96 Fly-Fijhing. 



turmoil around you to a fpot of complete quietude 

 and feclufion ? Juft fancy yourfelf for a moment, 

 under fuch circumftances, tranfported to the banks 

 of the Grwyne Fawr, on fome fine morning of one 

 of the laft days of expiring Spring ! And if fuch 

 be not, as it were, a fweet oafis for memory to re- 

 trace in after years, you are not the man I took 

 you to be. Mountains upon mountains on each 

 fide of you, with a narrow valley (treelefs, it is 

 true) to divide them, but not the lefs wrapped in fa- 

 vage beauty for all that. A few fheep with fhaggy 

 fleeces, flaring, as if their eyes would ftart out of 

 their heads, at fo unufual a fpeftacle as man, and 

 ftamping with their fore-feet, as their cuftom is, 

 when they would warn their companions of fuf- 

 pected danger. Large mattes of rock, reft from 

 the parent bed above, with here and there a wild- 

 flower entirely new to you. And laft, though not 

 leaft, a cryftal ftream, full of trout, dancing in 

 fparkling merriment at your feet. 



Like children's laughter, ere old Time 



Has ftripped it of its glee, 

 That would, alas ! but little chime 



With life's reality 



Steals on the angler's ear the found 

 Of waters at his feet, 



