132 



THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



Out of the larch wood we reach the wilder part 

 of the ravine. A rude path leads by the stream, 

 and crosses it every now and then by means of 

 a rude and picturesque wooden bridge. On the 

 other side the rocks rise in craggy ledges, cracked 

 and seamed and furrowed, as if nature had done 

 her utmost to rive the hill asunder in some fierce 

 throe of agony. Dwarf oaks grow wherever there 

 is a crevice large enough to hold their roots ; the 

 rowan trees strew their foliage of airiest lightness ; 

 and here and there the " lady of the forest," the 

 " silver birk," rears its graceful form its white 

 and shining stem a fair contrast to the rugged 

 rocks, and its drooping tresses to the sturdy 

 oaks. The underwood is thick and luxuriant. 

 Tall brackens rise boldly up through interlacing 

 brambles, and between the path and the burn is 

 a fringe of hazels, into which a squirrel has un- 

 wisely retreated, and in his haste to escape from 

 us executes wonderful feats among the too pliant 

 branches. The bed of the brook is wide, as be- 

 comes a mountain brook which, after heavy rain, 

 is a raging torrent ; but at present the water twists 

 and turns around boulders of every size, and every 

 hundred paces pours down in silvery cataracts over 

 high ledges of rocks into deep, bubbling pools 

 below. These rocks and boulders are piled and 

 strewn in the wildest confusion. Every now and 

 then the stream disappears, to reappear welling 

 from beneath some cavernous rock. Here the 



