254 



THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



killing in small burns, is not so certain of success 

 in wide rivers. 



A drought ! What a picture the word represents 

 a sky blue in the summit of its arc, and a dull 

 grey where it clasps the panting earth in its misty 

 girdle. There is no clear denned line in the 

 horizon ; the woods lose themselves in haze ; the 

 hills are less substantial than clouds ; and when 

 out to seaward you look at a low, straight line, 

 taking it to be the limit of the visible sea, you are 

 astonished at seeing a vessel sailing along far above 

 it, apparently in the air. The sunshine is a blind- 

 ing glare, pervading every nook and corner of the 

 parched and dusty landscape. There is the maxi- 

 mum of sunshine and the minimum of shade ; the 

 grass is burned off the brown hill-side, and even 

 the grasshoppers are too lazy to jump and too hot 

 to chirp. The foliage of the trees acquires a dull, 

 dead tint of green, and the leaves droop and curl, 

 thereby letting wider sun-shafts strike the glades 

 below, that should be soft and moist, but are hard 

 and dry. 



The river-beds are great tracts of white stones, 

 simply darkened as with varnish where the water 

 trickles over them, but none the less visible, so 

 transparent is the stream. Like as a skater upon 

 clear ice, seeing the deep holes over which he 

 glides, and the masses of waving weeds below him, 

 deems the ice to be thinner than it really is, and is 

 more apprehensive of danger, so do the trout in 



