4 FRESH WOODS. 



Well do I remember many a delightful 

 ramble by the side of the sometimes slow 

 and sometimes swift-flowing Lugg. I know 

 it is the custom of some writers to depreciate 

 the attractions of this stream it has been 

 called sluggish and unpicturesque ; in my 

 opinion, there is nothing so ugly about it as 

 its name, and I know of many bits of quiet 

 woodland scenery on its banks as picturesque 

 as can be met with on almost any other 

 stream, where on a genial summer's evening 

 I have watched the big trout flopping up 

 here and there, and it seemed to be all one 

 to the trout whether he took a bait provided 

 by bountiful Nature, or a tinselled hook ob- 

 scured by artful man ; he was equally happy 

 whether he was caught or not caught either 

 fortune was but a part of Arcadian bliss. 

 The trees were alive with a variety of song- 

 birds ; on the thistle-heads, especially down 

 about The Tarrs, one might see dozens of the 

 pretty little golden linnet, so rarely met else- 

 where ; rabbits hopped across one's path ; 

 the lowing herd wound slowly homewards to 

 the milking yard, or flapped their dappled 

 sides in a cool and shady corner of the river. 

 That is the sort of thing which a treacher- 

 ous memory led me to look for now with too 

 much certainty. Not that such scenes of 



