90 The Gamekeeper at Home. 



the water. He can judge a yard on the grass, 

 because there is something to fix the eye on — the 

 tall bennet or the buttercup yonder ; but the water 

 affords no data. 



On second thoughts, yes — even the smooth flowing 

 current has its marks. Here, not far from the steep 

 bank, is a flag, bowed or broken, whose pennant-like 

 tongue of green floats just beneath the surface, slowly 

 vibrating to and fro, as you wave your hand in token 

 of farewell. This is mark one — say three feet from 

 the shore. 



Somewhat farther there is a curl upon the water, 

 not constant, but coming every few seconds in 

 obedience to the increase or decrease of the volume 

 of the stream, which there meets with some slight 

 obstacle out of sight. For, although the water ap- 

 pears level and unvarying, it really rises and sinks 

 in ever so minute a degree with a rhythmic alternation. 

 If you will lie down on the sward, you may some- 

 times see it by fixing a steady gaze upon the small 

 circular cave where the gallery of a water-rat opens on 

 this the Grand Canal of his Venice. Into it there rises 

 now and again a gentle swell — barely perceptible — a 

 faint pulse rising and falling. The stream is slightly 

 fuller and stronger at one moment than another ; and 

 with each swell the curl, or tiny whirlpool, rotates 



