All this may appear
like mere egotism, yet I cannot refrain from uttering these
recollections, which are passing like a strain of music over my
mind and have been called up by an agreeable scene which I
witnessed not long since.
In the morning's stroll along the banks of the Alun, a beautiful
little stream which flows down from the Welsh hills and throws
itself into the Dee, my attention was attracted to a group seated
on the margin. On approaching I found it to consist of a veteran
angler and two rustic disciples. The former was an old fellow
with a wooden leg, with clothes very much but very carefully
patched, betokening poverty honestly come by and decently
maintained. His face bore the marks of former storms, but present
fair weather, its furrows had been worn into an habitual smile,
his iron-gray locks hung about his ears, and he had altogether
the good-humored air of a constitutional philosopher who was
disposed to take the world as it went. One of his companions was
a ragged wight with the skulking look of an arrant poacher, and
I'll warrant could find his way to any gentleman's fish-pond in
the neighborhood in the darkest night. The other was a tall,
awkward country lad, with a lounging gait, and apparently
somewhat of a rustic beau.
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