56 JUNE. 



favourite pursuit. The grey-eyed morning 

 sees me fishing; the mid-day with my pencil; 

 the setting sun doth linger to behold my sport 

 again, then rests while I employ my evening in 

 song. Oh ! what a life is this, that can enjoy 

 the infant breath of morn, retain the landscape 

 passed (in reality, perhaps for ever) from his 

 view, and praise in bold chords, and most 

 harmonious sounds, the events of such a day. 



A circumstance occurred to me in this month 

 that would have been gratifying to any Angler. 

 I was on a stream in Hampshire, where midway 

 stands (surrounded by a few houses) a most 

 unpretending village inn, so trifling, that I do 

 not think the wealth of the whole colony would 

 purchase a respectable farm. At this little 

 place of entertainment I was in the habit on 

 a very hot day to get a glass of home-brewed 

 ale, which they vended most excellent. My 

 sport was not so good as usual ; thunder was 

 abroad, and then the fish lie scared at the 

 bottom, and will not notice any thing that 



