282 THE VICARAGE. 



The Vicar stopped to prepare his rod and line, 

 and selected one of those slate-coloured flies, a 

 blue dun, which are so taking in the Devonshire 

 rivers. He was at the foot of a rude stone bridge, 



An auncient bridge of stone : 

 A goodly worke when first it reared was, 



having a single elliptic arch, covered with a pro- 

 fusion of ivy, through which the water rushed 

 with considerable force. Above the bridge was 

 one of those picturesque mills which painters de- 

 light in, and indeed all lovers of that which adds 

 to the charm of rural scenery. It had its thatched 

 gable and rapid wheel. Placed by the side of a wear 

 over which the river flowed, it occasioned the tor- 

 rent at the bridge. This was the haunt of some 

 of the larger trout, and after two or three casts, 

 our Vicar succeeded in hooking one. As he was 

 drawing it towards the side of the river, Lucy 

 might be seen on her knees at the edge of the 

 bank with the landing-net in her hand, waiting in 

 all anxiety and eagerness to secure the prize. 

 "Don't be in a hurry, Lucy," said her father; 

 se wait till I bring him close to you. There ! you 

 have him now." Lucy rose from her knees, the 

 trout struggling in the net, and her face all ani- 

 mation; then shaking back her locks, which 



