"Mother says fishes comes from hard roes, so I chuck'd in the roe of a
red-herring last week, but I doesn't catch any fish yet."


How beautiful is the simplicity of unsophisticated youth! Behold with
what patience this innocent awaits a bite, trusting with perfect faith in
the truth of his affectionate mother's ichthyological knowledge. Wishing
to behold a live fish dangling at the end of his line, he has, with
admirable foresight, drawn up the bucket, that in the ascent the finny
prey may not kick it! It must be a hard roe indeed, that is not softened
by his attentions; but, alas! he is doomed never to draw up a vulgar
herring, or a well-bred fish!

Folks who are a little deeper read than the boy--(or the herring!)--may
smile at his fruitless attempt, but how many are there that act through
life upon the same principle, casting their lines and fishing
for--compliments, who never obtain even a nibble--for why? their attempts
at applause, like his red-herring, are smoked. He does not know that
herrings are salt-water fish--and, in fact, that the well-water is not
the roes--water!

But after all, is not such ignorance bliss?--for he enjoys the
anticipated pleasure; and if anticipation be really greater than reality
--what an interminable length will that pleasure be to him! Ever and
anon he draws up his line, like a militia captain for a review;--puts
fresh bait on the crooked pin, and lets it slowly down, and peeps in,
wondering what the fish can be at!--and is quite as much in the dark as
his float. But he may at last, perhaps, discover that he is not so deep
as a well--and wisely resolve to let well--alone; two points which may
probably be of infinite importance to him through life, and enable him to