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Near Oxford, and up the Cherwell, Windrush, and other streams they were, before the pestilence, so numerous that making crayfish pots was as much a local industry as making eel-pots, the smaller withes, not much larger than a thick straw, being used for this purpose.
In the spring, ere red coats and "leathers" are laid aside by the fox-hunting squire, there is the best of trout-fishing to be enjoyed in the Coln and Windrush streams dear to the heart of the accomplished expert with the "dry" fly. In spring, too, are the local hunt races at Oaksey and Sherston, at Moreton-in-the-Marsh and Andoversford.
His England is strange, I think, because it is presented according to a purely spiritual geography in which the childish drawling of "Witney on the Windrush manufactures blankets," etc., is utterly forgot. Few men have the courage or the power to be honestly impressionistic and to say what they feel instead of compromising between that and what they believe to be "the facts."
The intense cold is supposed to have killed the larvae. The Windrush trout are very large indeed; a five-pound fish is not at all uncommon. The driver of the 'bus talked of monsters of eight pounds having been taken near Burford, but we took this cum grano salis. After a five-mile drive we suddenly see the picturesque old town below us.
Well, every man has his nostrum." "I have not. My method is not my own, but Plato's." "But, my good fellow, the Windrush school admire Plato as much as you do, and yet certainly arrive at somewhat different conclusions." "They do Plato the honour of patronising him, as a Representative Man; but their real text-book, you will find, is Proclus.
Windrush, if all you can offer me instead is the confounded old nostrum of religion over again." "Heydey, friend! What next?" "Really, my dear fellow, I beg your pardon, I forgot that I was speaking to a clergyman." "Pray don't beg my pardon on that ground.
Near it is the New Bridge, a solid structure, but the oldest bridge that crosses the Thames, for it was "new" just six hundred years ago. The Thames then receives the Windrush and the Evenlode, and it passes over frequent weirs that have become miniature rapids, yet not too dangerous for an expert oarsman to guide his boat through safely.
Emerson's opinion, that you will not become even that, unless you first become something better still, namely, a good man." "There you are too refined for me. But can you not understand, now, the causes of my sympathy even with Windrush and his 'spirit of truth'?" "I can, and those of many more.
Did you not remark the audacious contempt for all ages but 'our glorious nineteenth century, and the still deeper contempt for all in the said glorious time who dared to believe that there was any ascertained truth independent of the private fancy and opinion of- for I am afraid it came to that-him, Professor Windrush, and his circle of elect souls?
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