THRSS MS&C IWi Jt TUB 129 



enough of what has been. The ancient mariner gets 

 her ready, not with a baling-tin, but with a bucket. 



However, all is dry and ship-shape at last, the lock is 

 cleared, the sail is up, the wind is fair, the boat goes 

 gaily down the stream. On all the gracious landscape 

 there is no sign of the ill-weather, save perhaps an 

 added touch of beauty. Even the draggled plumes of 

 yesterday are fluttering in the sun, in what, to the 

 gross eye of man, seems undiminished splendour. That 

 tall young lady pulling stroke at least is none the worse 

 for her drenching. Her time is as good, hep feathering 

 as clean as that of the stalwart oarsman in the bow. 

 But doubtless it was yesterday's damp that has affected 

 that bearded Hercules lolling in the stern of his boat, 

 while two fair damsels at the sculls are dutifully rowing 

 his lordship up the river. 



The sun is warm on the long fringe of reeds. It 

 brightens the rich spikes of loose-strife, the pale blue 

 geraniums, the clouds of meadow-sweet. It shines on 

 green blades of arrow-head, brown spears of bulrush. 

 So glides the boat along with snowy sail, under wooded 

 heights whose beeches wear already the first touch of 

 the autumn ; past the old mill whose blackened timbers 

 are lighted with moss and many-coloured lichen; by 

 noble manor house and peaceful farm ; by rushing weir 

 and reedy pool ; now startling the brown water-rail from 

 her noonday meditation, now taking unaware a little 

 family of moorhens making their first essay with broad 

 green oars. 



Alas ! it is all too fair a breeze. Mile after mile of 



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