in MAY-DAY ON THE EXE 53 



bright hue of monarchy to the darkest of 

 all, that which is so near black that one can 

 imagine Death wearing it on some high 

 festival, for he too is a monarch. And in 

 the foreground close by, in vivid contrast to 

 all those purples, to the green of the swamp 

 and the grey of the rock, there dances up 

 and down in the sunlight a little yellow 

 butterfly. 



The first sight of the moor to a man 

 newly come out of London is a thing to 

 linger over, a thing to think about, and so 

 our fisherman decides to have his lunch 

 here reclining at his ease on the mossy bank 

 with his back against a comfortable rock, 

 and to take his fill of gazing while he eats. 

 First, though, for he is first a fisherman and 

 afterwards a seer of sights, he empties his 

 basket out on the grass and counts his catch. 

 Ten fish are they, and they average a 

 quarter of a pound, a very fair morning's 

 work for an unambitious man, while for 

 beauty of form and colour they can vie with 

 the moor itself. A marvellous variety of 

 colour too they can show bright carmine, 

 rich black, and clear brown and yellow, 

 while the main note is a fine gold, a colour 



