, and proved to be Roman Catholics:
could any piscatorial luck have been more timely?

When a few days after I told of my sport to a neighbour (it was Captain
Russell of the Cleveland family), a great angler, he, of course, without
imputation of my veracity, hinted that he wished I might have such luck
again, as he would then come and dine with me. I answered at once, "Come
to-morrow, and see what I may have caught." He did,--and I produced from
the same old mill-head a three-pound trout,--to his astonishment, as it
had been my own to have caught it. I have never had such luck before or
since, though always a zealous angler in an unprofessional way.

Let me not forget here also the beautiful "Albury Waltz," composed in
my drawing-room by Miss Armstrong, and published--it must be twenty
years ago now--by Robert Cocks, New Burlington Street: wherein by
request I originated the idea of song words for the dancers. This
singing as you danced has been often done since, but I suppose no one
then thought of it but myself since King David. I need say little more
about Albury visitors:--for many years there were plenty of them,--but
if one put down a tenth part of what even the faithless memory of old
age still retains, there would be no end to such inexhaustible
recordings.

And here is an Alburian anecdote which may amuse, as illustrative of the
mental calibre of some of those myriads of untutored rustics whom our
partisan governors have made politically equal with the wisest in the
land. Three young friends came to spend a day with us, and for fun
brought in their pockets the absurd noses popular at Epsom races. We
came upon some turf-diggers, and my visitors mounted their masks to
mystify them. The clodpoles looked scared and very quiet, till I went up
to one of them who knew me,--of course I was in my natural
physiognomy,--and I said to him, "My friend, these are foreigners:" and
the poor ignoramus staring at those portentous noses said seriously,
"Ees, I sees they be." Clearly he thought all "furriners" were so
featured.

Another specimen of agricultural intelligence is this: A labourer in my
field one day said to me, "Master, please to tell me where Jerusalem is,
because me and my mates have been disputing about it, and I says as its
in Ireland, because the Romans goes there!" He meant the Roman
Catholics! and he might have heard also that St. John's Pat-mos was in
fact an Irish bog, Pat's-moss: many of our legislative