THE LAKE BY THE SEA in 



Arundo, the great reed, masses grandly here under 

 the grey sky, and each spear-shaped blade rubs 

 against its neighbour until the whole rond makes silky, 

 sleepy music, hushes the hour to silence, and calls 

 its children to their secret homes. Immediately 

 above this kingdom a grey haze floats, touched with 

 warmer colour. This cloud moves not, for it is com- 

 posed of last year's naked flower-stalks, and its place 

 will soon be yielded up to the purple panicles of 

 Autumn. Once, in the old times before land drain- 

 age, the reed-ronds of the West Country covered 

 miles, and represented a considerable harvest. The 

 culms were used for thatching, and are still counted 

 better than straw in many districts. Earlier yet, this 

 grass was employed as a pen, but quickly passed into 

 disuse when the bird's quill took its place. Merlin 

 wrote his verses with the great reed, and Gildas, the 

 father of British history, bitterly assaulted the Saxon 

 invaders of his country with such a weapon, though 

 the pen was not so mighty as the sword in the sixth 

 century. 



Now clouds came lower, and the sky of blue and 

 silver took a stain in the midst where vapours 

 massed. Yet there was only a whisper of soft drops 

 on the ley, and before one might say it rained, the 

 shower was done, the gloom had passed, and sudden 

 gold broke out of the west, with shafts of light that 

 swept round swiftly upon themselves. Beneath that 

 wonderful sky, amid fresh affinities of colour, amid 



