THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



265 



ships and struggles ; and as lie thinks of it lovingly 

 and half regretfully, the rain ceases, the clouds 

 part, and show a more brilliant blue in their rifts 

 than there was before. The cobbler seizes his rod 

 from the corner, and a bag of worms from a nail in 

 the back kitchen, and, paying a deaf ear to the 

 remonstrances of his wife, he sallies forth to his 

 favourite spot ; and there behold him, as he sits on 

 a fallen log, watching his float twirl in the golden 

 eddies. The spot he has chosen is a good one, and 

 is also prettily situated. The river is a navigable 

 <me, and its water is dammed up at intervals by 

 means of locks. Just below one of these the fisher- 

 man sits. Above the lock the river flows wide 

 and deep, and between banks heavily fringed with 

 willows, which are green or silvery as the breeze 

 shakes the upper or the under side of the long 

 narrow leaves into view. Their branches trail in 

 the water, which is tinged yellow with the rain. 



The river narrows suddenly to the lock, which is 

 an old massive structure, black and moss-stained. 

 Below the lock is a deep pool, and it is 011 the bank 

 of this that the rustic fisherman takes his seat, on 

 the yellow-ringed stump of a sawn tree, close under 

 the lower gate of the lock. Through the crevices 

 of the gate the water spouts in jets, which, near 

 the top, are bright as mother-of-pearl, flashing in 

 the sun, and lower down are tinged with gold, which 

 shines in strong contrast to the jet of the dripping 

 timber. R * 



