“ Give me a supple fly-rod, equip me in all respects in light 
marching order, introduce me to a few miles of stream that 
meanders through flowery mead and leafy dell ; that now rolls 
dark and deep and anon splashes and foams over stones and 
shallows ; that at every bend opens up a new prospect ; that 
brings me here to a rustic, weather-browned footbridge, and 
there to a ford through which the ploughman or harvestman 
takes his team; or to a simple hamlet, perfumed with wood 
fire, thatch and homeliness, where morning newspapers are 
unknown ; thence into the sheltered glade, and, by smiling 
homestead, away from the haunts of man; give me all this 
on a day when the larks sing loud and untiringly, and the 
insects rehearse in happy chorus; when ‘waves of shadow’ 
pass over the glad fields and woods, and all God’s beautiful 
earth seems to murmur in grateful softness of spirit—give me 
this and you present to me one of the masterful attractions of 
what has been so appropriately termed the ‘ contemplative 
man’s recreation.’ I shall like it all the better, to be sure, 
if my fly be not cast upon the water in vain; but in no case 
shall I bewail the day as a positive blank.” 
Wi tiam Senior (Red Spinner), “ Waterside Sketches.” 
