26 AN ANGLER AT LARGE 



It is a region that well fits the frame of mind 

 induced by black, thundery weather, when the 

 water looks like lead, and the trout lie on the 

 bottom, and there is no fly, and one has smoked 

 one's last cigarette. Yet in sunshine and in this 

 early season it has a beauty that the more open 

 water above lacks, a beauty of shadow and colour, 

 when the light filters yellow-green through young 

 beech leaves, and mingles with the brown-green 

 that the river weeds reflect upwards where the 

 jewelled heart of the wood joins the glowing 

 depth of the stream. 



From one bank lush water-meadows spread 

 away to the foot of the downs, and the stuggy, 

 good-natured pollards stand in rows along the 

 ditches and lead the eye unenviously to tremendous 

 elms, shadowing the valley road. Yes, if you 

 turn your back on the river (he will take no offence) 

 the scenery is cheerful enough. Here the Valley 

 is broader than above, the wind has a freer sweep 

 and the clouds seem to sail more steadily ; and the 

 cuckoos, I swear, fly here and shout more vigor- 

 ously. I have often been wonderfully uplifted at 

 the Lower End. There is no part of the water 

 where meditation (an important branch of dry-fly 

 angling) may be practised with less chance of 

 interruption, and there is no part which I do 

 more heartily love. For here the days begin. 



