132 AN ANGLER AT LARGE 



which tells of some further article added to his 

 load, his depression becomes more obvious. For 

 on these journeys we require 



Grandmama, our tea-basket. 



A parcel of provisions. 



The Rookee chair. 



Several books. 



The shameless, leg-displaying umbrella, which 

 we call the parasol. 



Letter paper, in case my wife should wish to 

 write letters. 



Sermon paper, in case I should wish to write 

 a book. 



The implements of landscape-painting in water- 

 colours. 



Two cushions. 



Two rugs. 



A bottle filled with water. 



A mackintosh, and 



Each other. 



Jack, on the contrary, has no conceivable use 

 for any of these properties or persons, except, 

 perhaps, the parcel of provisions. It is the 

 thought of this which alone, I believe, keeps him 

 from falling down on the road in despair (so 

 sustaining are our provisions), for he knows that 

 he will get his share. A miserable share that 

 is his opinion of it and not in the least worth the 



