2 FRESH WOODS. 



in my angling experiences, but far too short 

 to make me forget the delightful time I 

 passed in that charming Dale. Those plea- 

 sant recollections have only served to inspire 

 me, as time rolls on, with new and ardent 

 enthusiasm for further adventures with rod 

 and line. Let others. I say, wander off to 

 Alps or Apennines ; they change their sky 

 but not their minds who cross the sea ; they 

 may come back laden with artistic lore from 

 all the galleries of the Continent, or they 

 may, and usually do, come back as empty as 

 they went. As for me, I prefer to spend my 

 rare and precious holiday " far removed from 

 noise and smoke" in some quiet, sequestered 

 spot in my own country. Whither shall I 

 go? 



One of the small dreams of my old age 

 has been to go down to Herefordshire for 

 the purpose of staying at an old farmhouse 

 and fishing in one or other of the prolific 

 streams that percolate that fertile and leafy 

 county. My recollection of these streams 

 goes back to boyish days, fifty years ago and 

 more. 



I indulged my fancy by picturing my de- 

 light in thus revisiting scenes with which my 

 boyhood was so familiar now for the first 

 time, when age has whitened what remains 



