THE WATER-WITHE. 125 



THE WATER-WITHE. 



March 5th. — From Shrewsbury I went a little 

 way into the woods to see the Coulter-Spring, a 

 stream so named. A walk of half a mile through the 

 tall and dark forest brought me to a wild rocky de- 

 file, in the bottom of which the stream ran. In the 

 rains this is a roaring, impetuous torrent, and must 

 be wildly magnificent ; at this time it was romantic 

 enough, though in another way. The water was 

 dwindled by the parching weather, until it no longer 

 formed a stream, but lay in calm, glassy pools, 

 bounded by the huge, angular masses of black rock 

 that lay in confused disorder in the ravine. Tiny 

 threads of water trickled from one reservoir to 

 another, and produced a tinkling music, sufficiently 

 audible in the deep silence of the woods. The lofty 

 trees that shot up their straight branchless stems all 

 around, were reflected in the dark pools with perfect 

 outline ; not a bird, not an insect was visible ; the 

 obscurity, the stillness, and the silence gave a gloomy 

 awe to the scene, and I felt a sort of relief at again 

 breaking out into the sunny fields of Shrewsbury. 

 In this obscure glen the friend who acted as my 

 guide pointed out the Water-Withe {Vitis Lidica), 

 a valuable plant, for the resource it affords to thirsty 

 travellers. A long twisted stem, much like that of 

 the common Grape-Vine, and about as thick as one's 

 wrist, was hanging down from one tree to another ; 

 with a stroke of his heavy knife he cut this in two, 

 and putting one extremity to my mouth, bade me 



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