That Music In Itself, Whose Sounds Are

The Art Of Angling, The Cruelest, The Coldest And The Stupidest Of Pretended Sports.

I Am Ashes Where Once I Was Fire.

But As To Women, Who Can Penetrate The Real Sufferings Of Their She Condition? Man's Very Sympathy With Their Estate Has Much Of Selfishness And More Suspicion. Their Love, Their Virtue, Beauty, Education, But Form Good Housekeepers, To Breed A Nation.

Ah, Nut-brown Partridges! Ah, Brilliant Pheasants! And Ah, Ye Poachers!--'tis No Sport For Peasants.

We Of The Craft Are All Crazy.