He sat for hours on the bank that day,

With a serious look—most fishermen’s way,—

Just a waif of a lad with a brimless hat,

And pantaloons even much worse than that.

Dangling legs, without stockings on,

Showed many a mark of brier and thorn,

But indifferent he to trifles like these,

As he sat and fished in the teasing breeze.

I paused as I passed on my way to town,

And set for a moment my burden down:

“Aren’t you discouraged,” I said with zest,

“Fishing so long here without success?”

“Oh, no! such fishing just pleases me,”

The lad said slowly, “for don’t you see,

We can’t all catch—and I for one,

In just a-trying get lots of fun!”

I picked up my burden and walked away,

Wise with the lesson I’d learned that day,

And silently blessed my new-found seer,—

This ragged, fishing philosopher!