AN ANGLER ENTRANCED. 159 



CHAP. VII. 



Whate'er Lorraine light touched with softening hue, 

 Or savage Rosa dashed, or learned Poussin drew." 



Exploring one morning the upper parts of the river, 

 with my trout rod in my hand, I came to a little meadow 

 in a vale where the stream played in mazes beneath 

 hanging coppices. In this sequestered spot, I espied a 

 gentle angler — I may say particularly gentle. His 

 mode of fishing appeared so novel, that I was induced 

 to pry a little into it ; so I ventured to approach him, 

 and asked what sport he had been having. 



" Oh, glorious, glorious, — perfectly enchanting! All 

 Paradise is around me ! " 



I took notice, however, that although he held his rod 

 pretty much in the usual piscatorial position of altitude, 

 his fly was by no means on the water, but lay very 

 comfortably dry u23on the furzes on the bank side, and 

 that, whatever his hand might pretend to be doing, his 

 mind was not at that moment particularly bent upon a 

 capture. Wliilst he stood entranced, I took the liberty 

 of lifting up the lid of his basket, in which I descried 

 nothing but a pair of gloves — not a fish reposed in it. 

 It was clean, new, and Cockney-like, and I ventured to 

 give him a hint to this effect. 



" Well now I declare, sir, that is very singular ; 



