CHAPTER VII 



II Whate'er Lorraine light touched with softening hue, 

 Or savage Rosa dashed, or learned Poussin drew." 



EXPLORING one morning the upper parts 

 of the river, with my trout rod in my 

 hand, I came to a little meadow in a vale 

 where the stream played in mazes beneath 

 hanging coppices. In this sequestered spot, I espied 

 a gentle angler I may say particularly gentle. His 

 mode of fishing appeared so novel, that I was induced 

 to pry a little into it ; so I ventured to approach 

 him, and asked what sport he had been having. 



" Oh, glorious, glorious perfectly enchanting ! 

 All Paradise is around me ! " 



I took notice, however, that although he held his 

 rod pretty much in the usual piscatorial position of 

 altitude, his fly was by no means on the water, but 

 lay very comfortably dry upon the furzes on the 

 bank side, and that, whatever his hand might pre- 

 tend to be doing, his mind was not at that moment 

 particularly bent upon a capture. Whilst he stood 

 entranced, I took the liberty of lifting up the lid of 

 his basket, in which I descried nothing but a pair 

 of gloves not a fish reposed in it. It was clean, 

 new, and Cockney-like, and I ventured to give him 

 a hint to this effect. 



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