Underthisoldman，whowaswellversedinthesouthernlanguages，besidesstudyingFrenchandItalian，IacquiredsomeknowledgeofSpanish。ButIdidnotdevotemytimeentirelytophilology；Ihadotherpursuits。IhadnotforgottentherovinglifeIhadledinformerdays，noritsdelights；neitherwasIformedbyNaturetobeapallidindoorstudent。No，no!Iwasfondofotherand，Isayitboldly，betterthingsthanstudy。Ihadanattachmenttotheangle，ay，andtothegunlikewise。Inourhousewasacondemnedmusket，bearingsomewhereonitslock，inratherantiquecharacters，’Tower，1746’；withthisweaponIhadalready，inIreland，performedsomeexecutionamongtherooksandchoughs，anditwasnowagaindestinedtobeasourceofsolaceandamusementtome，inthewinterseason，especiallyonoccasionsofseverefrostwhenbirdsabounded。Sallyingforthwithitatthesetimes，farintothecountry，Iseldomreturnedatnightwithoutastringofbullfinches，blackbirds，andlinnetshangingintriumphroundmyneck。WhenIreflectontheimmensequantityofpowderandshotwhichIcrammeddownthemuzzleofmyuncouthfowling-piece，IamlesssurprisedatthenumberofbirdswhichIslaughteredthanthatIneverblewmyhands，face，andoldhoneycombedgun，itoneandthesametime，topieces。
Butthewinter，alas!IspeakasafowlerseldomlastsinEnglandmorethanthreeorfourmonths；so，duringtherestoftheyear，whennotoccupiedwithmyphilologicalstudies，Ihadtoseekforotherdiversions。IhavealreadygivenahintthatIwasalsoaddictedtotheangle。Ofcoursethereisnocomparisonbetweenthetwopursuits，therodandlineseemingbutverypoortrumperytoonewhohashadthehonourofcarryinganoblefirelock。Thereisatime，however，forallthings；andwereturntoanyfavouriteamusementwiththegreaterzest，frombeingcompelledtorelinquishitforaseason。So，ifIshotbirdsinwinterwithmyfirelock，I
caughtfishinsummer，orattemptedsotodo，withmyangle。Iwasnotquitesosuccessful，itistrue，withthelatteraswiththeformer；possiblybecauseitaffordedmelesspleasure。Itwas，indeed，toomuchofalistlesspastimetoinspiremewithanygreatinterest。Inotunfrequentlyfellintoadoze，whilstsittingonthebank，andmorethanonceletmyroddropfrommyhandsintothewater。
Atsomedistancefromthecity，behindarangeofhillygroundwhichrisestowardsthesouth-west，isasmallriver，thewatersofwhich，aftermanymeanderings，eventuallyentertheprincipalriverofthedistrict，andassisttoswellthetidewhichitrollsdowntotheocean。Itisasweetrivulet，andpleasantisittotraceitscoursefromitsspring-head，highupintheremoteregionsofEasternAnglia，tillitarrivesinthevalleybehindyonrisingground；andpleasantisthatvalley，trulyagoodlyspot，butmostlovelywhereyonderbridgecrossesthelittlestream。Beneathitsarchthewatersrushgarrulouslyintoabluepool，andaretherestilled，foratime，forthepoolisdeep，andtheyappeartohavesunktosleep。Fartheron，however，youheartheirvoiceagain，wheretheyripplegailyoveryongravellyshallow。Ontheleft，thehillslopesgentlydowntothemarginofthestream。Ontherightisagreenlevel，asmilingmeadow，grassoftherichestdecksthesideoftheslope；mightytreesalsoadornit，giantelms，thenearestofwhich，whenthesunisnighitsmeridian，flingabroadshadowuponthefaceofthepool；throughyonvistayoucatchaglimpseoftheancientbrickofanoldEnglishhall。
Ithasastatelylook，thatoldbuilding，indistinctlyseen，asitis，amongthoseumbrageoustrees；youmightalmostsupposeitanearl’shome；andsuchitwas，orratheruponitssitestoodanearl’shome，indaysofold，fortheresomeoldKemp，someSigurdorThorkild，roaminginquestofahearthstead，settleddowninthegrayoldtime，whenThorandFreyawereyetgods，andOdinwasaportentousname。YonoldhallisstillcalledtheEarl’sHome，thoughthehearthofSigurdisnownomore，andthebonesoftheoldKemp，andofSigrithhisdame，havebeenmoulderingforathousandyearsinsomeneighbouringknoll；perhapsyonder，wherethosetallNorwegianpinesshootupsoboldlyintotheair。Itissaidthattheoldearl’sgalleywasoncemooredwhereisnowthatbluepool，forthewatersofthatvalleywerenotalwayssweet；yonvalleywasonceanarmofthesea，asaltlagoon，towhichthewar-