BOYHOOD. 23 



my head, a little money in my pocket, a good con- 

 science, full trust in Providence, and a determination 

 to work. 



My good mother died a year before I left home, 

 and shortly after I left my dear old father gave up his 

 farm and retired to another county. 



Only once after many years have I found the 

 opportunity of revisiting the scenes of my childhood, 

 and then all was changed, 



"All, all, were gone, the old familiar faces." 



All my uncles and aunts were dead my father alone 

 survived. He was born 106 years ago, and he died 

 in 1875 at t ^ ie gd old age of eighty-four. 



I was a fairly good angler in my youth, but for 

 nearly forty years, immersed in the worries, anxieties, 

 and ups and downs of a city life, I never touched 

 rod or line. 



When I took to angling again, it was in Dove 

 Dale, some twelve years ago, I discovered that I was 

 a mere novice. I had forgotten how to handle a rod 

 or cast a fly. I was a mere " duffer," ages behind 

 the age. I had to begin all over again ; my early 

 education was quite lost upon me. Under the 

 guiding hand of Piscator Major (whom I saw chris- 

 tened) I have of late years been slowly improving, but 

 even now in this my Jubilee year of London life, I am 

 still, as the following pages will show, but a mere 

 amateur angler. 



