Has it ever fallen in your way to notice the quality of the
greetings that belong to certain occupations?

There is something about these salutations in kind which is
singularly taking and grateful to the ear.  They are as much better
than an ordinary "good day" or a flat "how are you?" as a folk-song
of Scotland or the Tyrol is better than the futile love-ditty of the
drawing-room.  They have a spicy and rememberable flavour.  They
speak to the imagination and point the way to treasure-trove.

There is a touch of dignity in them, too, for all they are so free
and easy--the dignity of independence, the native spirit of one who
takes for granted that his mode of living has a right to make its
own forms of speech.  I admire a man who does not hesitate to salute
the world in the dialect of his calling.

How salty and stimulating, for example, is the sailorman's hail of
"Ship ahoy!"  It is like a breeze laden with briny odours and a
pleasant dash of spray.  The miners in some parts of Germany have a
good greeting for their dusky trade.  They cry to one who is going
down the shaft, "Gluck auf!"  All the perils of an underground
adventure and all the joys of seeing the sun again are compressed
into a word.  Even the trivial salutation which the telephone has
lately created and claimed for its peculiar use--"Hello, hello"--
seems to me to have a kind of fitness and fascination.  It is like a
thoroughbred bulldog, ugly enough to be attractive.  There is a
lively, concentrated, electric air about it.  It makes courtesy wait
upon dispatch, and reminds us that we live in an age when it is
necessary to be wide awake.

I have often wished that every human employment might evolve its own
appropriate greeting.  Some of them would be queer, no doubt; but at
least they would be an improvement on the wearisome iteration of
"Good-evening" and "Good-morning," and the monotonous inquiry, "How
do you do?"--a question so meaningless that it seldom tarries for an
answer.  Under the new and more natural system of etiquette, when
you passed the time of day with a man you would know his business,
and the salutations of the market-place would be full of interest.

As for my chosen pursuit of angling (which I follow with diligence
when not interrupted by less important concerns), I rejoice with
every true fisherman that it has a greeting all its own and of a
most honourable antiquity.  There is no written record of its
origin.  But it is quite certain that since the days after the
Flood, when Deucalion

     "Did first this art invent
      Of angling, and his people taught the same,"

two honest and good-natured anglers have never met each other by the
way without crying out, "What luck?"

Here, indeed, is an epitome of the gentle art.  Here is the spirit
of it embodied in a word and paying its respects to you with its
native accent.  Here you see its secret charms unconsciously
disclosed.  The attraction of angling for all the ages of man, from
the cradle to the grave, lies in its uncertainty.  'Tis an affair of
luck.