ABSTRACT
[…] I usd to be very fond of fishing & of a Sunday morning I have been out before the sun delving for worms on some old weed-blanketed dunghill & sliving off across the wet grass that overhung the narrow path then I usd to stop to wring my wet trouser-bottoms now & then & off agen beating the heavy drops off the grass with my pole-end till I came to the flood-washd meadow stream my tackle was eagerly fastened on & my heart woud thrill with hopes of success as I saw a sizable gudgeon twinkle round the glossy pebbles or a fish leap after a flye or a floating something on the deeper water where is the angler that hath not felt these delights in his young days & where is the angler that doth not feel taken with their memory when he is old
