SUMMER IN SOMERSET. 271 



Following the current downwards at last the river 

 for a while flows in quietness, broad and smooth. A 

 trout leaps for a fly with his tail curved in the air, full a 

 foot out of water. Trout watch behind sunken stones, 

 and shoot to and fro as insects droop in their flight and 

 appear about to fall. So clear is the water and so 

 brightly illuminated that the fish are not easily seen — 

 for vision depends on contrast — but in a minute I find a 

 way to discover them by their shadows. The black 

 shadow of a trout is distinct upon the bottom of the 

 river, and guides the eye to the spot ; then looking higher 

 in the transparent water there is the fish. It was curious 

 to see these black shadows darting to and fro as if them- 

 selves animated and without bodies, for if the trout 

 darted before being observed the light concealed him in 

 motion. Some of the trout came up from under Torre- 

 steps, a singular structure which here connects the 

 shores of the stream. Every one has seen a row of 

 stepping-stones across a shallow brook ; now pile other 

 stones on each of these, forming buttresses, and lay flat 

 stones like unhewn planks from buttress to buttress, and 

 you have the plan of this primitive bridge. It has a 

 megalithic appearance, as if associated with the age of 

 rude stone monuments. They say its origin is doubtful ; 

 there can be no doubt of the loveliness of the spot. The 

 Barle comes with his natural rush and fierceness under 

 the unhewn stone planking, then deepens, and there 

 overhanging a black pool — for the shadow was so deep 

 as to be black — grew a large bunch of marsh-marigolds 

 in fullest flower, the broad golden cups almost resting 

 on the black water. The bridge is not intended for 

 wheels, and though it is as firm as the rock, foot pas- 

 sengers have to look at their steps, as the great planks, 

 flecked with lichen at the edges, are not all level. The 



