"LITTLE RIVERS:' us 



It was a calm and balmy evening ; the rooks over- 

 head in the rookery just above were caw-cawing and 

 feeding their young ; song birds were making melody 

 in the hedgerows, now pink with wild roses, now 

 milk white with May bloom ; the meadows were 

 carpeted with daisies and gilded with cowslips, but- 

 tercups, and daffodils ; great trout were flopping up 

 in the river ; rabbits flitted across our path as we 

 loitered on through the woods and by the side of the 

 stream, no longer fishing, but chatting pleasantly of 

 things past, present, and to come 



"It was the time of roses, 



We plucked them as we passed," 



till we came to the point where our roads diverged. 

 Alas ! it is fifty years ago and more. In our saunter 

 through the wood we had met with a young man and 

 maiden, then in the heyday of youth and happiness 

 they had wandered into this lovely solitude of wood 

 and river not to angle, but clearly to settle prelimi- 

 naries, for they were married soon afterwards. They 

 had a large family, and have long since passed into 

 the shadowy land. One of their sons is now an 

 eminent physician. 



As to the maiden of " the Milking Bridge," she, 

 too, was married long, long ago. She had many sons 

 and daughters ; and alas ! alas ! she, too, has long 

 since gone to the land of shadows. One of her sons, 

 piscator natus^ is now one of the most expert among 

 anglers, and is therefore probably not unknown to 

 many of my angling friends. 



Surely this is a long digression from the book to which 



