Excerpt from The Secrets of Angling
Born on the banks of a lovely and a crystal stream, where the happy days of childhood passed serenely away in listening to its murmurs and gathering wild flowers on its banks, the waters, and all their varied tenants, have ever since had for me peculiar charms. In opening days of early spring, while the daisy scarce yet unfolds its modest petals to the sun, I used to listen with longing ears for the first "peep" of the merry sandpiper, as he skips along the gravelly margin of the stream, or skims its glassy pools; or watch intently for the simple ditty and eccentric vagaries of the water-crow, as it flits from stone to stone - now jerking out a few discordant notes, anon diving headlong into some pebbly shallow, like a lilliputian suicide, to gather its crustaceous food.
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