42 



The Chronicle of 



that paftoral, fedgy Lea. Pleafant always, as we fee it mapped 

 out in* our memory of the long ago, with its broad reaches of 

 pafture land on either fide, outfpread in the morning twilight, 

 white with dew, and dappled with kine ; here and there, in 

 the diftance, a round-fhouldered hill, or a clump of trees, 

 tipped with a village fpire — the gleaming of the river, broken, 

 at intervals, with ruftic bridges, and its banks girt with a thick 

 belt of fedge, out of which the God Pan might have plucked 

 reeds manifold for his piping. We have learnt that river by 

 heart, in a double fenfe ; it was the haunt of our boyhood, 

 and we know every bend, and tumbling-bay, and pool in it. 

 We could fhow you where that chub, with the white fpot on 

 his tail, was taken ; we could lead you blindfold to the pool, 

 where Pifcator fifties out for Peter that opportune trout ; and 

 we could feat you (fo unwavering are our illufions) under that 

 very honeyfuckle hedge, where matter and pupil fat difcourfing 

 of holy Mr. Herbert, and reciting his quaint, curious verfes, 

 while the pattering of the fpring fhower died off among the 

 leaves. 



Many are the years fince we trod thofe familiar paths, and 

 many the waters we have fifhed fince then. Now, all things 

 are changed. Our feet brufh the Ardennes heather as we hurry 

 to our fport, and inftead of the level lowlands, we have red, 

 precipitous walls of rock, thick forefts, and a tofiing and foaming 

 mountain river. We fill our creel fuller than we ever filled 

 it of yore, but we are faithful to the old love ftill, and were 

 the choice given us, far rather would we be catching " logger- 

 headed chub," in that Lea-water of our youth, than the moft 



