124 



THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



and yellows of the sad, sweet autumn time. 

 Leaves, fragrant in decay, nutter against us ; 

 starlings chatter in the reeds, and rise in a whirl- 

 ing cloud ; and the rooks wheel and tumble in the 

 grey sky above us. 



In our hearts there is a restful peace, tinged with 

 a pleasant melancholy ; and so we walk on in full 

 content, and come to a tiny, straw-thatched and 

 moss-covered cottage, set in its little garden, close 

 by the water's edge. Here live an old couple, all 

 by themselves, cheered only by the occasional visit 

 of a child or grandchild. Old Morris was a farm 

 labourer ; then, as he grew old, a stone-breaker ; 

 and now he is too old and too rheumatic for that. 

 It is a wonder how the old couple live. They have 

 a plot of garden in which they grow a few potatoes, 

 but their crop has been bad this year ; and we know 

 from one who sometimes befriends them that times 

 are hard with them, and that they have lived for a 

 week together on the fish caught by the old man, 

 who was a deft angler in his youth. There he is 

 now sitting on a stool by the waterside, and 

 patiently waiting for a bite, with greater interest, 

 we cannot but know, than we ever did ; for his 

 dinner depends upon the anxiety of the fish to take 

 theirs. He is shivering with the cold, and looks 

 anything but comfortable. On the grass behind 

 him lies one small fish, and he is not likely now to 

 catch any more. He does not see us, and he is as 

 deaf as a post, so we turn out the contents of our 



