1 86 



THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



he rose to his feet all right, ran on to intercept 

 the coracle, which was half full of water ; and 

 Herbert, looking about as handsome as a wet 

 cat, played and landed his trout without much 

 difficulty. 



The afternoon passed pleasantly away, like all 

 trout-fishing afternoons should do. There were all 

 the elements of enjoyment : a sunny sky crossed 

 by soft clouds, a south-west wind that, blowing 

 down Bala lake, had raised the river to a fishable 

 height ; the dipper flew from stone to stone, and 

 dived in the quick current ; more than one king- 

 fisher flashed its brilliant hues along the stream ; 

 the ring-dove cooed in the wood, and flew down to 

 the river marge to drink ; the sand-martins wheeled 

 in mazy evolutions over the pools ; the pert water- 

 wagtails ran over the sandbanks, and were as proud 

 of their tails as a peacock ; and the river babbled 

 over flashing shallows, and moaned in dark pools 

 that slowly eddied under overhanging branches. 

 No pen can describe the fresh beauty of the scene ; 

 the blue of the distant reaches of the river was as 

 intense as that of the sky ; the green of the shady 

 hollows of the wood was ethereal in its vividness ; 

 the flowers were like fixed butterflies, and the 

 butterflies like winged flowers. No one can better 

 know the poverty of language than he who attempts 

 to picture the exceeding beauty of a scene like that 

 and a day like that. His labour becomes but a 

 repetition of vain words, which cease to have any 



