others well-known in their day, and once I had felt exceedingly proud of having given Darling, that cute old jockey, a leg up on one of my uncle's cracks. How silent the "Old Field" seemed to me that evening, as I strolled along, and yet the hum of ghostly voices seemed to sound ever and anon in the fitful breeze of evening; and faces that I had not seen for years, seemed to nod and smile at me once more. Thursday, 28th, I met with an old acquaintance who promised me a day on the Teme for the morrow. It was very hot, so the morning was again spent in the town. I inspected the library of a most scholarly old gentleman, who translated for me extracts from the Persian Hafiz, and interested me in old Greek novels. I set out by the mid-day train for the old scene by the brookside. I feel as light-hearted with my rod waving over my head, as a fox-hunter when clearing a high post and rails, with the hounds in full cry before him. (Pace eorum loquar.) I fished to-day on the other side of the stream, and was able to reach many holes and rapids that I had been unable to approach on previous days; not that my success was any the greater for it; but "variety is charming." Before the day became cool, I fell in with a shoal of dace, and whipped out half-a-dozen of them. It was after a rest and a pipe, that I set to work in earnest. In the course of the evening I caught a nice basketful of trout and chub; while landing one of the latter, about three quarters of a lb. in weight, I was obliged to slip down a high bank on to the narrow ledge of gravel, and was drawing the exhausted fish towards my net, when an immense perch sailed round him, and so intent was he on the dying chub, that I actually placed my landing net under him and was in the act of securing him, when a bush caught the handle of my net, which was too long for the place I had to stand on, and before I could right matters the perch had escaped, so I had to content myself with my legitimate prey, the chub, though I was within an ace of catching both of them. The trout I caught were not large |