Judge — April 20, 1907 — page 3: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HE angel of the sun and rain From heaven dropped a perfect day To fill all souls with joy and life j And cheer their hearts upon the way. ” The crystal air with perfume faint In golden glory seemed to steep. A woman used the God-sent day To clean her house and scrub and sweep. The angel of the sun and rain / From heaven dropped another day Yj / To turn the careless hearts of men Y] 4 To tender thoughts upon the way. fl The soft, warm tears made brave the ‘i earth, As strength is drawn from grief we feel. > Aman employed the God-sent day ~ To go and fish with rod and reel. MCLANDBURGH WILSON. My ‘THE FETICH OF FISHING. Iam extremely fond of fishing under the right conditions. I can SOME time ago a man named Izaak Walton wrote a book on fishing. stand a natural, easy tramp of a mile or so in a friendly forest. Ten Being an unusual writer, he succeeded in placing around the art put up with an occasional gnat or vociferous mosquito. I am willing of angling a glamour that still clings to it. Angling has become a to gamble a little on the chances—all things in this transitory life be- kind of sacred calling, and the lone fish- ing uncertain—and yield to the gentle anticipatory excitement of cast- erman who sits all day in supposed con- ing a bait. The only condition I attach to the permanency of this oc- templation, without a bite, is assumed cupation is that to be invested with certain virtues de- the fish must bite nied to ordinary mortals. and I must catch The truth must come out about them; otherwise I fishing, as well as about other illusions, will do_ anything and the truth is that it isn't by any else in preference. means the thing we are so fond of as- And so would suming that it is. most men if it I have been fishing upon various hadn't been for occasions, and I now assert, with no Izaak Walton and faint or timid note or wavering pen, that his humbug the- the only time I enjoyed it was when I ories, tom sasson. * caught fish, To sit all day on a water- soaked log, dangling a lonely float on TROUBLESOME. the surface of a turgid stream, teasing ¢* PID they have worms to death, growing hungrier every much trou- moment, is as melancholy a job as I ble in taking out have ever known. No wonder the lone fisherman takes to drink. He — his appendix?" ought to. It is at least a sign that he has the semblance of a soul con- «I should say cealed about his person—that somewhere there are remnants of ade- they did! They had sire for human companionship, for ordinary intercourse. to kill him first.” Personally, 1 firmly believe that the unsympathetic and unimag- inative creature who is satisfied to loaf away hours just for the sake of s+[JOW many fishing, without results, is capable of any crime. Instead of being an acts were object of reverence, he ought to be put in jail at hard labor. He's there in the play?” nothing more than a loafer. “T don't re- It is one of the finest illustrations of the feebleness of the human member, but I can intellect that a man otherwise sane will permit himself to go cold, wet figure it out for and hungry for hours; will wade streams; will torture himself by you. I spent sev- TROUBLES OF THE STORK. silence ; will sit hour after hour and fight swarms of fiendish flies; and enty-five cents for Froo—* What's the matter, Mr. Stork—another after the long day has drawn to a close will go home and tell his friends drinks between __ Sil wants a couple of baby brothers ?”” Ss iW thi that. This its me that the fish weren't biting, but that he has had the time of his life. them.” io be nat Tae ee one an