266 



THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



From a subaqueous sluice the water pours and 

 bubbles in its haste to join the eddies which whirl 

 about the lower pool, widening and circling more 

 slowly as the distance increases from the flood- 

 gate. 



Behind the angler rises a sloping sward of green, 

 broken only by the soft grey trunks of numerous 

 beech trees, until it reaches the oak-crowned ridge 

 of the hill. In the autumn this beech slope pre- 

 sents a wonderful maze of colours. The bright 

 yellow and scarlet of the dying foliage above, and 

 the more sober red and brown of the beech-mast 

 on the ground, burn and glow like a stormy sunset. 

 It is no less beautiful now. The massive foliage of 

 the trees is fresh and green after the rain. Every 

 leaf holds a raindrop, and every raindrop holds 

 a morsel of light. The sun brightens the whole 

 mass, so that the myriad diamond and emerald 

 sparkles are toned down by quantity into a gleamy 

 and quivering lustre. 



The river rushes on through the fair English 

 landscape, by bowery woods and coppiced hills, by 

 nestling villages and undulating parks ; but no- 

 where does it pass a happier or more contented 

 man than the cobbler, who sits watching his float 

 as it is carried this way and that way by the con- 

 flicting streams. 



It is almost needless to say that his bait is a 

 worm. Rustic anglers rarely use any other. His 

 rod is a home-made one, for he cannot afford to 



