142 



THE ANGLER'S SOUVENTR. 



his welcome of his "boy" is a keen one. We will 

 sketch his portrait by-and-by. 



We drove through the country lanes towards 

 Rosesbower as the rain-clouds lifted, and the sun, 

 peeping saucily from behind his mask, drew out 

 the fragrance of a thousand flowers. In front of 

 us were three tall poplars, bowing lazily ancj 

 whitening creamily in the wind that had sprung 

 up to play with the sun and chase the rain. These 

 poplars were the landmark which showed the posi- 

 tion of our home, but the lanes wound in and out 

 so much that they were now this side and now that, 

 and often behind us. One lane was deep and 

 high-hedged, so that we drove along through a 

 leafy tunnel, and here the honeysuckle lingered 

 yet in wonderful profusion, covering the hedges 

 with masses of white and yellow, blush-pink and 

 crimson, giving forth the sweetest and most grateful 

 incense. We drew full breaths again and again 

 with huge and childish delight, and great gratitude 

 to the Giver of Good. There came into our minds 

 a passage from a book which we always take with 

 us into the country, " The Flowering Plants of 

 Great Britain," by Anne Pratt, which is so appre- 

 ciative of the honeysuckle that we quote it : 



"When the honeysuckle first puts forth its leaves 

 the landscape is looking dreary. The thorns, with 

 bronzed stems, hang dripping with rain-drops ; the 

 dark leaves of the dark -leaved privet glisten near 

 the red twigs of the cornel ; while perchance some 



