This iz all the racket thare iz in New Ashford. It iz so still here that you can hear a feather drop from a blujay’s tail.
Out ov this mountain, squeezed bi the weight ov it, leaks a little brook ov water, and up and down this brook each day i loiter.
In mi hand i hav a short pole, on the end ov the pole a short line, on the line a sharp hook, looped on the hook a grub, or a worm.
Every now and and then thare cums dancing out ov this little brook a live trout no longer than yure finger, but az sweet az a stick ov kandy, and in he goes at the top ov mi baskit.
This iz what i am here for; trout for breakfast, trout for dinner and trout for supper.
I am az happy and az lazy az a yerling heifer.
I hav not a kare on mi mind, not an ake in mi boddy.
I haven’t read a nuzepaper for a week, and wouldn’t read one for a dollar.
I shall stay here till mi munny givs out, and shall cum bak tew the senseless crash ov the city, with a tear in mi eye, and holes in both ov mi boots.