Fishermans Luck | Page 8

And now you must be off to get your dinner--not to order
it at a shop, but to look for it in the woods and waters. You are ready to
do your best with rod or gun. You will use all the skill you have as
hunter or fisherman. But what you shall find, and whether you shall
subsist on bacon and biscuit, or feast on trout and partridges, is, after all,
a matter of luck.
I profess that it appears to me not only pleasant, but also salutary, to be
in this condition. It brings us home to the plain realities of life; it
teaches us that a man ought to work before he eats; it reminds us that,
after he has done all he can, he must still rely upon a mysterious bounty
for his daily bread. It says to us, in homely and familiar words, that life
was meant to be uncertain, that no man can tell what a day will bring
forth, and that it is the part of wisdom to be prepared for
disappointments and grateful for all kinds of small mercies.
There is a story in that fragrant book, THE LITTLE FLOWERS OF ST.
FRANCIS, which I wish to transcribe here, without tying a moral to it,
lest any one should accuse me of preaching.
"Hence [says the quaint old chronicler], having assigned to his
companions the other parts of the world, St. Francis, taking Brother

Maximus as his comrade, set forth toward the province of France. And
coming one day to a certain town, and being very hungry, they begged
their bread as they went, according to the rule of their order, for the
love of God. And St. Francis went through one quarter of the town, and
Brother Maximus through another. But forasmuch as St. Francis was a
man mean and low of stature, and hence was reputed a vile beggar by
such as knew him not, he only received a few scanty crusts and
mouthfuls of dry bread. But to Brother Maximus, who was large and
well favoured, were given good pieces and big, and an abundance of
bread, yea, whole loaves. Having thus begged, they met together
without the town to eat, at a place where there was a clear spring and a
fair large stone, upon which each spread forth the gifts that he had
received. And St. Francis, seeing that the pieces of bread begged by
Brother Maximus were bigger and better than his own, rejoiced greatly,
saying, 'Oh, Brother Maximus, we are not worthy of so great a
treasure.' As he repeated these words many times, Brother Maximus
made answer: 'Father, how can you talk of treasures when there is such
great poverty and such lack of all things needful? Here is neither
napkin nor knife, neither board nor trencher, neither house nor table,
neither man-servant nor maid-servant.' St. Francis replied: 'And this is
what I reckon a great treasure, where naught is made ready by human
industry, but all that is here is prepared by Divine Providence, as is
plainly set forth in the bread which we have begged, in the table of fair
stone, and in the spring of clear water. And therefore I would that we
should pray to God that He teach us with all our hearts to love the
treasure of holy poverty, which is so noble a thing, and whose servant
is God the Lord.'"
I know of but one fairer description of a repast in the open air; and that
is where we are told how certain poor fishermen, coming in very weary
after a night of toil (and one of them very wet after swimming ashore),
found their Master standing on the bank of the lake waiting for them.
But it seems that he must have been busy in their behalf while he was
waiting; for there was a bright fire of coals burning on the shore, and a
goodly fish broiling thereon, and bread to eat with it. And when the
Master had asked them about their fishing, he said, "Come, now, and
get your breakfast." So they sat down around the fire, and with his own
hands he served them with the bread and the fish.

Of all the banquets that have ever been given upon earth, that is the one
in which I would rather have had a share.
But it is now time that we should return to our fishing. And let us
observe with gratitude that almost all of the pleasures that are
connected with this pursuit--its accompaniments and variations, which
run along with the tune and weave an embroidery of delight around
it--have an accidental and gratuitous quality about them. They are not
to be counted upon beforehand. They are like something that is thrown