2 THE SONG OF THE REEL. 



of the weathered parapet ; never was fishermaa more winningly in- 

 vited to linger, nor so readily induced to dream. 



There, even at the foot of this age-mellowed bridge, Nature 

 so it seems loves to shake her tresses after winter sleep and unfold 

 her wondrous treasures, honouring this spot before all others with 

 the first glamour of her awakening. There blooms the earliest 

 snowdrop, coltsfoot, violet and primrose, what time the remnants of 

 the withered vegetation of yester-year are still in evidence on almost 

 every hand. And there, flaunting themselves to the sun, the catkins 

 on hazel and alder swing to and fro in the March winds ; whilst 

 other signs abound which tell of spring's approach. 



Whosoever comes to my Bridge of Dreams loiters thereon, and 

 peers over the balustrade into the limpid streamlet. Around this 

 grey old structure the pulse of rural life indeed beats feebly ; yet 

 Time hangs not heavily there, for the drowsy hours speed by all 

 too swiftly. Shadowy forms flit through the waters shaded by the 

 bridge ; hence the loiterer infers that fish of some kind lurk beneath 

 the ancient archway. The discriminating angler, however, recog- 

 nises these fish as trout and grayling ; and ofttimes he may watch 

 them lying in the shallows or poised in the deeper waters. 



Ere the Ides of March are passed, a subtle attraction draws 

 me to my Bridge of Dreams. Thither my footsteps trend ; yet I 

 know not the reason of my going, unless it be that upon the little 

 bridge I can best anticipate that happy hour when rod of mine no 

 longer shall hang idly upon the rack, but, being liberated from my 

 city trammels, I shall journey in quest of trout to some sparkling 

 rivulet of the "wilds." Thus do I drift away from this prosaic old 

 world of ours into the enchanted land of day-dreams. 



Visions arise of broad rivers watering sylvan plains dotted by 

 sequestered villages ; of brooklets meandering through the umbrage- 

 ous valleys where, of yore, Arcadians may have danced to the 

 shepherd's pipe ; of garrulous streamlets chattering past lonely ham- 

 lets in the hills ; of rollicking becks disturbing the silence of heather- 

 covered wastes ; and of foaming torrents hurling themselves fu- 

 riously from regions of mountain solitude and grandeur. 



