122 THE SPIRIT 



and more inclined to avoid the rougher 

 waters, as in the spring days, yet game 

 as always and well-conditioned. And 

 what of the enchantment of the high 

 moors, whither the fisherman will go if 

 he be wise, of the purple plains of heath- 

 er, of the streams running free, and once 

 more clean, to the valley which sleeps 

 dreamily in haze, of the films of blue 

 rain that come as quickly as they go, 

 of the wisps of sunlit cloud like white, 

 downy feathers sailing slowly across the 

 deep violet that curtains the precipices 

 of the silent hills ? It is not only the 

 sport which is good, not only the things 

 seen, but the unuttered poetry which 

 dwells there. 



By no means the least pleasing fea- 

 ture in the September landscape is the 

 flashing of gun-barrels in the sunlight, 

 and the sportsman who loves the "little 

 brown bird " of this month as much as 

 he does the rod and the river should be 



