A HOLIDAY IN DEVONSHIRE. 67 



South Brent, and running through it, with a bridge across, 

 another Dartmoor-born stream/ the Avon. Now I might 

 form a pretty correct opinion upon the state of the rivers 

 I had travelled so far to fish. For six weeks there had 

 been no rain, and very ill reports of the rivers of the three 

 kingdoms had been troubling the Waltonian world. The 

 Avon was not encouraging; it was so reduced in volume 

 that it was difficult to see where there was room for a trout, 

 and throwing a fly into those mere saucers which now re- 

 presented the best pools was out of the question. It was, 

 one had to confess with sorrowful misgiving, a hopeless 

 prospect, unless the banks of clouds brooding over the 

 moors would come to the rescue and unlock their long- 

 sealed fountains. Anxiously I waited till a few miles far- 

 ther we crossed the Erme at Ivy Bridge. The Erme con- 

 firmed the dismal story told by the Avon. The stones in 

 the rocky bed shone with the unwetted smoothness of a 

 long drought. Although it might be better nearer the 

 source, I began to wish that the creel, capable of stowing 

 away i81b. of fish, had been left at home. Nasmyth 

 hammers were not made to crack eggs. 



But the woods were leafy, the air was charged with the 

 scent of hawthorn blossom, the landscapes Were magnificent, 

 and if the worst must be endured, there would in all this be 

 a certain compensation for an empty basket. 



" Nature never did betray 

 The heart that loved her ; 'tis her privilege 

 Through all the years of this our life, to lead 

 From joy to joy." 



Still, remembering how the Erme and Avon in their 

 average condition tumbled and swirled and gambolled from 



