256 AN ANGLER'S HOURS xiv 



is veiled by fine old apple-trees that sur- 

 round it. 



Everywhere else is the scenery of rural 

 England, as this generation knows it, mile 

 on mile of grass-land, dotted with oak and 

 elm rising to faint blue hills in the distance. 

 Sometimes I have longed for a field of 

 golden corn on the other side of the stream, 

 but golden corn is rapidly losing its 

 honoured place in the Englishman's scheme 

 of things, and in many a district where the 

 harvest-song once resounded it is heard no 

 more ; and the nation's cheap bread is 

 made of bone-dust or some such nourishing 

 material. The progress of civilisation, which 

 has modified so many of our great thoughts, 

 has had its effect on the proverb, too. We 

 knew of old the dubious character of much 

 that glittered ; now we are learning that 

 not all that is golden is gold, or even to 

 be bartered for it. There are compensa- 

 tions, though : long grass is sufficient of a 

 nuisance when one is fly - fishing ; corn, 

 which is taller, would vex the brotherhood 

 still more. 



But to return to the weir-pool : it is not 

 very large or very deep, but it contains a 



