172 



THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



which she had so often heard us speak. So one 

 day we drove her there. We halted on the top of 

 a hill called the Brow r , to show her the fairest view 

 she yet had seen. Wo were on the highest corn- 

 growing land in England, and it was a " far view " 

 that unfolded itself to our gaze. The fair English 

 plain ; the bold bluffs of the Wrekin, the Briedden, 

 and the Caradocs ; the fringe of Welsh hills ; the 

 sheets of water shining out of the hearts of the 

 woods, showed themselves to the best advantage on 

 that still summer day. Then we drove down a 

 steep descent, and entered the old-fashioned little 

 town, which looked as if neither it nor its inhabit- 

 ants had hurried themselves for many a century. 



Encircled by woods, the lake lay calm and glassy, 

 and the swans " floated double, swan and shadow." 

 There was not a quiver on the broad surface of the 

 lake, save that caused by the prow of our boat, as 

 we rudely broke into the calm. The Gipsy was 

 enchanted, and we were satisfied with the impres- 

 sions our beloved Mere had produced. 



We tried fishing, but, with the extraordinary ill- 

 luck that always accompanies us whenever we take 

 the Gipsy to watch us fishing, we had no sport, a 

 perch of six inches long being our only capture. 

 The carp we had caught a day or two before had 

 nearly re-established our lost reputation as an 

 angler ; but the failure this time, lost us that which 

 we gained by the carp, and the Gipsy spoke most 

 contemptuously of our capabilities. We said it 



