He started, and saw the old Corporal seated on the stump of a tree, and busily employed in fixing to his line the mimic likeness of what anglers, and, for aught we know, the rest of the world, call the "violet fly." "Ha! master,--at my day's work, you see:--fit for nothing else now.

When a musquet's halfworn out, schoolboys buy it--pop it at sparrows.

I be like the musket: but never mind--have not seen the world for nothing.

We get reconciled to all things: that's my way--augh! Now, Sir, you shall watch me catch the finest trout you have seen this summer: know where he lies--under the bush yonder.

Whi--sh! Sir, whi--sh!" The Corporal now gave his warrior soul up to the due guidance of the violet-fly: now he shipped it lightly on the wave; now he slid it coquettishly along the surface; now it floated, like an unconscious beauty, carelessly with the tide; and now, like an artful prude, it affected to loiter by the way, or to steal into designing obscurity under the shade of some overhanging bank.