CHAPTER XVIII 



A DAY ON CLYDE 



ACROSS the broad rough holm, terrifying the 

 meadow-pipits, over a dry-stone dyke 

 threatening to collapse, we hurry under 

 the broiling sunshine to reach the river's bank. 

 Full well we know there is no need for haste, and 

 yet we are filled ^ith eagerness to start the unequal 

 fight. We consider it a day in which we shall have 

 to be content with small events, but many a time 

 we have expected much and received little, while 

 not infrequently our anticipations have been far 

 surpassed. Truly, we never can foretell what 

 fortune intends to bestow. 



Is this the brimming river that we knew in the 

 far-off happy days of spring, when the broad, 

 swelling pools and cheerful streams seldom failed 

 to bring supreme contentment ? The curves of 

 the distant hills, green darkening to deepest blue, 

 remain unchanged ; we recognise the banks, though 

 they are draped with greater luxuriance ; the 

 tributary burns enter where they did, yet surely 

 they sing a sadder song, and the river is only the 

 shadow of its former might. 



A bed of dry gravel spreads gleaming white 

 where often the rod has become a straining bow 

 and the reel has shrieked its protest ; a pool that 



232 



