XXIX 



OF AN OLD-TIME ANGLER 



THE afterglow lingered long in the sky, for it 

 was Midsummer Day and settled weather 

 The West was a sea of pale primrose, where a 

 few long purple cloud-islands floated. It was as 

 if one stood on a height above some fairy Ben- 

 becula, flat, dove-coloured, and marked its coast- 

 line in innumerable inlets (where celestial sea-trout 

 ran) reach out for ever to a horizon that was not. 

 Behind me a peerless spire soared from amidst the 

 dark green of elms, as if it would lose itself in the 

 rose of the upper air. I stood on ancient turf, 

 which had laid its seemly carpet of green velvet 

 between odorous flower beds and tall, trim hedges, 

 straight to the old house, where shone a single red 

 window. Ten inches below my feet flowed the 

 river, primrose out of that primrose sea, broad, 

 silent, swift, to mingle almost instantly with 

 woods, where night already dwelt. Large, oily rings 

 appeared here and there upon the surface of the 

 water, spread, died away, were succeeded by others, 

 larger, oilier. The stillness was broken only by 



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