THE VICARAGE. 293 



Calls to his course impetuous, then he fills 



The hollow concave of the vale ; delay 



Is none from sheltering cove or root-bound bay, 



That with the whirling current ceaseless thrills ; 



Yet safe beside each dripping stone, its bells 



The fox-glove hangs the green fern smiles to see 



The headlong waters in their anarchy 



Bathing its feet, and mid their mossy cells, 



Each sweet and solitary floweret dwells 



As in the bosom of tranquillity. 



The contrast between the scene attempted to 

 be described, and the glassy waters as they mean- 

 dered through the meadows, was very striking. 

 The current was indeed so slow, that it scarcely 

 appeared to have any motion ; and the view of its 

 retiring course was at length lost by the interven- 

 tion of a bold projection in the distant landscape. 



Seeing some trout rise, the Vicar prepared his 

 rod, leaving the rest of the party to explore the 

 more hidden beauties of the locality. On quitting 

 the bridge, they descended by the side of it, care- 

 fully and gradually, for the way was rough and 

 precipitous. They were desirous of arriving at the 

 pool under the cascade, and they could only do 

 this, by passing close to the margin of the stream, 

 sometimes scrambling over rocks, or creeping un- 

 der the projecting branches of huge old oaks, which 

 spread themselves over them. By thus varying 

 their way over rocks, and banks, and bushes, they 

 suddenly found themselves in the gloom of the 



