A LONDON TROUT 65 



overlap, red, brown, and pale yellow, with the clear water 

 above and shadows athwart it, and dry white grass at the 

 verge. A horse-chestnut drops its fruit in the dusty 

 road ; high above its leaves are tinted with scarlet. 



It was at the tail of one of the arches of the bridge 

 over the brook that my favourite trout used to lie. 

 Sometimes the shadow of the beech came as far as 

 his haunts/ that was early in the morning, and for the 

 rest of the day the bridge itself cast a shadow. The 

 other parapet faces the south, and looking down from 

 it the bottom of the brook is generally visible, because 

 the light is so strong. At the bottom a green plant 

 may be seen waving to and fro in summer as the current 

 sways it. It is not a weed or flag, but a plant with 

 pale green leaves, and looks as if it had come there 

 by some chance ; this is the water-parsnip. 



By the shore on this, the sunny side of the bridge, a 

 few forget-me-nots grow in their season, water crow's- 

 foot flowers, flags lie along the surface and slowly swing 

 from side to side like a boat at anchor. The breeze 

 brings a ripple, and the sunlight sparkles on it; the 

 light reflected dances up the piers of the bridge. Those 

 that pass along the road are naturally drawn to this 

 bright parapet where the brook winds brimming full 

 through green meadows. You can see right to the 

 bottom; you can see where the rush of the water has 

 scooped out a deeper channel under the arches, but 

 look as long as you like there are no fish. 



The trout I watched so long, and with such pleasure, 

 was always on the other side, at the tail of the arch, 

 waiting for whatever might come through to him. 

 There in perpetual shadow he lay in wait, a little at 

 the side of the arch, scarcely ever varying his position 

 except to dart a yard up under the bridge to seize any- 



