1 10 WHEN THE SEWIN COME 



chatter of the whitethroat still enlivens 

 the willows by the waterside. Blackbirds 

 and thrushes, having finished their 

 annual business of nest-making and 

 moulting, sing again as they did in the 

 lengthening days of spring; but they are 

 not love-making now. Their songs are 

 the expressions of the unrestrained joy- 

 ousness of living, the gushing music of 

 happiness unfettered and unalloyed. 



There is a sweetness in these autum- 

 nal days, with their jewelled threads of 

 gossamer, their cool, dewy mornings, 

 blue distances, and lingering sunsets, 

 that those of no other season can give us. 



But let me relate the incidents of a 

 late September day, which will, per- 

 chance, serve to show those as yet un- 

 acquainted with the trout-stream that it 

 affords other game than that which gives 

 it its name. 



It had been raining almost incessantly 

 for some days, and the moist west wind 



